Dracula

There is no denying Dracula‘s significance as an enduring pop culture phenomenon, but I was surprisingly unimpressed with it as a literary work. Compared to other nineteenth-century Gothic novels, it lacks the compelling moral ambiguity of Frankenstein, the consistent narrative momentum of The Picture of Dorian Gray, and the distinctive, memorable characters of The Woman in White.

Dracula is at its strongest in the opening chapters, as Jonathan Harker travels to Dracula’s castle and gradually comes to the realization that something is terribly wrong and that he is, in fact, a prisoner there. Stoker does an excellent job in the beginning establishing an eerie atmosphere of suspense and intrigue. The captain’s log documenting the mysterious events aboard his ship is another highlight. Unfortunately, Stoker is not able to sustain this same level of tension throughout the novel, so what begins as a promisingly unsettling story actually becomes a drawn-out melodrama culminating in a disappointingly anticlimactic conclusion.

The novel is a lot longer than it needs to be to tell the story, and neither the prose nor the characterization is strong enough to justify its excessive length. Most of the characters felt fairly generic and interchangeable, so even though the story was told through various diaries and journal entries from numerous characters, we might as well be hearing the whole thing from the perspective of a single male character and a single female character.

Nearly every man in the novel is unfailingly honorable, courageous, and self-sacrificing, while both main female characters are primarily portrayed as delicate, helpless, and endlessly admiring of the men around them. Mina in particular spends a silly amount of time marveling at the men’s bravery and virtue. This dynamic ranges from unintentionally comical to unbearably irritating. This quote from Mina towards the end of the book is pretty representative:

“Oh, it did me good to see the way that these brave men worked. How can women help loving men when they are so earnest, and so true, and so brave!”

The novel repeatedly emphasizes the women’s inability to withstand the emotional strain and danger of their circumstances, while constantly lauding the men’s exceptional masculinity and fearlessness in protecting them. There is almost no conflict, moral ambiguity, or complexity among the protagonists. Like not even a hint of jealousy between the three men who proposed to Lucy almost simultaneously. Only love and honorable friendship between all, hoorah! The result is a bunch of idealized representations of Victorian gender roles rather than real, believable characters. It was all rather tedious.

Dracula himself has the potential to be a much more interesting character, but his appearances are surprisingly limited. Van Helsing has a more distinctive personality, although he can often feel like a caricature with his inconsistent and unconvincing broken English. Probably the most intriguing character is actually Renfield, but even his potential feels somewhat wasted.

There is almost no conflict, moral ambiguity, or complexity among the protagonists.

As the story progresses, any lingering suspense mostly gets buried under repetitive conversations, elaborate explanations of logistics, and endless declarations of concern for the women’s well-being. We spend so much time discussing plans, tracking Dracula’s movements, and reaffirming everyone’s noble intentions that I really started to lose interest. And then all that painstaking preparation ultimately leads to a final confrontation that feels weirdly rushed and underwhelming.

I commend Stoker for helping establish so many of the vampire conventions we recognize today. I appreciate the overall premise and a handful of well-written scenes. I just wasn’t left as impressed with Dracula compared to some of its peers within the genre. I’d call Dracula more of a cultural achievement than a literary one.

Book author: Bram Stoker