Dracula, by Bram Stoker
This immortality
Is tombed in airless parlours.
And his blood is dust.
It's Hallowe'en today. In celebration, droves of children will be dressed as undead revenants and go from door to door demanding processed sugar from householders at knifepoint.
(Forgive me my paranoia, I'm going to a fancy dress party in Brixton this evening. I'm planning on going as a stab victim in the hope that if the party is crashed, I can play dead in the hope that the marauders will think I've already been 'taken care' of.)
And since it is the 'Day of the Dead', what other book can we microblog other than, Dracula. The novel, written by Henry Irving's (the Laurence Olivier of his day) agent, Bram Stoker that has spawned an entire genre of gothic fiction that wraps bloodsucking around the familiar themes of sex and death.
Such a pity it's a bit shit.
Dracula's a loaded term now. Most readers come to it (or him, as the 'Count' as a character is a cultural colossus far bigger than the actual book) through its depiction in films, TV series, computer games or even Sesame Street. All of which piques the anticipation of a first-time reader. "This must be a classic. This is where it began."
Instead we are served up a second-rate epistolary novel with muddled themes, leaden prose and a titanic villain pushed to the sidelines of the action by cackhanded use of form. It's also hilarious to read from a feminist perspective: libertine bloodsucking lesbians, pretty girls turned to sensuous revenants, and the 'anti-feminist' heroine saved by her own stiffnecked piousness.
No wonder Francis Ford Coppola felt compelled to sex it up in his own interpretation of the book, which sadly suffered from a cast of 'mortals' whose acting styles seem a little bit undead anyway. Keanu Reeves, Winona Ryder and Sadie Frost anyone?
So, bringing Hallowe'en week to a close, here's one of the best creepy-themed novelty songs of all time. The Monster Mash.
