#Yet we have to remember that Mina is also using this journal as practice so it is actually in character for her

[immediatebreakfast]

The tension building at Whitby now that the Demeter is near the shore is very delicate, it's the tracks of a train going at a very high speed towards a wall. It's inevitable, and it will have consequences that will impact the narrative. No matter what we want to do, the only thing left is watch.

So Mina, in her controlled melancholy over both Lucy and Jonathan, writes in her journal to document along with process all of her feelings towards all of the events that are happening. However, Mina's stress has been turning up so much that it affects her writing when she is not documenting stuff like the weather, or Mr. Swales' monologues.

We get one single line referring to Lucy:

"Lucy is more excitable than ever, but is otherwise well."

It feels like an assurance to herself rather than a simple mention. Instead of telling, or describing Lucy in a more lovely detail, Mina just tells that she is a little bit more anxious, but well you know? Lucy is well... There is no mention of Lucy's sleepwalking progress, nor if there are any meaningful changes so far. Which, if I can say, for Mina is enough for now.

Mina's dread also has invaded more her worries over Jonathan, more than other days since the weather in Whitby seems to be affecting everyone, and everything.

"If I only knew where to write to or where to go to."

One character trait which is a core trait for Mina is her "do-er" personality. It's a layer that is intricate to all of her actions. Mina is a very active character, she thinks and she acts. She needs to act because Mina searches for the answers to her questions so she can know what to do. This line implied that the only thing stopping Mina from going to Transylvania herself to search for Jonathan is the lack of concrete information about his fate.

Mina is an active character, but she needs information to know how to act, because above all Mina is a very grounded woman who knows what limits her in her actions.

"Here comes old Mr. Swales. He is making straight for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, that he wants to talk.... I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man."

Something is affecting Mr. Swales. It seems that Mina expected another story, or a anectode, but the old sailor came with an apology. Mina's control over emotions may have slipped a little bit if he noticed. Then, an incredible speech about the comfort of death is said with the property of someone who knows it well.

All old people are like that, they speak of death in a more "careless" because they have lived well, and since all of their friends (the ones that are still there) are in the same road, they often forget how this may "upset" younger people, people who have still not lived enough like Mina. It is touching to hear Mr. Swales to tell Mina that she doesn’t need to worry about his death because he is not either, and she only needs to remember him as that cynical old sailor who told her so much about ghost stories.

Yet, after Mr. Swales' speech what Mina has left is unrest, no actions, and no answers. Lucy is still sleepwalking, and Jonathan is still on the limbo between life and death. If Whitby's weather warns of something coming, and Mr. Swales speaks of how death is the only thing that awaits all of US in the end...

... then what would become of her, and her Jonathan?

[vickyvicarious]

One thing I like about Mina also is that while she very much goes on and on and visibly blushes about how much stronger her husband has become (and honestly didn't we all. didn't we cheer when he got up on his feet and every part of him was in complete focus towards killing his abuser?), her praise for him wasn't reserved for when he got strong. She married him disabled, skin and bones, the dignified gaze she had loved about him now gone, waking up raving mad about demons and wolves and ghosts for a month. And she still kept talking about him as if she was talking about Prince Charming. (Because he always showed he was still the gentle and loving boy she had fallen in love with, under all the physical and mental changes.)

Yes, absolutely. Her letter about her husband is open about how weak he is and how he's a wreck and so on, and it's just as openly gushing and delighted to be his wife.

I feel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey, except that I knew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should have to do some nursing, I had better get all the sleep I could.... I found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past.

On reflection, one of my favorite lines is that bolded bit. Mina knew what she was going into. And rather than panicking over what could have happened to cause such a change, or worrying if she could handle it, or if he'd still be the man she loves, or any of that, her reaction is practical in such an absolutely loving way. She knows he's going to need nursing and care. Obviously she's going to dedicate all her energies towards that, and so she'll have to prepare by getting as much rest as she can now.

