Yesterday – yes, yesterday, but that’s still ok – Bram Stoker turned 165-years-old. He was, of course, not here to eat cake or otherwise celebrate thanks to the small factor of human mortality, but, really, he lives forever. We all aspire to greatness (just bear with me and nod, come on), but only a handful of human animals will accomplish anything Great enough to achieve immortality – an immortality born of genius, an immortality granted through extraordinary creative innovation, an immortality that gets you your own doodle on the Google homepage.
Now that’s word.
The author of the infamous (and likewise immortal) and most glorious vampire, Count Dracula, (we are absolutely, completely, and whole-heartedly NOT going to talk about THIS) deserves a nod this weekend, methinks. So. Raise a glass, bite a neck and grab a copy of Dracula from Louisville’s own purveyor of fine and free books for hire.
With plenty of copies of the famous work in stock, as well as several biographies – including Bram Stoker: The Man Who Wrote Dracula by Steven Otfinoski and Bram Stoker: A Biography of the Author of Dracula by Barbara Belford – you can sink those teeth into a plethora of literary delights (I’m sorry, that was so, so terrible – forgive me, kids).
Better late than never, right, my loves?
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