Two Literary Notes.

It’s occasionally struck me as odd that there are so many authors called James. There’s Henry James, MR James, Adobe James, Clive James, PD James… How many authors are there called Dickens, or Fowles, or Nabokov, or Hemmingway? Or even Smith, for that matter. At one time I considered writing my own fiction under the nom-de-plume Jeffrey James, they being my two forenames. I didn’t, and I doubt it would have made the slightest difference to anything anyway, but at least I would have insinuated myself with some justification into good company.

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I finished the movie Bram Stoker’s Dracula last night. I still have misgivings about it, but it was interesting to see Mina cut off the Count’s head to serve her duty to romantic love for him, rather than for the sake of vengeance or the saving of humanity. And I’m not sure whether I was pleased or disappointed that at no time did the four intrepid vampire hunters – good, brave men all – ever squeeze each other’s hands or become too emotional to weep. I suppose that, at least, was one improvement on the book.