(There's also something to be said here about how excited Jonathan was to share his trip with Mina since she hasn't traveled, and how the first time she got to travel she ignored her surroundings completely in favor of him.)

They then decide to get married as soon as possible. In fact, Mina hunts Sister Agatha down to petition for an even earlier marriage after Jonathan entrusts her with the key to his trauma with the journal, and then is weak and needs to sleep again. It goes from him weakly collapsing to 'I'm waiting to hear if we can get married this afternoon' to 'we'll be married in an hour, or as soon as Jonathan wakes up'. Mention of Jonathan's illness/disability is tied to the wedding all the way through. They get married with him propped up in bed. The moment Mina says she's the happiest woman in the world comes right on the heels of Jonathan possibly being confused about time and Mina saying she expects him to have trouble even remembering what year it is:

Then he took my hand in his, and oh, Lucy, it was the first time he took his wife's hand, and said that it was the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go through all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant to have said a part of the past, but he cannot think of time yet, and I shall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but the year. Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him that I was the happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to give him except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these went my love and duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear, when he kissed me, and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it was like a very solemn pledge between us....

It's absolutely undeniable that Mina is well aware of how Jonathan is weak and will be relying upon her very heavily. It's equally undeniable that she loves him and is completely willing to be his support. It's the same thing in her later letters and journals. She talks about his nightmares, his health being slow to return, his obvious stress only being compounded when he loses his father figure and is given lots of new responsibilities. And she admits it's hard. She tells Lucy keeping up her own cheer for his sake is wearing, and she has no one else to confide in. But she doesn't care, she would do it as long as necessary, because she loves Jonathan so much and she knows he loves her too. A lot of things have changed about him, but never that. Never who he is at his core. And that person is her Prince Charming. Sure, he cuts a fine figure with fury blazing in his eyes, strength recovered and then some, knife on his hip... She will obviously swoon over him then. But even in the worst of his recovery, the things he said to her clearly had her swooning then too.

It's not about what he does, it's about who he is. And he never stops being her Jonathan.

[draculalive]

Jonathan Harker's Journal

12 May. -- Let me begin with facts -- bare, meagre facts, verified by books and figures, and of which there can be no doubt. I must not confuse them with experiences which will have to rest on my own observation, or my memory of them. Last evening when the Count came from his room he began by asking me questions on legal matters and on the doing of certain kinds of business. I had spent the day wearily over books, and, simply to keep my mind occupied, went over some of the matters I had been examined in at Lincoln's Inn. There was a certain method in the Count's inquiries, so I shall try to put them down in sequence; the knowledge may somehow or some time be useful to me.

First, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors or more. I told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it would not be wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one transaction, as only one could act at a time, and that to change would be certain to militate against his interest. He seemed thoroughly to understand, and went on to ask if there would be any practical difficulty in having one man to attend, say, to banking, and another to look after shipping, in case local help were needed in a place far from the home of the banking solicitor. I asked him to explain more fully, so that I might not by any chance mislead him, so he said:---

"I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Mr. Peter Hawkins, from under the shadow of your beautiful cathedral at Exeter, which is far from London, buys for me through your good self my place at London. Good! Now here let me say frankly, lest you should think it strange that I have sought the services of one so far off from London instead of some one resident there, that my motive was that no local interest might be served save my wish only; and as one of London residence might, perhaps, have some purpose of himself or friend to serve, I went thus afield to seek my agent, whose labours should be only to my interest. Now, suppose I, who have much of affairs, wish to ship goods, say, to Newcastle, or Durham, or Harwich, or Dover, might it not be that it could with more ease be done by consigning to one in these ports?" I answered that certainly it would be most easy, but that we solicitors had a system of agency one for the other, so that local work could be done locally on instruction from any solicitor, so that the client, simply placing himself in the hands of one man, could have his wishes carried out by him without further trouble.

