This is an oddity of a book; a novelisation of a film that claimed to be a faithful adaptation of a novel.
Fred Saberhagen is, of course, no stranger to Dracula, having written a whole series about the further adventures of the Count. However, he seems uneasy with this book, working as he is with Francis Ford Coppola’s “unique” vision of Stoker’s monster.
He does his best to work with the romantic subplot that Coppola clumsily shoehorned into the story, but one can sense his distaste. The bits without Mina and Vlad mooning over each other roll along with a vigour completely lacking from the lovey-dovey nonsense, and it feels very much as if Saberhagen enjoyed writing them more. His characterisations serve the cast better than the film does, in particular Jonathan Harker, who here has more backbone.
If you’re a fan of the movie, it’s a fun read. It gets four stars because Saberhagen is always a page-turner, but for fans of Stoker’s vampire, it’s a mild curiosity at best, a terrible disappointment at worst.