by Stoker, Bram
“Take care,” he said, “take care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous than you think in this country.” Then seizing the shaving glass, he went on, “And this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man’s vanity. Away with it!” And opening the window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving pot, which is fortunately of metal.
When I went into the dining room, breakfast was prepared, but I could not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is strange that as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must be a very peculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in the castle. I went out on the stairs, and found a room looking towards the south. The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrific precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.
But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further. Doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there an available exit. The castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner!
Chapter 2. This prompts the question, “What length should a chapter be?” No doubt you’ve heard the facile, “As long as it needs to be.” A novel establishes its own rhythm, and not necessarily a set rhythm. Three lengthy chapters followed by a super-short one might create the effect that the novelist seeks. But many contemporary fiction novels maintain a set chapter length throughout. The reader falls into the cadence and becomes synched to it.
Again, praise for the epistolary storytelling technique is warranted with this transition. Had Stoker used something akin to those superimposed “eight hours later” time/place establishing words on the movie screen, we’d have been reminded that the book has a narrator and that a narrator is created by an author. In other words, we’d have been yanked right out of the story world’s waking dream. Instead, what is more natural than Harker entering the date in his journal?
Hmm, not seen in the daylight? Is Stoker subtly and symbolically cluing us into the idea that this is a Place of Evil?
Here’s a definitive answer: “Maybe.” Authors are frequently asked questions like, “When that kid fell down the well and got saved from drowning just at sunrise, did you mean that to be symbolic of baptism and rebirth?” And the poor author is thinking, No, that scene is actually about a kid who doesn’t drown in a well, but he might well say, “Yes, I thought that would be effective.” Sometimes writers are conscious of their symbolization. Sometimes they are unconscious of it. Sometimes it just happens. And sometimes it’s there in the reader’s mind, and that’s okay, too.
More praise for the epistolary style. It allows us this bit of essential exposition presented in Harker’s voice: Mina’s proud of me and, well, I have to admit, I am proud of me, too! The forward progress of the narrative is little impeded by this aside, which furnishes the reader with needed info.
Rattling chains! It’s probably safe to say Stoker deliberately included this symbolism. Rattling chains are part of the accoutrements of spectral visitors.
A “ta-da” moment if ever there were one. This is almost too stage-play melodramatic, viewed by the modern perspective, which has been shaped by countless films and novels. Yet it works. It works because it would work on a stage (and as I’ve stressed, Mr. Stoker was well versed in stagecraft). And because it builds readers up for …
A tall, old guy who looks, at Harker’s first glance, to be suffering from severe anemia, but that’s all. The “build up for the letdown” can be effective, as long as the pattern isn’t repeated too many times. Here it serves to reassure Mr. Harker that there is no need to pinch himself anymore. He was letting his imagination get the better of him, right?.
Why did Stoker call it a “strange intonation,” instead of saying that the old man has a Slovakin or Servian, or even Central European accent? Because Harker does not think in terms of Slovakin, Servian, Rumanian, or Transylvanian. It is simply strange to his ears.
Probably more because of Bela Lugosi’s use of this line in the 1930 film, Lugosi with his slow and thickly accented English, this phrase has become both legendary and cliché in the realm of vampire fiction. A writer is well advised to avoid clichés like the plague. But do remember, this was new to Stoker’s audience. And it was strange.
Foreshadowing, but we have to wonder if this hint is a bit overmuch at this point in the story. “There was a guilty expression on the butler’s face, and he would not look you in the eye” might well give away too much in a murder mystery in which the killer proves to be … the butler. Perhaps the best use of foreshadowing is the subtle hint, which makes a strong case for a writer to go back in a manuscript and plant bits of foreshadowing after plot events have been determined. Just be careful not to beat the reader over the head.
Sorry, we’ve got to fault Stoker here. He is guilty of not trusting the reader. He does not allow the reader to intuitively assume this possibility. Instead he has Harker think it.
Trust the reader. People who can and do choose to read are not stupid. They will get it if you provide the right clues for them to get it. And they will therefore be involved readers because they are filling in some parts of the word picture.
This is it. The first meeting between Good and Evil. Story is happening. A Character Confronts a Problem That He Attempts to Solve.
The duality of man, Good and Evil, had been artfully explored eleven years before Dracula by Robert Louis Stevenson in The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It was a horror novel, but because of its serious intent and Stevenson’s masterful writing, the critics did not dismiss it as just another Penny Dreadful shock book.