"But," said he, "I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so?"

"Of course," I replied; and "such is often done by men of business, who do not like the whole of their affairs to be known by any one person."

"Good!" he said, and then went on to ask about the means of making consignments and the forms to be gone through, and of all sorts of difficulties which might arise, but by forethought could be guarded against. I explained all these things to him to the best of my ability, and he certainly left me under the impression that he would have made a wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not think of or foresee. For a man who was never in the country, and who did not evidently do much in the way of business, his knowledge and acumen were wonderful. When he had satisfied himself on these points of which he had spoken, and I had verified all as well as I could by the books available, he suddenly stood up and said:---

"Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. Peter Hawkins, or to any other?" It was with some bitterness in my heart that I answered that I had not, that as yet I had not seen any opportunity of sending letters to anybody.

"Then write now, my young friend," he said, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder: "write to our friend and to any other; and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now."

"Do you wish me to stay so long?" I asked, for my heart grew cold at the thought.

"I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master, employer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on his behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I have not stinted. Is it not so?"

What could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkins's interest, not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself; and besides, while Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his bearing which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I could have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow, and his mastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them, but in his own smooth, resistless way:---

"I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to getting home to them. Is it not so?" As he spoke he handed me three sheets of note-paper and three envelopes. They were all of the thinnest foreign post, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood as well as if he had spoken that I should be careful what I wrote, for he would be able to read it. So I determined to write only formal notes now, but to write fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for to her I could write in shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if he did see it. When I had written my two letters I sat quiet, reading a book whilst the Count wrote several notes, referring as he wrote them to some books on his table. Then he took up my two and placed them with his own, and put by his writing materials, after which, the instant the door had closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at the letters, which were face down on the table. I felt no compunction in doing so, for under the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every way I could.

One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7, The Crescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna; the third was to Coutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock & Billreuth, bankers, Buda-Pesth. The second and fourth were unsealed. I was just about to look at them when I saw the door-handle move. I sank back in my seat, having just had time to replace the letters as they had been and to resume my book before the Count, holding still another letter in his hand, entered the room. He took up the letters on the table and stamped them carefully, and then turning to me, said:---

"I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in private this evening. You will, I hope, find all things as you wish." At the door he turned, and after a moment's pause said:---

"Let me advise you, my dear young friend -- nay, let me warn you with all seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be like to do, then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for your rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in this respect, then" -- He finished his speech in a gruesome way, for he motioned with his hands as if he were washing them. I quite understood; my only doubt was as to whether any dream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloom and mystery which seemed closing around me.

[bites-kms]

La Joie de Vivre: Paris 32mm

Just came from Le Caveau de la Huchette - yes, the jazz club from La-La-Land. I didn’t know this, until I was at the door. I was just looking for a fun place to have a drink or two on a Thursday night and what a joy I found. I literally found the joy of life, or the Parisian way - la joie de vivre.

These people, they were so immerse into the beat, it was très magnifique. Specially there was this one women, with style and grace, short hair, long earrings, long skirt -long according to her age but edgy enough let her wave and move around-, without a bra, laughing and shaking her arms towards the back while killing the dance floor at the beat and rhythm of bebop with his partner, a black man with a white haired afro, with the same big smile and crazy moves as her. It was amazing. I only felt tele transported like this before and it was at Nicky’s, the best Speakeasy bar in Buenos Aires. But this was the real deal: I am in Paris, living the late roaring 20s, in between wars after the American soldiers fought in Paris, in a lost cave right next Ile de cité, few blocks away from Notre Dame. 

photocredits: Black Label Media  Although I must confess I was expecting to meet my Ryan Gosling - and yes, I did remember our dance mov(i)es - I met Mr. PH, or Pierre-Henri, the lovely Swedish/French, who lived in Utah from Uppsala. It’s amazing to be able to connect with all these people through music, regardless of age and origin, and this was even more special due to my Swedish experience. We danced and laughed a lot. I proudly made a fool of myself and decided I’m gonna learn this dance once Im back in NYC. Then I met Maurice, a younger, intriguing French guy with whom we danced more upbeat my-hips-dont-lie songs. That was some intense moves going on there! I had such a wonderful time I couldn’t wait to come home to write about it, I hope to make justice to the amazing experience I just had. Walking down the Seine, as Owen Willson in Midnight in Paris, I came back home - to this evil, evil Airbnb, not without stoping by the Louvre and enjoying all its secrets, changing my movie switch to the Da Vinci Code.

