Chris: Hello Andrew and Catherine. We’re back for our week two roundtable of Dracula. If week one introduced us all to what an expertly crafted book Dracula is, this week Bram Stoker lets us know just how crazy his book is going to get. We already had Dracula crawling like a lizard down his castle walls. But that’s nothing compared to Professor Van Helsing.

How about Van Helsing, huh? He’s my favorite character so far (along with Mina, but more on Mina another time), but I suspect a lot of readers will see the name and think of the 2004 film starring Hugh Jackman as the legendary vampire hunter. But the original Van Helsing is such a fascinating man. His introduction comes through Dr. Seward’s description before Van Helsing’s arrival in England, and it is one of the best intros I’ve read in a long, long time. I love it so much, I’ll quote it at length:

He is a seemingly arbitrary man, this is because he knows what he is talking about better than anyone else. He is a philosopher and a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of his day, and he has, I believe, and absolutely open mind. This, with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, and indomitable resolution, self-command, and toleration exalted from virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that beats—

Okay we get it. But how awesome is this guy? Doctor, philosopher, metaphysician, vampire expert, open minded but with ice in his veins? This fucking guy. Just unflappable, this Dr. Van Helsing. Seward is Van Helsing’s medical colleague and life long friend (he was a student, previously, until Seward sucked poison from Van Helsing’s body—making VH forever in Seward’s debt), but it’s hard to imagine anyone having as much admiration for any man as Dr. S. does for Van Helsing. I doubt such trust can ever be lived up to…

One of the major themes that seems to be organizing my reading as we settle into the deep parts of Dracula (there are many, of course) is Stoker’s attention to the various mental states that his characters either hold, strive for, or succumb to. Van Helsing’s state is that of the “open mind,” and in Dracula, that sets him apart.

Lucy, of course, suffers from sleep-walking, it’s own confusing and at times horrific mental state. She is also bitten by a vampire (presumably Dracula, but I can’t account for that in the dating of the chapters since the crossing of the Demeter happens after Lucy’s seen by Mina in the church graveyard), and that creates another mental state, one of having her imminent death—and accompanying beautification—on her mind.

Renfield, the patient of Dr. Seward is an insane man, who Seward believes may be under the thrall of a “religious mania,” believing himself to be god, but who we know is actually under the thrall of Count Dracula, who is working some kind of mind control, servant/master mojo on the poor man. Renfield is a constant swinging pendulum of mental states, between apathy towards Seward’s treatment and a consuming need to escape and reach his master.

Meanwhile, Jonathan Harker is in an asylum in Romania, suffering from a “violent brain fever,” according to the nuns who care for him. And the impressive, powerful, Wilhelmina Murray, now Mina Harker, is everywhere, journeying through the most impossible surroundings. She is of strong, but inconsistent mind, and no wonder. She writes at one point in her diary, after hearing her love is alive but ill in a hospital: “Joy, Joy, Joy! Although not all joy,” and I think, yes, that’s the mental state of a person who is in the middle of a Dracula story.

There are so many explicit mental states described by Bram Stoker in this book, almost on every page there is some detailed description of a mind in process or undergoing some change that I almost suffered from, oh, I don’t know, cerebral exhaustion, just like Dr. Seward feels after two waking nights watching over Lucy after her second blood transfusion.

I suppose I am surprised by Stoker’s focus on the mental effects within his story, though why I should be is a mystery. The horror genre is largely one that works through the mental dis-ease of the audience, and the uncertain mental states of Stoker’s characters works wonders on my own as a reader—one of the book’s biggest successes so far, I think. But it also speaks to the intertwined, complicated nature of Dracula.

And Count Dracula, for that matter, as a both natural and supernatural creation. It’s the dual nature of the vampire story: the lack of blood and the need for it, blood as food as it is for the Count, and as “lifeblood,” as it is for Lucy during the transfusions. Life inside of the death, age and wisdom in the corpse of a dead old Romanian. Not to mention every characters constantly altered mental states. Except Van Helsing, of course.

All this works a number on the brain, and the reactions of those men and women who interact with this altered reality are surely going to be very, very different. Also, it does make you wonder: what would you do given the reality of a vampire? I sometimes find myself thinking these characters-all of them-are a bunch of idiots. But then I think: well, seriously, what would you do if suddenly there were vampires in your home?

I’d prolly get the fits.

Catherine: Having a fit when there’s a vampire in the house? Sounds about right. It’s also hard not to have a fit when reading how everyone runs in circles when it comes to Dracula. Without Van Helsing, everyone would be toast. Lucky for them, Van Helsing is a Renaissance man- he can do it all! He can patch you up, stake vampires, debate ethics and philosophy, meet danger with nerves of steel, and given proper sleep and rest, he can travel incessantly. This list of Van Helsing’s talents reminded me of what Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice) looks for in a mate: she must sing, dance, draw, speak a few languages, read extensively, walk gracefully, and design tables. Van Helsing is the male equivalent of the perfect woman- but with a vampire hunter twist.

