Dracula
I've had this book for years.
Gifted to me on my birthday by my parentals many, many years ago.
It's taken an unplanned act of sitting on my bedroom floor staring into space this Sunday afternoon to remember its existence.
There are so many books on my 'To Read' list - and not a fraction of them i actually own - that many of them go forgotten for years until boredom slaps me round the head and puts me in a situation where they become unearthed again.
Usually with an upsetting layer of dust.
Dusting?
What is dusting?
Like Bram Stoker's Dracula, the story never really holds my attention.
For a genre of monsters i adore, the most famed instance of Dracula is probably my least favourite and i've still to reach the end of the novel.
Not for want of trying, however.
But i did enjoy the briefness of Luis Scafati's foray into the Count's misadventures and his illustrations were a flurry of artists and illustrators i greatly admire fused into one atavistic explosion of ink:
(thanks to my dad for remembering his name while i rapidly had a meltdown due to the gaping fucking void appearing in my brain where his name should have been)
Sometimes being a space cadet has its benefits.
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