It’s still mesmerizes me how much these narratives shape our collective perspectives on the world. I was thinking about this exact same issue while walking down my office’s street the other day, back in NY, and saw a couple of police patrols going around like crazy, with a black SUV that looked as if it was from the FBI and a small but intense manifestation. I was surprised on how quiet the protesters were after the police cars passed by and didn’t make much sense to me. That was when I finally realized I was living this meta-reality and was tricked by my very own mind: this was all a set up for Gotham and I thought it was the real deal. I couldn’t stop laughing and my mind exploded for a couple of very long minutes trying to understand and process all these realities happening at the same time in my head!  So yes, this is my tribute to them, to the movies, to those little pieces of realities that we share in 32 mm (or blue ray, but that way is not that picturesque any more) And it feels weird that I start this tribute in Paris and not in New York, but I guess the NYC experience still feels a little bit surreal to me. At least here I know I’m not staying for good, I’m just here for 10 days, so I guess that makes me way more objective, an eager observer and an obsessed analytic of every minute.

I deserved some celebration after the success on the US embassy, so I decided to start with the simplest thing: let’s go for dinner! I went for my poulette avec pomme de terre but since it only came with fries, I switched it for the plat du soir and felt a little bit of the Jack Nicholson’s magic on Something Gotta Give at the Grand Colbert restaurant.  

I ended up in the most surreal circumstances on a Friday’s night. Lost, during a thin-rainy eve in Paris, searching for hidden wifi hotspots in order to reach my destination: a typical French bistro by Le Marais. What I didnt realized, was that I was gonna run into this typical French guy called William. William, is actually a PHD professor and researcher from Atlanta- although he has been living in France since forever, and as per a Woody Allen movie, he was wearing a brown suit jacket which was double his proper size. He was also wearing bigger trousers -not pants- and we debated about morality, existence and transcendence of matter and language over the Frankfurt School, Marcuse, Horkheimer, Adorno for more than 4 hours, having wine, charcuterie and terrine. It was a very nice movie cliche to experience without even planning it!

Who knew Paris was so famous in movies? I mean, of course in the collective imagery it is, but I didn’t actually realize the size nor the amount of “featured time” Paris have in this movie so called life. After my wonderful La-La-Land experience, my expectations were high and difficult to match, but oh you, dear Amélie, that was a hell of a Saturday we shared together! 

I went to Montmartre and started my film on the Abesees station, right next to the carrousel, close to her apartment. After a beautiful morning stroll with the sun on my face and the joy on each and every single pore of my being, I found the Cafe des 2 Moulins, where she enjoys the small but amazing things of life. Little did I know that not only the creme brûlée was gonna be amazing, but the atmosphere and the memories would be as such! The waiter became my fan: he noticed I was writing in my journal and started hitting on me with the sweetest and cheesiest lines ever, talking about the movie, practicing and mixing English and French, gifting me a pain au chocolat, drawing a heart gesture on the air before giving it to me. He even dared to asked for my number in the most courageous yet sweet way imaginable! It really made my day. Thanks Jullien, that was fun! Of course I also checked out the Studio 28 Cinema, where Amelie enjoys her movies. BITES & KMS SAYS: That’s a meta-hyper reality indeed: Amelie, a fictional character which I watch, goes and watches movies to the cinema in a narrative fiction, located on the same place I am standing right now in real life, thinking and wondering about what that character would be feeling at that moment, with the difference that I am feeling it right now. Wow #mindblown

