Love of Sea...

Whitby, North Yorkshire, UK
Photo by Mark Kirby

So I've been re-reading one of my all-time fave books, Bram Stoker's Dracula. Today I chillaxed with the character whose name I ripped off for my pseudonym, Mina (while she was still a Murray and not a Harker) during her time in Whitby, in which a portion of the classic gothic/horror novel is set. Even though there's this undertow of uneasiness, what with Mina's fiancé Jonathan being MIA, and her BFF Lucy sleepwalking like a mo-fo, I realized I smiled as I read along on my Kindle (free version!). Once I realized that, I wondered if I'm actually more of a monster than I even knew ('cause some shit's 'bout to go down with Lucy that ain't no smilin' matter). BUT then it dawned on me: I've been smiling because Whitby's a coastal town, and I'm a veritable fool for the sea. (OK, I'm a fool in general; I own it.)

I know loads of folks share these feelings for the sea and ocean; it's this profound connection to a mystery you never want to solve, because it just feels so right exactly the way it is: unknown, unknowable, unconquerable. Maybe I feel it because I've got the blood of generations of "heroes of the sea" coursing through my veins. Or maybe it's 'cause I've got, like, three planets in Scorpio in my natal chart. (Venus, Mars, and Jupiter. Dudes, when it comes to love, sex, and luck, I don't play.) (Oh, and Scorpios jones for the ocean.)

Can ye fathom the ocean, dark and deep, where the mighty waves and the grandeur sweep?
~ Fanny Crosby

Port Isaac, Cornwall, UK
Photo by Hugh Craddock

A few years ago I got really into this British TV series, Doc Martin. This quirky, long-running show features a pernickety surgeon, Martin Ellingham, who discovers at the height of his brilliant medical career that he's actually a bit blood-phobic (the contrast to the titular character of the above work of fiction amuses me no end). Ellingham relocates to fictional Portwenn (in reality, Port Isaac) to practice general medicine, fall in love with feisty school teacher, Louisa Glasson, and attempt to get around this career-crushing phobia (as well as his complete social awkwardness). I adore this cozy show, folks; it's dramatic, it's funny, and the views of the ocean are stunning. You can currently watch this series (for free!) on Hulu.

But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean.
~ H. P. Lovecraft

Other ways in which I endeavor to satisfy my as-yet-unfulfilled-dream of living by the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea are: watching movies like Something's Gotta Give (a rom-com partially set in Long Island in a friggin' gorgeous beach house that I covet like a...well, like a chick who'd really dig having a friggin' gorgeous beach house of her own) and Psycho Beach Party (a pretty surreal, but hilariously funny, send-up of 60s beach party movies), and grooving to some reverby surf rock like Dick Dale's Misirlou, or, if I'm feeling all romantical and whatnot, dreaming along to this video...

Last November, I was in Orlando, FL for a work conference being held at a fancy-schmancy resort hotel. My last night there, a former co-worker (there for the same event) and I dined and gossiped together, then as we made our way back to our respective hotel rooms, he left me to my own devices in what I'll lamely refer to as the "backyard" of the hotel, which was right on the water. The hour was late and I was tired, but that didn't keep me from standing by the railing which separated the resort from the beach proper for over half an hour, under a black-clouded sky, through which a creamy white waxing moon peeked coyly now and again as I communed with the rushing waves and the pounding surf. Le sighs.

What about y'all? What sorta landscape thrills you, as the ocean does me?

Vampire Bite Blog Hop!

'Cause what better way is there to celebrate Valentine's Day but by talkin' 'bout vamps? (What? Blood's red!)

Author Jolie Du Pré of Precious Monsters hosts the Vampire Bite Blog Hop today, for which all participants have to do is in some way blog about vampires. Click here and scroll down to read others' Vampire Bite posts.

For my entry, I'm exhuming a brief examination of the dark romance of Bram Stoker's Dracula, as portrayed by the eternally smexy Frank Langella. (Woof!)

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(Originally posted as Dark Romance #1 ~ Dracula on November 30, 2011.)

Given the premise of this bloggy-blog (that I'm a goth mom who digs the dark and creepy, even in romance), I thought I'd do a series based on some dark romances I have luuuuurved. (Be warned - thar be SPOILERS below, so if you've not yet read the book/seen the film under discussion, but intend to, you may wish to give this post a pass. Just sayin'.)

Still here? Kewl.

I decided to start with Dracula, but not the book, oh no. I recently re-read the Bram Stoker tome and must assert that there just ain't nothin' sexy or romantic about it. Yeah, sure, Jonathan Harker experiences a bit of lusty-lust for Dracula's wives and whatnot, but all that amounts to is his intense desire that they kiss him. Big whoop. There's no back-story connecting Mina Harker with Drac's supposedly long-dead bride, as the Coppola film tells it (though I must give props to the flick, as it's one of the more faithful adaptations of the novel; moreover, it doesn't drop the one American character Stoker featured, Texan Quincey Morris, who, along with J. Harker, dealt the killing blow to the dastardly Count).

The Dracula I want to focus on today is Frank Langella in the 1979 film of the same name, which was adapted from a play, which was adapted from the book (whew!) and merrily screws around with not only the characters but also their names. Here, it's Mina who first succumbs to Dracula's unholy allure and Lucy upon whom Dracula sets his fangs at for his...uh...Unlife Mate. Another departure from the book is that the end may not really be the end for the Count, 'cause this Dracula's a BAMF.

*Ahem* Anyway.

Langella plays the Count tall, dark, and spookily swoony (woof) and, with his debonair Old World mastery, steals every scene he's in. But what really interests me about this film is the feminist edge of Lucy, who deplores the very idea of woman's subjugation to man. By the time Drac's worked his monstrous mojo on her, however, she can't wait to be under his...thumb. (Frankly, neither could I. Did I mention woof?)

The dark romance of it all: Dracula determinedly preys on Lucy, it's true, but she isn't his victim; she's a ready, willing, and eager participant in his deadly dance. He seduces her but never has to bend her to his will. He charms her with his conversation, his savoir faire, his sex appeal (woof!), and he exerts himself to win her because of her strength, her intelligence, and her beauty - she is his equal, excepting one teeeny, tiny detail. Lucy doesn't so much fall as she leaps into the fire, and not due to deception or coercion, but from her own desire to burn. She never embodies her own ideals as much as when she willingly chooses to join the ranks of the moldy undead. It's the joining of his dark power to her independent spirit which rocks the Casbah for me. And they might have enjoyed a happier end but for the interference of her father, her fiancé, and Van Helsing who, essentially, restored their masculine authority over Lucy when they "saved her" from the Count, her own wishes notwithstanding (and girlfriend wanted to hook up with the bloodsucker, for realz!). To which I say Booo, patriarchal bossiness! and Yay, Girl Pow-ah!