Bram Stoker’s Dracula had been on my “to-read” list for years and I finally got to it. I’m hating myself for not reading it sooner. It’s perceived as this ghastly horror story (to the point where my mother forbid me to discuss the book with her) but I was delighted to find the tone more calculating and psychological. Every page contains twists in the rich experiences of the characters.
More than that, it is a charming love story between the Harkers. To risk everlasting un-dead-ness for love? That is devotion, no matter how cliche the vampire story has become.
But what really grabbed my attention was the language. Stoker’s prose is gorgeous, each word crafted, calculated for a particular purpose. I am awestruck and slightly jealous. The writing in E.M. Forster’s Maurice was similarly beautiful.
Someone should have killed the English language in the late 19th / early 20th century.