Of course, I couldn’t stop singing My Song, performed by Christian (Ewan McGregor), feeling a little bit like Satine from Moulin Rouge, while going up and down hills. I hate Boulevard de Clichy, I absolutely hate it: it’s dirty, touristy, with no style nor personality, full of weird people in the bad sense weird can be understood. But well, even though the Bal du Moulin Rouge is located there, this is not whatsoever the best part of the Quarter. So, I kept my musical dream alive and went around the other small and hidden streets. I actually found a spot, which was absolutely perfect. I needed to stop and write about it. My piece of paper said something like this: “Little pieces of Paris, small and unique as the cobblestones of their streets, where only the little birds sing and the sun warms the soul, in between the distant buzz and talks from the tourists.” I imagine a little chambre on one of those top balconies, with lovers singing to each other, having sex and drinking wine in bed at 11 am on a Sunday, waiting to be drunk again to keep sleeping. I stopped by this wonderful Bistro called Le Sancerre. I had my first glass of champagne and had a delicious lunch, falling in love with all these movies, one scene at a time.

The following day I had a very specific location in mind: the Coulee Verte Rene Dumont: secret lover gardens. Only true Parisians go there and take their dates in hopes of some French kiss action. It is quite far off the tourist circuit, and that made me realized how the US is a rough copy of the best of France, with a very local spin. The Highline, that architecture phenomenon everyone is proud of, already existed here in Paris more than a century ago, and still lingers today. So, sorry Paula Scher, there’s nothing new under the sun. And talking about the sun, this was the setting for Before Sunset. I went there to seek inspiration and to reflect upon that proper dialogue that happens in the movie. Was sex with Ethan Hawke that forgettable or was it actually remarkable? Was he really happy with his wife? Why aren’t they together? Are they meant to be? 

I guess there is just time to listen to some Nina Simone - which, for the time being, we can switch for French Edit Piaf or Italian Mina- and to whomever is asking when I’m flying back, I’m just gonna do as Ethan Hawke: 

Celine- Hey Babe, you’re gonna miss that plane. Jesse- I know.

[readbookywooks]

