In my continuing quest to keep my brain from rotting, I moved to the next classic on my list: Dracula. My expectations were pretty high because I recently read a book called The Historian, which was supposed to have followed in the legacy of Dracula, and it was excellent.
Unfortunately, I can’t really say the same for Dracula. I was expecting more than a monster story, probably because it’s often compared to Frankenstein. There is no comparison: Frankenstein is immeasurably better. It undoubtedly deserves a place as “literature,” no matter how you define the term. While Dracula is a classic, it should probably not be elevated to literature.
It starts out great. Jonathan Harker’s introduction to Castle Dracula and its occupant is eerie and quickly moves to suspenseful and terrifying. Once the Count makes it to London, however, the character cast becomes paper cutouts of each other. The only character with a distinctive voice is Van Helsing, and that’s only because he has a German way of saying what everyone else is saying.
The book is worth reading only because the character of Count Dracula remains such a pervasive figure in entertainment. My personal favorite is, of course, JD’s Dr. Acula in Scrubs.