Tony's Review of Dracula

Dracula is one of those books where the shadow it cast is longer than the story itself. Everyone knows the name. Everyone thinks they know the tale. But going back to the original text reveals something far stranger, more layered, and in many ways more unsettling than the pop culture version we’ve inherited.

Bram Stoker’s Dracula is a novel told entirely through letters, journal entries, and news clippings. This epistolary format does more than add style—it draws you in. You’re not just reading a story, you’re uncovering it. Piece by piece, through the eyes of different characters, the truth of Count Dracula emerges, and so does the growing dread that he cannot be stopped by traditional means or understood by traditional minds.

The book opens with Jonathan Harker’s travel diary as he journeys to Dracula’s castle in Transylvania. What starts as a business trip quickly descends into unease. Stoker builds the horror slowly, letting the strangeness of the setting speak for itself—wolves howling, unseen servants, strange customs. Dracula himself is polite, composed, and deeply wrong. It’s the kind of horror that slips in under the door before you even know to be afraid.

As the narrative shifts to England, the threat becomes more invasive. Lucy’s slow transformation, the mystery around her illness, and the eventual involvement of Van Helsing mark the book’s middle stretch. There is a strong sense of rising stakes and encroaching danger. The characters scramble to understand what they are facing, and by the time they do, it’s almost too late.

The strength of the novel lies in how it balances the supernatural with the personal. Mina, Lucy, Jonathan, Seward, and Van Helsing all have distinct voices. Their accounts show fear, grief, courage, and desperation. There is a real sense of loss here. When Dracula attacks, it is not just blood he takes. It is identity. It is control. It is trust.

Reading Dracula now, with modern horror in mind, it is surprising how much time is spent on atmosphere and reflection. There are bursts of action, but the heart of the book is in the tension, in the way belief slowly replaces skepticism. That shift—from science to folklore, from logic to legend—is one of the most compelling arcs. The characters are not fighting a monster. They are fighting their own understanding of the world.

As with many classic novels, there are dated elements. The gender roles are strict, and some of the dialogue can feel overly formal or melodramatic by today’s standards. But that said, the fear still works. The image of Dracula crawling face-first down the wall, or Lucy walking through the mist with a child in her arms, has not lost its power. These are moments that stay with you.

What also makes Dracula different from modern interpretations is that the Count is not romantic. He is not tragic. He is ancient and dangerous, a creature of hunger and control. There is something deeply alien about him. He’s not misunderstood. He is a predator. That clarity makes him more frightening.

There’s a reason this book laid the foundation for modern vampire fiction. It treats the vampire not just as a monster, but as a disruption to the world. An infection of fear, secrecy, and obsession.

Dracula is more than just a Gothic novel. It is a study of fear—of disease, of strangers, of loss, and of things that cannot be explained. It has earned its place not just in horror history, but in literary history. Even now, its shadows still stretch.