LETTER FROM MISS MINA MURRAY TO MISS LUCY WESTENRA

9 May. My dearest Lucy, Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply overwhelmed with work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress is sometimes trying. I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air. I have been working very hard lately, because I want to keep up with Jonathan's studies, and I have been practicing shorthand very assiduously. When we are married I shall be able to be useful to Jonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough I can take down what he wants to say in this way and write it out for him on the typewriter, at which also I am practicing very hard. He and I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping a stenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I am with you I shall keep a diary in the same way. I don't mean one of those two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but a sort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel inclined. I do not suppose there will be much of interest to other people, but it is not intended for them. I may show it to Jonathan some day if there is in it anything worth sharing, but it is really an exercise book. I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do, interviewing and writing descriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that, with a little practice, one can remember all that goes on or that one hears said during a day. However, we shall see. I will tell you of my little plans when we meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan from Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week. I am longing to hear all his news. It must be nice to see strange countries. I wonder if we, I mean Jonathan and I, shall ever see them together. There is the ten o'clock bell ringing. Goodbye. Your loving Mina Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me anything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall, handsome, curly-haired man.??? LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY 17, Chatham Street Wednesday My dearest Mina, I must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad correspondent. I wrote you twice since we parted, and your last letter was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is really nothing to interest you. Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a great deal to picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at the last Pop. Someone has evidently been telling tales. That was Mr. Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and Mamma get on very well together, they have so many things to talk about in common. We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not already engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellant parti, being handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and twenty, and he has an immense lunatic asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called here to see us, and often comes now. I think he is one of the most resolute men I ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read one's thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if you have never tried it. He say that I afford him a curious psychological study, and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore. That is slang again, but never mind. Arthur says that every day. There, it is all out, Mina, we have told all our secrets to each other since we were children. We have slept together and eaten together, and laughed and cried together, and now, though I have spoken, I would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn't you guess? I love him. I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves me, he has not told me so in words. But, oh, Mina, I love him. I love him! There, that does me good. I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as we used to sit, and I would try to tell you what I feel. I do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the letter, and I don't want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all. Let me hear from you at once, and tell me all that you think about it. Mina, pray for my happiness. Lucy P.S. - I need not tell you this is a secret. Goodnight again. L. LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY 24 May My dearest Mina, Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter. It was so nice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy. My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are. Here am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had a proposal till today, not a real proposal, and today I had three. Just fancy! Three proposals in one day! Isn't it awful! I feel sorry, really and truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am so happy that I don't know what to do with myself. And three proposals! But, for goodness' sake, don't tell any of the girls, or they would be getting all sorts of extravagant ideas, and imagining themselves injured and slighted if in their very first day at home they did not get six at least. Some girls are so vain! You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged and are going to settle down soon soberly into old married women, can despise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the three, but you must keep it a secret, dear, from every one except, of course, Jonathan. You will tell him, because I would, if I were in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A woman ought to tell her husband everything. Don't you think so, dear? And I must be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to be quite as fair as they are. And women, I am afraid, are not always quite as fair as they should be. Well, my dear, number One came just before lunch. I told you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic asylum man, with the strong jaw and the good forehead. He was very cool outwardly, but was nervous all the same. He had evidently been schooling himself as to all sorts of little things, and remembered them, but he almost managed to sit down on his silk hat, which men don't generally do when they are cool, and then when he wanted to appear at ease he kept playing with a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke to me, Mina, very straightfordwardly. He told me how dear I was to him, though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with me to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said he was a brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he broke off and asked if I could love him in time, and when I shook my head his hands trembled, and then with some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one else. He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring my confidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman's heart was free a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there was some one. I only told him that much, and then he stood up, and he looked very strong and very grave as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that If I ever wanted a friend I must count him one of my best. Oh, Mina dear, I can't help crying, and you must excuse this letter being all blotted. Being proposed to is all very nice and all that sort of thing, but it isn't at all a happy thing when you have to see a poor fellow, whom you know loves you honestly, going away and looking all broken hearted, and to know that, no matter what he may say at the moment, you are passing out of his life. My dear, I must stop here at present, I feel so miserable, though I am so happy. Evening. Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when I left off, so I can go on telling you about the day. Well, my dear, number Two came after lunch. He is such a nice fellow,and American from Texas, and he looks so young and so fresh that it seems almost impossible that he has been to so many places and has such adventures. I sympathize with poor Desdemona when she had such a stream poured in her ear, even by a black man. I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know now what I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I don't, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never told any, and yet. . . My dear, I am somewhat previous. Mr. Quincy P. Morris found me alone. It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he doesn't, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him all I could, I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell you beforehand that Mr. Morris doesn't always speak slang, that is to say, he never does so to strangers or before them, for he is really well educated and has exquisite manners, but he found out that it amused me to hear him talk American slang,and whenever I was present, and there was no one to be shocked, he said such funny things. I am afraid, my dear, he has to invent it all, for it fits exactly into whatever else he has to say. But this is a way slang has. I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang. I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any as yet. Well, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and looked as happy and jolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he was very nervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so sweetly. . . "Miss Lucy, I know I ain't good enough to regulate the fixin's of your little shoes, but I guess if you wait till you find a man that is you will go join them seven young women with the lamps when you quit. Won't you just hitch up alongside of me and let us go down the long road together, driving in double harness?" Well, he did look so hood humoured and so jolly that it didn't seem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward. So I said, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of hitching, and that I wasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he said that he had spoken in a light manner, and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, and occasion for him, I would forgive him. He really did look serious when he was saying it, and I couldn't help feeling a sort of exultation that he was number Two in one day. And then, my dear, before I could say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest over it that I shall never again think that a man must be playful always, and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I suppose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he suddenly stopped,and said with a sort of manly fervour that I could have loved him for if I had been free. . . "Lucy, you are an honest hearted girl, I know. I should not be here speaking to you as I am now if I did not believe you clean grit, right through to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like one good fellow to another, is there any one else that you care for? And if there is I'll never trouble you a hair's breadth again, but will be, if you will let me, a very faithful friend." My dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are so little worthy of them? Here was I almost making fun of this great hearted, true gentleman. I burst into tears, I am afraid, my dear, you will think this a very sloppy letter in more ways than one, and I really felt very badly. Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not say it. I am glad to say that, though I was crying, I was able to look into Mr. Morris' brave eyes, and I told him out straight. . . "Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that he even loves me." I was right to speak to him so frankly, for quite a light came into his face, and he put out both his hands and took mine, I think I put them into his, and said in a hearty way. . . "That's my brave girl. It's better worth being late for a chance of winning you than being in time for any other girl in the world. Don't cry, my dear. If it's for me, I'm a hard nut to crack, and I take it standing up. If that other fellow doesn't know his happiness, well, he'd better look for it soon, or he'll have to deal with me. Little girl, your honesty and pluck have made me a friend, and that's rarer than a lover, it's more selfish anyhow. My dear, I'm going to have a pretty lonely walk between this and Kingdom Come. Won't you give me one kiss? It'll be something to keep off the darkness now and then. You can, you know, if you like, for that other good fellow, or you could not love him, hasn't spoken yet." That quite won me, Mina, for it was brave and sweet of him, and noble too, to a rival, wasn't it? And he so sad, so I leant over and kissed him. He stood up with my two hands in his, and as he looked down into my face, I am afraid I was blushing very much, he said, "Little girl, I hold your hand, and you've kissed me, and if these things don't make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you for your sweet honesty to me, and goodbye." He wrung my hand, and taking up his hat, went straight out of the room without looking back, without a tear or a quiver or a pause, and I am crying like a baby. Oh, why must a man like that be made unhappy when there are lots of girls about who would worship the very ground he trod on? I know I would if I were free, only I don't want to be free My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it,and I don't wish to tell of the number Three until it can be all happy. Ever your loving. . . Lucy P.S. - Oh, about number Three, I needn't tell you of number Three, need I? Besides, it was all so confused. It seemed only a moment from his coming into the room till both his arms were round me, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend. Goodbye. DR. SEWARD'S DIARY (Kept in phonograph) 25 May. - Ebb tide in appetite today. Cannot eat, cannot rest, so diary instead. since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of empty feeling. Nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing. As I knew that the only cure for this sort of thing was work, I went amongst the patients. I picked out one who has afforded me a study of much interest. He is so quaint that I am determined to understand him as well as I can. Today I seemed to get nearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery. I questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a view to making myself master of the facts of his hallucination. In my manner of doing it there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I seemed to wish to keep him to the point of his madness, a thing which I avoid with the patients as I would the mouth of hell. (Mem., Under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of hell?) Omnia Romae venalia sunt. Hell has its price! If there be anything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it afterwards accurately, so I had better commence to do so, therefore. . . R. M, Renfield, age 59. Sanguine temperament, great physical strength, morbidly excitable, periods of gloom, ending in some fixed idea which I cannot make out. I presume that the sanguine temperament itself and the disturbing influence end in a mentally-accomplished finish, a possibly dangerous man, probably dangerous if unselfish. In selfish men caution is as secure an armour for their foes as for themselves. What I think of on this point is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force is balanced with the centrifugal. When duty, a cause, etc., is the fixed point, the latter force is paramount, and only accident of a series of accidents can balance it. LETTER, QUINCEY P. MORRIS TO HON. ARTHUR HOLMOOD 25 May. My dear Art, We've told yarns by the campfire in the prairies, and dressed one another's wounds after trying a landing at the Marquesas, and drunk healths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more yarns to be told,and other wounds to be healed, and another health to be drunk. Won't you let this be at my campfire tomorrow night? I have no hesitation in asking you, as I know a certain lady is engaged to a certain dinner party, and that you are free. There will only be one other, our old pal at the Korea, Jack Seward. He's coming, too, and we both want to mingle our weeps over the wine cup, and to drink a health with all our hearts to the happiest man in all the wide world, who has won the noblest heart that God has made and best worth winning. We promise you a hearty welcome, and a loving greeting, and a health as true as your own right hand. We shall both swear to leave you at home if you drink too deep to a certain pair of eyes. Come! Yours, as ever and always, Quincey P. Morris TELEGRAM FROM ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO QUINCEY P. MORRIS 26 May Count me in every time. I bear messages which will make both your ears tingle. Art

