Dracula, by Bram Stoker

Having spent several long years digesting (and regurgitating) the Twilight books, I thought I should take a look at the grandaddy of all vampire stories. Back in the early days of the pandemic, I picked up Dracula during a seemingly endless autumn and was happily surprised by how much I enjoyed it. 

It’s genuinely scary, with creepy descriptions and scenes that are ingredients in any effective nightmare. But what really shocked me was the modern feel of the story. The last half of the book reads more like a present-day crime procedural than a dusty old book. I was expecting long-winded chapters about lost love, and while there certainly are sections like that, this book is relatively fast-paced and…shockingly…interesting. (Especially when compared to other vampire fiction on the shelf.)

Vampires have never been my favorite monster — they’re always so moody and dull. Dracula kinda fits that mold, but because the story is told from the point of view of other characters, you never get bogged down in Dracula moodiness. He’s not narrating this. It’s not his POV. We don’t even care about his POV. He’s there, in the background, being all cool and sly. He’s not running through meadows and glittering like a 79-cent Christmas card.

I don’t think any movie version has done it justice, but that doesn’t prevent Hollywood from cranking out a new Dracula every few months. If all you know of Dracula are the movies and (shudder) Twilight references, then you should check this out. You might really enjoy it. It’s weirder than you think. It’s scarier than you think. It’s a lot better than you think. 

And there’s not a single “glower” or “teenage boy imprinting on a toddler” in the entire novel!!!

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