Bram Stoker

For twenty-seven years he ran Henry Irving’s Lyceum — contracts, tours, the most famous theatre in London — and wrote in the hours the stage did not take. Dublin civil servant first. Then the man behind the star. In the leftover time: an Irish novel, Egyptian resurrection, second sight and sea-caves, a woman who refuses the life laid out for her, a late and ugly worm in the English countryside. Dracula ate his name. It was not the only thing in the drawer. He liked a lock, a letter, and a room that should not open. The count is only the most famous guest.