“Fire,” “freshly,” “flamed and flared.” Why that’s the literary device termed alliteration! But alliteration is usually thought of as a technique for poetry. It’s possible, too, that Stoker was having fun with words. The bang-words-together-and-see-what-happens motivation was there when we were kids, and it’s still part of the reason we work at this craft and sullen art. Not that I’m encouraging you to be “the poet” in your prose. Instead of a poetic feel, it can too easily lead to the overwriting termed “purple prose.” Even if you are enjoying your word dance and syllabic arabesques, you are not writing to play word games. You are writing to communicate, and if a reader is paying too much attention to how you say something, he is usually not paying enough attention to what you say.
“Okay, maybe some things have been pretty … weird … but now, everything’s okay?” It doesn’t take much to hearten Harker, does it?
It’s likely, though not certain, that sup was already archaic by Stoker’s era, so here he might be hinting that the Count himself is from a far earlier time. This sort of thing can work well, albeit with the risk that a reader might not grasp the meaning of the archaic words.
An epistle within an epistle to reveal still more of Harker’s personality. Surprising, however, that no mention is made of Harker’s solicitor skill set. Might a thoughtful editor have suggested something along the lines of: Harker is extremely knowledgeable in all manner of real estate law, and has the necessary diplomatic skills to avoid the bureaucratic difficulties of what is an international transaction …
What a line! So perfect it became a pop-culture cliché as soon as Bela Lugosi said it.
Stoker has a transitional white space break here, but no chapter break. This enables him to sustain the roller coaster of moods Harker is experiencing. Harker goes to bed with a dark and disturbed mind.
Bu
t he wakes up feeling fine. Hey, he’s feeling so good that he has lost track of time. After a night’s sleep, it would be 6 May, not 7 May! But he does reference enjoyng the last twenty-four hours. So it is 7 May, yes? When you have a story that spans days and weeks, continuity is vital. The lesson? Proofread! Proofread. And then … proofread again. Then have a friend do another proof job, and then … you get the point. Make sure the story is as clear and accurate as it can be.
At this point in the tale, Stoker knows it’s better to stay low on the emotional scale so that when Harker reacts wildly later on, it will be fully justified in the reader’s perception. If Harker were already freaking out, what would he (credibly) do later?
Okay, twenty-first century sophisticates know why there are no mirrors; after all, television, films, books, and all manner of pop culture have made us aware of the vampire’s modus operandi. But Stoker’s Dracula was indeed a “new take” on the older Gothic vampire lore found in such early works as Varney the Vampire or, Feast of Blood by James Malcolm Rymer (published in book form in 1847, after having run as a serial from 1845 to 1847). There were vampire predecessors presented in earlier French literature as well.
But Dracula gives us innovation, a depth of character, a complexity of plot, and it makes the familiar into something new.
The guideline for dialogue in a contemporary novel: Good dialogue sounds as real as real-life conversations without being as boring and without meandering the way most real-life conversations do. Harker and the Count (and the other characters we will come to meet in Dracula) do not sound to our modern ear as though they are conversing. At times, it seems as though they are orating, with a flow of words and precision of language that is at once facile and stilted.
But remember: Mr. Stoker was of the theater, and the plays he helped produce, the plays he saw, the plays he wrote, were performed broadly with flamboyant gestures that could be seen from even the cheapest seats, and in voices trained to project sans microphone (which wouldn’t come into widespread use until the 1920s). Not to mention that the dialogue was written in the “literary style of the times”; there are sentences in Dracula that are nearly interchangeable with some of those in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories. The tone, pacing, vocabulary, and diction of the dialogue in Dracula demonstrates the style expected by the readers of the Victorian Era.
“But a stranger in a strange land …” The Count is paraphrasing the Bible: Exodus 2:22! Now that’s strange—or is it? Know thy enemy? Or as Shakespeare put it in The Merchant of Venice, “The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness is like a villain with a smiling cheek.” With his courtesy and hospitality, Dracula of the smiling cheek has been well described by the Bard of Avon.
Forbidden rooms are so important a motif in fairy tales that the classic Greenwood Encyclopedia of Folktales and Fairy Tales has an entry for it. Stoker’s work is informed by these kinds of archetypal stories as much as modern scientific advances (such as a phonograph for dictation and even blood transfusions!), and we have hundreds of pages of handwritten and typed notes as evidence of the massive research he did over the seven years that it took for Dracula to go from idea to published book.
Sometimes aspiring writers ask, “How much research do I have to do?” And sometimes they follow that with, “How much will I actually use in the book?”
Here is the formula: You must do a whoppin’ great lot of research. Only a little will actually wind up in print. Unfortunately, when you begin your research you cannot be sure what little you will need, so that puts you right back at doing … a lot!
