I’m really excited to finally get to chapters where Mina pastes things into her journal because I love making my journal into a scrapbook. Of course my “journal” is actually more like a daily planner, but having a small space where I can log events in bullet-point form if needed makes the whole process of keeping a journal much less daunting. That said, I love whenever I can have paper tickets to movies and shows to tape in. The more my planner can look like a scrapbook, the better.
This entry also reminds me that, for all the time I spent giving Stoker shit about never having weather, we have succeeded in having weather on the Demeter, and now here off the coast of Whitby. I guess a novel about a boat and a seaside town would be boring without weather since that’s all sailors and seaside people care or talk about, as you can see from this whole blog so far.
So yes, the following section is a cutting from The Daily Graph, which Mina has pasted into her journal.
HOLD THE PHONE, my copy of Dracula says that the paper is The Dailygraph. WHICH IS IT, DRACULA DAILY?
Anyway, the graph apparently has all the page space in the world to talk about how nice the weather was on Saturday (the 6th?) for vacationers and seagoers alike. Everyone gathered at the shore to watch a pretty sunset. I really need to demonstrate to you how this entry is written by sharing this part:
Before the sun dipped below the black mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, its downward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset-colour—flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold; with here and there masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in all sorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. The experience was not lost on the painters, and doubtless some of the sketches of the ‘Prelude to the Great Storm’ will grace the R. A. and R. I. walls in May next.
I complimented Mina’s descriptions before but now it just feels like Stoker is showing off. Also, this really must be a slow news day. This must be a whole fucking page of the paper.
The sailors saw this pretty display and tied up their boats. The ones that were out on business did so far from shore, except for some foreign ship apparently manned by idiots (presumably our Demeter).
I just had to stop and make a sandwich and insodoing I plugged today’s entry into a wordcount and discovered it’s 2250 words long. No newspaper in their right mind would print this. In my copy of the novel, this is eight pages long. This is not an article, this is a short story. I’m going to just tell you the important stuff.
The storm breaks open at about 10am the following morning. I’ve literally just saved you pages and pages of reading just with that. I will stop for this line:
It was found necessary to clear the entire piers from the mass of onlookers, or else the fatalities of the night would have been increased manifold.
In Nova Scotia we have a lighthouse in a notorious area where tourists like to fuck around and find out. Have I posted about this before? Anyway, folks love to flirt with death near lighthouses by the sea.
Speaking of lighthouses:
Stoker is making up for the lack of weather so far by not shutting up about the weather today. Finally, the Demeter hits land:
The schooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched herself on that accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and many storms into the south-east corner of the pier jutting under the East Cliff, known locally as Tate Hill Pier.
There was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel drove up on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained, and some of the ‘top-hammer’ came crashing down. But, strangest of all, the very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bow on the sand.
Interesting! In case you don’t wanna read all that shit (I don’t blame you) as the boat broke upon the shore, a dog ran from the deck, onto land, and into the dark.
As a journalist, the author comes late to the scene but is allowed aboard.
The man was simply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on which it was fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast by the binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at one time, but the flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder of the wheel and dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied had cut the flesh to the bone.
Tl;dr, he finds the captain tied to the wheel and they discover a corked bottle in his jacket pocket with his letters. I assumed he threw them into the water, but I guess not. The coroner tells us he’s been dead for two days, and the author finally shuts the fuck up.
Dracula Daily interrupts for a paid advertisement by Universal Studios before we go back to Mina, who says the storm was spooky and woke her up a few times.
Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake; but she got up twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time and managed to undress her without waking her, and got her back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as soon as her will is thwarted in any physical way, her intention, if there be any, disappears, and she yields herself almost exactly to the routine of her life.
I gasped out loud when I read this. Please for the love of god let a thousand fanfics have been written about this horrible paragraph.
When they go out in the morning, Mina is relieved that Jonathan is on land somewhere, and then realizes she has no idea if that is true or not.
The important thing, Mina, is that Lucy is on land, and lets you take her clothes off.
Also I often worry about this blog ending up longer than the original novel, but this blog is less than half the size of the text I just summarized, so hopefully that makes up for it.