Tony Woodlief’s earnest desire to understand Dracula, one of the great novels of the nineteenth century and the first novel in English to include such a multiplicity of narrators and of invented primary documents, has prompted him to do everything in his power short of actually reading the book. I am not one to cast aspersions about his understanding or experience of female desire and satisfaction, but — well, here’s Mina’s description of Lucy one night when she has gone off sleepwalking, during her time in the Count’s thrall:

I could see Lucy half-reclining with her head lying over the back of the seat . . . Her lips were parted and she was breathing — not softly as usual with her, but in long gasping breaths . . . As I came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and pulled the collar of her nightdress close round her throat. When she did so, there came a little shudder through her.

Here’s Mina describing Lucy the next morning: “The adventure of the night did not seem to have harmed her. On the contrary, it has benefited her for she looks better than she has in weeks.”

Lucy catching sight of Dracula in a churchyard: “She was in a half dreamy state, with an odd look on her face that I could not quite make out.”

After another night with the undead, Lucy was “languid and tired, and slept on well after she had been called.”

I’d report on what happens next, but I don’t want to ruin the ending for Mr. Woodlief. Suffice it to say, Hey Tony — I’ll have what she’s having.

Caitlin Flanagan Los Angeles