When Harker glosses over the legalese of this real estate transaction, is it indicative that Stoker didn’t know much about a solicitor’s job? Hardly. We spoke of the “research formula”: Research a lot and use a little.
There are novelists, unfortunately, who are determined to use nearly all of what they’ve learned and to tell a reader everything he never wanted to know about a subject. Stoker is fully aware that the novel is no place for a lecture on land and property, assets and holdings, goods and fixtures, trust deeds and penalty clauses, and so, zip … “Let’s get the boring stuff out of the way,” says Stoker, and that’s just what Harker does.
Today’s real estate agents employ their smartphones to share digital images and POV walk-through videos, and The Most Modern Mr. Harker, Professional Solicitor (i.e., real estate agent) does the historic equivalent.
I suppose we might ask how the undead can be killed, but we’re probably better off simply savoring Stoker’s irony instead of having Dracula say this.
I love that understatement and the snide, ironic aspects of Dracula’s character that come through.
How do we judge real-life people? By what they say and do. And that’s how we judge Dracula. We are already forming an opinion of the Transylvanian Count. That’s because Bram Stoker is skillfully following the classic rule: Show, don’t tell.
As a writer, you want to use words that will put a picture on the reader’s mental movie screen. You want to show a character in action, rather than telling about a character, because telling is vague and abstract. Telling words, abstract words, show the reader next to nothing. If I said, “He had a lot of courage,” that wouldn’t let you know much about “him,” would it? You wouldn’t know if he had the courage in World War II to charge an enemy machine gun nest armed only with a copy of Life magazine, or if he had the kind of courage it takes to kill the spider in the bathtub on his own without calling for help from the department of animal control.
No question, Stoker’s showing is more than “good enough”: Dracula’s arrogance (those peasants—phoo!), his grimly comic irony (it would just kill me!), his strangeness, all are observable on the old mental movie screen with what Dracula does and says and how he does and says it!
Much of the lyric poem lies in this passage. As discussed previously, it’s often a mistake for a prose writer to try overmuch to “be poetic,” but when the writer stays in control and uses his literary tools with precision, poetic prose can be memorable and haunting. Stoker does just that here. Once more, with the b sound he provides alliteration. He also gives us personification, with a “wind that breathes.”
Figures of speech can add to the language, but they’re tricky. Figures of speech/figurative language is to be used sparingly and only to make an idea more clear and/or memorable than you might with literal language. A figure of speech is never to be used for its own sake, to “adorn, poeticize, or fancify” your writing. That’s why Stoker earns high marks here with his “breathing wind.” He uses a figure of speech in the cause of clarity and memorability.
Dracula the flatterer. Dracula, the courtly. Dracula, consistent of character. From his introductory courtly bow and “I am Dracula,” to his destruction, Count Dracula is always one hundred percent no one else but Dracula.
We can call this foreshadowing and irony, and it’s also a clear indication that both the castle (the setting) and the count (the villain/protagonist) are getting to him.
Harker is shaving by the window, probably because the light’s better there, right? We may assume that it is morning, sunrise, at least. And with the sunlight filtering in, here comes Dracula sneaking in, although without casting a reflection.
Wait … in the sunlight? But he’s a vampire!
Dracula is not likely to be a beachcomber, but he can indeed move about during daylight. Funny how the attributes the vampire’s been given in pop culture form our expectations for the character in the source material. As Stoker did with folklore, so, too, can a writer choose to work some literary legerdemain by following the imperative of none other than poet Ezra Pound: “Make it new!”
Understatement of the stoic Englishman, and at exactly the right place because …
With the sight of blood, Count Dracula explodes, revealing his true self. Harker’s response is low-key, but we have identified with him and we know what he feels: He will remain in control of hi
s emotions and actions, but this outburst is part of the milieu that is getting to him. (It’s also a pretty nice reveal of Dracula’s relationship with the crucifix!)
Why is this “peculiar man” sentence so effective? How much does Stoker accomplish with seven words?
One maxim has it: Good writing says as much as possible in as few words as possible. That’s why every paragraph, sentence, phrase, and word in a good piece of writing must be needed and every paragraph, sentence, phrase, and word that is not needed must be cut. (The Prime Rule of Self-Editing: cut, cut, cut!) If you can do the job in a sentence, don’t write a paragraph. If you can do the job in a phrase, don’t write a sentence. If you can do the job in a word, don’t write a phrase. If you don’t need a word to do the job, don’t write it.
The chapter ends with a cliff-hanger, and one for which Harker is fully justified in using an exclamation point. Harker is in a bad spot and realizes it.