A Fiend in Human Form
Feb. 29th, 2012 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mtvesselAug 2011
Dracula - Bram Stoker - Penguin Classics,1993
* * *
This is an interestingly dialectical book with which Freudians have doubtless had a field day. On the one hand, the descriptions of the Count and his powers have a dream-like quality, full of strange little details such as the little blue flames that Jonathan Harker sees in the darkness on his way to the count's castle, which hint in a very Lovecraftian manner at horrors beyond the ken of man. On the other, there is the Victorian everyday world of phonographs, timetables, hypnosis, blood transfusions (if hilariously unaware of immunological cross reactions), manly fellowship and women as maidens in need of protection and patronisation whenever they have an original idea. It is to the detriment of the book that the latter soon overwhelms the former, ultimately sucking the life out of the story in much the same way as the Count does his victims.
There is little point in reprising the plot since it is so well known. Suffice to say that one thing that comes over in the book as opposed to its various adaptations is the sheer spiritual wrongness of the Count. He is very much a Fiend in Human Form, outwardly respectable but using his powers to manipulate the minds and feelings of his victims, forming a smokescreen for his more depraved activities. As a metaphor for the dark underside of Victorian society, it is perfect.
It is unfortunate that these brilliant ideas were dreamed up by such as inept writer. Stoker's ear for dialogue is particularly poor, with some quite painful attempts at Yorkshire dialect and working men's demotic. It is probably just as well that he chose to write the novel in epistolary form. His characterisation is not much better. The heroes are all classic types - the noble aristocrat (Arthur Holmwood), the brave American with the ridiculous first name of Quincey, the wise Jew (Helsing) and the sensitive writer (Jonathan Harker), of whom only the last is of significant interest. Of the female characters, the less said the better. They are there mostly to be victims of the Count and to provide a reason for the heroes to work together. Only Mina Harker comes across strongly and whenever she works something out she is patronised out of existence by the men.
The first section of the book is undoubtedly the most effective and strange, and it is fairly clear that his own imaginings disturbed Stoker so much that he felt he had to compensate with an excess of (supposed) rationalism in the second half. This is a pity as it makes it a much weaker novel, but the power of the original concept remains, as recent cinematic and televisual variations show. Which only goes to show that even bad writers can be worth reading if their idea is good enough. Hope for the rest of us, then.
Dracula - Bram Stoker - Penguin Classics,1993
* * *
This is an interestingly dialectical book with which Freudians have doubtless had a field day. On the one hand, the descriptions of the Count and his powers have a dream-like quality, full of strange little details such as the little blue flames that Jonathan Harker sees in the darkness on his way to the count's castle, which hint in a very Lovecraftian manner at horrors beyond the ken of man. On the other, there is the Victorian everyday world of phonographs, timetables, hypnosis, blood transfusions (if hilariously unaware of immunological cross reactions), manly fellowship and women as maidens in need of protection and patronisation whenever they have an original idea. It is to the detriment of the book that the latter soon overwhelms the former, ultimately sucking the life out of the story in much the same way as the Count does his victims.
There is little point in reprising the plot since it is so well known. Suffice to say that one thing that comes over in the book as opposed to its various adaptations is the sheer spiritual wrongness of the Count. He is very much a Fiend in Human Form, outwardly respectable but using his powers to manipulate the minds and feelings of his victims, forming a smokescreen for his more depraved activities. As a metaphor for the dark underside of Victorian society, it is perfect.
It is unfortunate that these brilliant ideas were dreamed up by such as inept writer. Stoker's ear for dialogue is particularly poor, with some quite painful attempts at Yorkshire dialect and working men's demotic. It is probably just as well that he chose to write the novel in epistolary form. His characterisation is not much better. The heroes are all classic types - the noble aristocrat (Arthur Holmwood), the brave American with the ridiculous first name of Quincey, the wise Jew (Helsing) and the sensitive writer (Jonathan Harker), of whom only the last is of significant interest. Of the female characters, the less said the better. They are there mostly to be victims of the Count and to provide a reason for the heroes to work together. Only Mina Harker comes across strongly and whenever she works something out she is patronised out of existence by the men.
The first section of the book is undoubtedly the most effective and strange, and it is fairly clear that his own imaginings disturbed Stoker so much that he felt he had to compensate with an excess of (supposed) rationalism in the second half. This is a pity as it makes it a much weaker novel, but the power of the original concept remains, as recent cinematic and televisual variations show. Which only goes to show that even bad writers can be worth reading if their idea is good enough. Hope for the rest of us, then.