Happy Birthday: Abraham Stoker (8 November 1847 – 20 April 1912) was an Irish novelist. He was the author of Dracula (1897), an epistolary Gothic horror novel considered a landmark in vampire literature.

Stoker was bedridden for the first seven years of his life with an undiagnosed illness. He received his initial education at home, before enrolling at Trinity College Dublin in 1864. He excelled as a rugby athlete and was a prominent member of both the university's philosophical society and student union. It was also during this period that Stoker was introduced to literature, becoming the auditor of the society and writing his first paper.

During the early part of his career, Stoker spent ten years in the civil service at Dublin Castle, during which time he was also a drama critic for the Dublin Evening Mail. Following this, he was employed as a theatre critic for several newspapers, including the Daily Telegraph, and occasionally wrote short stories and theatre commentaries. During his life, he was better known as the personal assistant of actor Sir Henry Irving and the business manager of the West End's Lyceum Theatre, which Irving owned. During his time as a theatre critic, Stoker founded the "Dublin Sketching Club" in 1879, which dealt mostly with art collections. He regularly travelled during his free time, particularly to Cruden Bay in Scotland, which was the setting for two of his novels and also served as the inspiration for writing Dracula. He was friends with both Arthur Conan Doyle and Oscar Wilde, and had collaborated with other authors for experimental novels such as The Fate of Fenella (1892).

Stoker wrote a dozen horror and mystery novels and novellas, including The Jewel of Seven Stars (1903), The Lair of the White Worm (1911) and The Mystery of the Sea (1902), but his reputation as one of the most influential writers of Gothic horror fiction lies solely with Dracula. Since the early 20th century, the novel has become one of the best-selling works of vampire fiction and Count Dracula is one of the best-known fictional figures of the Victorian era. The work deeply influenced future representations of vampiric characters and Stoker came to be regarded by many as "the father of vampire fiction."

Just Finished Reading: An Englishman in Madrid by Eduardo Mendoza (FP: 2010) [380pp] 

Madrid, 1936. It was an opportunity he could hardly refuse. Art expert Anthony Whitelands has been commissioned to appraise a selection of paintings to assess their origin and their value for a high-ranking Spanish family. With the political clouds darkening in that country, it might be the last time for several years (at least) that such a visit to his favourite European city is possible. Of course he accepts. What he doesn’t expect is that his visit is a ruse. There are no paintings, there is just one. One work that will change his career path, one work that will make his name, one work that would be a global sensation. If he can prove it is in fact as advertised, he would be the toast of the artistic world. But the word IF is a very important one. IF it is indeed by the great Spanish artist Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez its owners are sitting on an unimaginable fortune. The secret is, however, already being rumoured. The idea that the painting will be used to create a safe haven for the family outside Spain might be a lie. Will it be used to buy arms for the expected Civil War and will the authorities try to stop the sale? Will the Falangists, so desperate for weapons, intervene? Will the Socialists, or their Soviet handlers, prevent the painting leaving the country, or even worse destroy it? At the centre of everything is an Englishman. An innocent abroad – but innocent for how long? 

As usual with such things I picked this up a few years ago because “it looked interesting and different”. I had no idea, despite it winning the Planeta Prize, that it would be SO good. The blurb on the back, which I honestly usually just skim, called it a ‘perfectly balanced blend of PG Wodehouse (who I’ve never read), Evelyn Waugh (who I’ve only seen adaptations of) and Graham Greene (who I’ve never read a bad book by). It did have a Greene feel to it – so I guess the others must apply too! I wasn’t, at first, sure what to make of it. It was clear from the start that it was (very) well written which definitely helped. The description of mid 30’s Madrid and the Spanish culture of that time was super immersive. I’ve read a little about the Civil War and the circumstances around that conflict (MUCH more later) so I was aware of some of that but this really put you THERE, on the street, in the meetings, in the private smoke filled rooms and made you understand what was what – without the feeling that any great mental effort was involved. It had a quite wonderful FEEL to it that’s (obviously) difficult to describe. 