[faithful-grigori]

“#I just love how Mina writes ok?????, #Her writing voice is so good, #An it's so sad that she has to repress her own feelings in a journal that is supposed to be private, #Yet we have to remember that Mina is also using this journal as practice so it is actually in character for her, #To not ''give in'' her feelings”

The tension building at Whitby now that the Demeter is near the shore is very delicate, it's the tracks of a train going at a very high speed towards a wall. It's inevitable, and it will have consequences that will impact the narrative. No matter what we want to do, the only thing left is watch.

So Mina, in her controlled melancholy over both Lucy and Jonathan, writes in her journal to document along with process all of her feelings towards all of the events that are happening. However, Mina's stress has been turning up so much that it affects her writing when she is not documenting stuff like the weather, or Mr. Swales' monologues.

We get one single line referring to Lucy:

"Lucy is more excitable than ever, but is otherwise well."

It feels like an assurance to herself rather than a simple mention. Instead of telling, or describing Lucy in a more lovely detail, Mina just tells that she is a little bit more anxious, but well you know? Lucy is well... There is no mention of Lucy's sleepwalking progress, nor if there are any meaningful changes so far. Which, if I can say, for Mina is enough for now.

Mina's dread also has invaded more her worries over Jonathan, more than other days since the weather in Whitby seems to be affecting everyone, and everything.

"If I only knew where to write to or where to go to."

One character trait which is a core trait for Mina is her "do-er" personality. It's a layer that is intricate to all of her actions. Mina is a very active character, she thinks and she acts. She needs to act because Mina searches for the answers to her questions so she can know what to do. This line implied that the only thing stopping Mina from going to Transylvania herself to search for Jonathan is the lack of concrete information about his fate.

Mina is an active character, but she needs information to know how to act, because above all Mina is a very grounded woman who knows what limits her in her actions.

"Here comes old Mr. Swales. He is making straight for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, that he wants to talk.... I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man."

Something is affecting Mr. Swales. It seems that Mina expected another story, or a anectode, but the old sailor came with an apology. Mina's control over emotions may have slipped a little bit if he noticed. Then, an incredible speech about the comfort of death is said with the property of someone who knows it well.

All old people are like that, they speak of death in a more "careless" because they have lived well, and since all of their friends (the ones that are still there) are in the same road, they often forget how this may "upset" younger people, people who have still not lived enough like Mina. It is touching to hear Mr. Swales to tell Mina that she doesn’t need to worry about his death because he is not either, and she only needs to remember him as that cynical old sailor who told her so much about ghost stories.

Yet, after Mr. Swales' speech what Mina has left is unrest, no actions, and no answers. Lucy is still sleepwalking, and Jonathan is still on the limbo between life and death. If Whitby's weather warns of something coming, and Mr. Swales speaks of how death is the only thing that awaits all of US in the end...

... then what would become of her, and her Jonathan?