Crítica literia: Dracula

Este libro lo compré por casualidad un día en la fnac mientras buscaba otros libros. No lo tenía en mi lista de libros por leer, pero no pude resistirme a la oferta que tienen los libros de la editorial Penguin de 3 euros.


Ya me pasó lo mismo hace tiempo cuando compré The Picture of Dorian Gray. Es verdad que los clásicos son más difíciles de leer, pero las historias son buenas y el vocabulario que se aprende merece la pena. Seguramente cuando vuelva a la fnac me compre otro, aunque los que vi la última vez no eran tan interesantes. Pero por 3 euros...


Bueno, un libro leído más. Ya aviso a mis conocidos que este año no creo que vaya a llegar a los 50, aunque quedaré cerca. No contaba con que en mi nuevo trabajo no iba a tener mucho tiempo libre, aunque estoy leyendo un par de libros frikis que también cuentan.

¿Y qué decir de Dracula de Bram Stoker?
Si has visto la peli, el libro es muy parecido. Quizás sea un poco lento para mi gusto (hasta la página 200 y pico no aparece la palabra vampire), pero hay veces que pone los pelos de punta.
Como es un libro viejuno, se puede adquirir libremente por internet, si alguien le interesa practicar la lectura en el ordenador lo puede encontrar en esta página.

Y aquí os dejo un fragmento de la obra para que saboreéis el estilo. Es el párrafo clímax del libro. Si queréis leer el libro quizás sea un poco spoiler, avisados quedáis:

The moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow blind the room was light enough to see. On the bed beside the window lay Jonathan Harker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in a stupor. Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the white-clad figure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in black. His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognized the Count, in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs. Harker's hands, keeping them away with her arms at full tension. His right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her face down on his bosom. Her white night-dress was smeared with blood, and a thin stream trickled down the man's bare chest which was shown by his torn-open dress. The attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance to a child forcing a kitten's nose into a saucer of milk to compel it to drink. As we burst into the room, the Count turned his face, and the hellish look that I had heard described seemed to leap into it. His eyes flamed red with devilish passion. The great nostrils of the white aquiline nose opened wide and quivered at the edge, and the white sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood dripping mouth, clamped together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw his victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and sprang at us. But by this time the Professor had gained his feet, and was holding towards him the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer. The Count suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outside the tomb, and cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as we, lifting our crucifixes, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as a great black cloud sailed across the sky. And when the gaslight sprang up under Quincey's match, we saw nothing but a faint vapor. This, as we looked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil from its bursting open, had swung back to its old position.