Another hero that rises during these chapters is Mina. She also has nerves of steel and without her, Jonathan would likely have perished. She plucks the poor man out of a hospital in Eastern Europe, marries him, and brings him home. Mina goes on to arrange a meeting with Van Helsing, herself and her husband. During their conversation, which is at the dead center of the novel, Jonathan realizes he’s not mad and his experience is true: Dracula is a vampire. Chris, you talked about how everyone’s mental state is in constant flux. It’s at this middle portion, when Jonathan finally believes in his own mental sanity, that’s the beginning of the end for Dracula- no doubt Stoker knew what he was doing when he put the return of Jonathan’s self confidence and sanity right at the center of the novel. Van Helsing too recognizes how important the mental battlefield is as he ever so gently leads Seward to the truth by the end of Chapter 8. Everyone is in the dark for half of this novel, and a big portion of it is Van Helsing trying to figure out how everyone will believe this monstrous idea of vampires. Once Jonathan believes in his own experience, the rest follows and Van Helsing is able to bring everyone over.

Renfield’s mental state is the barometer for what Dracula is up to. I found Renfield’s need to devor life a startling and old concept. Many ancient cultures believed that eating different parts of an animal (or enemy) would grant the eater particular powers from that prey. Renfield is a believer in this but with an industrial twist- he was once a society man who is now locked up in a cell due to madness rather than being the ancient hunter trying to gain power. And that’s a theme I noticed- Dracula calls out and perverts ancient and biological drives in people. For Renfield, it’s the power inherent in life. For vampire Lucy, it’s the desire for children.

And to go back to earlier in the book, there’s that scene with living Lucy when all those men were giving her their blood to save her life. She ingests each of them and recycles it to Dracula, who comes each night and sucks it all up. Each of these men (except Van Helsing who is always in the clear) wanted her and each mingles their life blood with hers and Dracula wins each time by their desire. It’s super gross and exciting at the same time. And it also means that their blood is sealing the deal- they’re all a part of this now and nothing can change that. How stupid everyone was in trying to guard Lucy was mind boggling but hey, it was their first run with a giant bat-wolf-vampire. If it was me and I was dealing with a vampire, I’d likely realize the end was inevitable and either freeze or go down fighting.

Andrew: This section of the novel was certainly compelling, with its sense of growing menace toward Lucy Westenra. But it also reminded me of something I find very odd and irritating about Victorian novels—specifically, the way they reveal information in dribs and drabs, so that the reader often knows exactly what’s going on long before the characters finally put things together. I suspect that even the original readers of the novel, who didn’t have as much experience with vampire stories as we do, would’ve known exactly what was going on by now. Between Dracula and his wives fighting over Jonathan Harker’s blood, Lucy’s blood loss and need for transfusions, and the puncture marks on Lucy’s neck, I think that most readers have a good idea what’s going on by now, don’t you? And yet the characters still seem completely befuddled.

Well, except for Van Helsing, who seems to know exactly what’s going on—why else would he insist on Dr. Seward keeping watch over Lucy as she sleeps? Putting garlic into her room? And yet, he’s not telling anyone. Why? This makes absolutely no sense. He suspects that Lucy’s being preyed on by a vampire, right? So why keep it a secret?

Cat, you say that Van Helsing is very deliberate about leading Seward and others to the truth of what’s going on, and that may be the case, but his efforts certainly come too late for Lucy. Who cares about what Jonathan Seward will or won’t believe? If you think someone’s life is in danger, say something!

It’s not just Dracula. I’ve read plenty of Victorian novels where the story far outlasts the mystery—often to the detriment of the characters involved. Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Wilkie Collins’s The Moonstone, Elizabeth Mary Braddon’s Lady Audley’s Secret, the list goes on. I’ve come to the hesitant conclusion that for the Victorians, social conventions of privacy and delicacy simply got in the way of them acknowledging what they actually knew about the private lives of their peers—and that this manifests itself in the novels. Victorian literature is littered with “open secrets,” characters seemingly pretending to be befuddled by things they must, on some level, already know.

What the Victorians valued above all was domesticity—the home, the family, marriage, the virtue of women. Stoker establishes fear and suspense by having Dracula threaten something that his audience treasured: a beautiful, innocent woman, about to make a good middle-class marriage. And yet, when it comes time to finally protect the thing that this society supposedly valued, they can’t do it. Why? Because Dracula’s attacks on Lucy occurred inside a cocoon the sanctity of which Victorian domestic ideology did not allow them to look: an unmarried woman’s bedroom, her sleep, and what happened there between her and a man. Dracula is, after all, still a man, and what transpires between him and Lucy is metaphorically sexual—the ultimate Victorian taboo.

All this to say that I’m not nearly as impressed with Van Helsing as the two of you are. To me, he seems like a guy who basically shrugs as a women is being repeatedly victimized—metaphorically raped, in fact—then snaps into real action only after it’s too late.

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