This is the kind of book one loves to hate–and still devours in the fewest possible number of sittings. It’s about Dracula (like, oh, 40 bazillion other books out there), it’s somewhat stilted, it has strangely one-dimensional characters, the writing is somewhat awkward. And it was a thumping good read, although I must say that it really could have been about half the length; I started getting a little bored about 3/4 through. Even so, I was reading this one late Saturday night–and when I put out the lights and walked through the dark house to the bedroom, I was a little freaked out about what could be looming in the shadows…
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