Then, as always for me, was the characterisation. Anthony Whitehead is a GREAT character. Full of passion for Velazquez and for Spain itself his rather blinkered approach gets him into trouble after trouble, but his mastery of the language and his personality make it difficult for anyone to actively dislike him. Even those who have been tasked to kill him apologise for the event and seem genuinely sad to do so! He becomes involved with teenage prostitutes (complete with babe in arms), high class ladies, aristocrats, both fascist and socialist activists, the Spanish secret police and the British secret service and even the Prime Minister of Spain itself. One of the funniest recurring jokes (there are MANY funny moments in this often-serious book) was the comments from the exasperated staff at the Englishman's hotel who have to deal with a seemingly constant stream of visitors – the police, radicals, prostitutes, spies - looking for him or leaving cryptic messages on his return. It did indeed often read like a classic farce which caused much chuckling and not a few laugh-out-loud moments.  

Needless to say, as you’ve probably picked up on by now, I absolutely LOVED this book. It is, not to put too fine a point on it, totally brilliant and is definitely one of the top ten novels of the year for me. Yet again a translated book knocks it out of the park. If you have any interest in Spanish history (especially around the Civil War period), Spanish culture (especially art and most especially Velazquez) or Spanish politics in the 1930’s, or just a VERY good read indeed that will leave you with a desire to visit that city in reality then this is definitely the book for you. A total and absolute delight and, therefore, very highly recommended. I’ll most assuredly be seeking out more by this author.  

Translated from the Spanish by Nick Caistor.   

 English Folk Verse (c.1870)

            The Fifth of November

    Remember, remember!

    The fifth of November,

    The Gunpowder treason and plot;

    I know of no reason

    Why the Gunpowder treason

    Should ever be forgot!

    Guy Fawkes and his companions

    Did the scheme contrive,

    To blow the King and Parliament

    All up alive.

    Threescore barrels, laid below,

    To prove old England's overthrow.

    But, by God's providence, him they catch,

    With a dark lantern, lighting a match!

    A stick and a stake

    For King James's sake!

    If you won't give me one,

    I'll take two,

    The better for me,

    And the worse for you.

    A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,

    A penn'orth of cheese to choke him,

    A pint of beer to wash it down,

    And a jolly good fire to burn him.

    Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!

    Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!

    Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!

CONGRATULATIONS to Zohran Mamdani! We do indeed live in interesting times..... 

Just Finished Reading: The Progress of a Crime by Julian Symons (FP: 1960) [286pp] 

They came back, just as they promised. The bonfire had barely started, and the fireworks were unlit when the bikes roared up, and they started making noise. It wasn’t long before the shouts of abuse rang out and the Teddy Boys started throwing fireworks at anyone within range. Yet again James Corby stepped into the fray and told them to leave. This time they didn’t simply turn away but produced knives. In seconds blood was spilt, the gang ran, and the roar of bike engines had faded. Corby was on the ground, injured, bleeding and all too soon quite dead. Young journalist Hugh Bennet had witnessed some of the incident and, briefly, became the star of his paper with the news of a brutal slaying (briefly) making national headlines. But what did he actually see? Could he even identify the ruffian who pushed a young girl to the ground? Could he swear, hand on heart, which members of the gang actually had knives and used them, and would his testimony stand up in court? 

Although billed (at least on the front cover) as a ‘Fireworks Night Mystery’ there’s precious little mystery involved. There’s the question of which boy pulled his knife and which one (or two?) used it but that was as far as any mystery went. What this interesting crime drama actually turned out to be was rather more complex than that. Partially it was a police procedural where the local cops (assisted by Scotland Yard) figured out who the gang was and built a case against those who they suspected did the deed. Partially it was a pretty good court drama where the defence and prosecution battled it out for innocence or conviction. Interestingly, the death penalty was mentioned a few times (we still had it back then) and how it didn’t apply (usually) to those under 18. Partially it was a look at how the media influenced public opinion on a case to ‘make copy’ and sell papers. Partially it was a coming-of-age story as the cub reporter at the heart of things learns some hard lessons and has to make some difficult choices, and partially a look at the emerging ‘youth culture’ and the breakdown of traditional values especially amongst the Working Class. That’s quite a lot more than a mere mystery! 

Although this wasn’t the gripping, mind bending, head scratcher of a murder mystery that I usually enjoy (actually love) it definitely kept me reading as a slice of cultural history. The characterisation was pretty good – I liked the cynical old newspaper hands who ‘advised’ the cub reporter and I felt sorry for the father of one of the gang members as he struggled to think of where he went SO wrong. If you’re after a hardcore mystery thriller this isn’t really the book for you, but if you want to witness a slice of late-1950's British crime and culture I think you’d enjoy it. Recommended.