An adventurous Victorian author-heroine, an atmospheric castle in a region made legendary by Bram Stoker, a secretive host family, and a murder mystery that coyly hints at the vampiric, all offered up in capable prose: The Dead Travel Fast by Deanna Raybourn carries the promise of delightful shivers and darkly intriguing romance. How on earth did it turn out dull?
1858. Author Theodora Lestrange leaves stifling family expectations and a disappointed suitor behind in Scotland to travel to her school friend Cosmina’s wedding in the Grand Principality of Transylvania (under the rule of the Austrian Habsburgs). She expects to find inspiration for her new novel there, and indeed discovers more than she bargained for.
Firstly, the wedding is off. Secondly, the supposed bridegroom, Count Andrei Dragulescu, casts smouldering looks over Theodora. Thirdly, a servant is found dead with puncture-marks on her neck. Add howling wolves and superstitious townspeople, and this becomes a soujourn that will change Theodora’s life – if it doesn’t kill her first.
I must point out that despite my flippant summary, this is not a comedy. The logo on the book spine classifies The Dead Travel Fast as historical fiction but I deem the tone and style vintage gothic romance. The cover, too, seems to imply a dark, sensuous, shivery read (the evocative title is drawn from the first chapter of Bram Stoker’s Dracula), depicting a candle-lit head-and-shoulders portrait of a woman in blood-red brocade. Although why she must thrust her breasts at the reader quite so generously escapes me; the level of sensuality in the book is certainly not spicy.
The Dead Travel Fast treads predictable paths. That in itself is posed no hindrance to my enjoyment: I have a fondness for gothic traditions and welcome the first person point of view. The first chapter caught my imagination with smooth writing, interesting characters, and a nice period voice. As for the paranormal component hinted at by the setting and the developing mystery, I like seeing tropes turned on their head and rather hoped that the vampire element would be revealed to be a smoke screen. Above all, I appreciated the well-wrought details that went into creating an eerie atmosphere full of murky undercurrents.
Where the novel fell flat for me was in the portrayals and interactions of the heroine and hero. After a solid start that sets Theodora up as a competent, intrepid individual whose unconventional leanings make her a heroine who is true to the period yet possesses attributes that make her naturally gravitate toward non-conformism, her character undergoes a marked change after she arrives at the castle. It is not merely a case of the atmosphere affecting her nerves or the experience of falling in love. No, I felt I lost hold of Theodora because her character suddenly becomes vague, morphous, inefficient; it was almost as if the author forgot herself and began using Theodora mainly a conduit for experiencing the other characters.
As for Andrei, he is too busy being a gothic stereotype to become a fully-fledged character in his own right. By turns aloof, by turns melodramatic, he seems intended to be a darkly seductive Byronic or Brontëesque hero yet fails miserably in the charisma department. Worse, he did not convince me that he deserved Theodora’s love. The lack of chemistry I perceived between Andrei and Theodora became especially problematic in their first love scene (the only one I read). Clinical and unemotional in tone, it also felt awkwardly written. Due to the manner in which the author chose to handle the scene it seemed as if the characters were having sex mainly to get it out of the way, and were both embarrassed about involving emotions. The latter could in theory have worked nicely both as an illuminating flash of period behaviour and a vehicle for character exploration. Instead, the technical execution left me with a slight feeling of distaste.
By contrast, Theodora’s rejected suitor, her publisher, Charles Beecroft, was well-developed, real and solid, winning my sympathies by proving an eminently likeable gentleman and true friend. Reading the first chapter I was even wondering whether the author was intending to pull a refreshing trick and have him instead of the back blurb’s nobleman be the actual hero. Theodora is straightforward and self-confident with Charles, whereas in the company of Andrei she becomes shy and almost childlike in her tremulous fascination.
Consequently, once the suspense began to falter, too, the story began to drag for me. I started putting the book down frequently, and when I picked it up again I would resort to skimming.
Warning: end spoiler:
Ultimately I skipped ahead to the end in a last effort to muster enthusiasm. Unfortunately, the pragmatic tenor of the relationship dismayed me. The buildup of the relationship had revolved around romantic attraction of the romance genre type rather than being an exploration of the meaning of love as seen in literary fiction. The last chapters jolted me from a romance into mainstream fiction. There is an HEA, but the impression it left on me was melancholy rather than uplifting. (In fact, it reminded me of the depressing quality of some of Victoria Holt’s books; an unspoken message that one must not demand too much of love, which does not have so much to do with an attempt at realism as with a certain gloomy outlook on life.) The very last paragraph reconciled me somewhat because in it Theodora’s story is shown to have come full circle. It is a fitting end that reflects an endearingly smug contentment.
End of spoiler.
The Dead Travel Fast is a novel to which I eagerly looked forward based on the setting, the subject matter, and praise for Deanna Raybourn’s romantic mystery series featuring Lady Julia (which I have not read). Although at times the story came close to earning a favourable opinion the characters ultimately failed to click with me. Still, the elements I did like were sufficiently engaging to entice me to give the book another chance at some future date. A snowstorm roaring around the eaves and a mug of hot chocolate at my lips might help tip the scales.
Excerpt (MIRA Books, 2010, page 178):
"He braced himself to pull away his coat and waistcoat, and it was then that I saw the first scarlet drops seeping through the white linen wound about his neck.
A chill ran through me, and I felt my heartbeat hard and fast in my throat as I stared in horror.
'What is it?' he demanded. Seeing the direction of my gaze, he put his hand to his neckcloth. His finger came away red, and he stared at it.
'An accident, when I shaved,' he said, but his complexion had gone white as marble, and he thrust himself away from me. The word strigoi hovered unspoken between us, souring the air.
'Go now,' he said harshly. He turned from me, and I rose, hesitating. Even then, I did not wish to leave him, even then, when the first seeded doubts about what he was began to flower.
He glanced once over his shoulder. 'I will save you even if you will not save yourself,' he said, his voice low and menacing. 'Go to your room and bolt the door. Hang the basil and say your prayers. Go now!' he roared, and I gathered up my skirts and fled from him."
