Elizabeth Kostova

Late one night, exploring her father's library, a young woman finds an ancient book and a cache of yellowing letters addressed ominously to 'My dear and unfortunate successor'. Her discovery plunges her into a world she never dreamed of - a labyrinth where the secrets of her father's past and her mother's mysterious fate connect to an evil hidden in the depths of history. In those few quiet moments, she unwittingly assumes a quest she will discover is her birthright - a hunt for the truth about Vlad the Impaler, the medieval ruler whose barbarous reign formed the basis of the Dracula myth. Deciphering obscure signs and hidden texts, reading codes worked into the fabric of medieval monastic traditions, and evading terrifying adversaries, one woman comes ever closer to the secret of her own past and a confrontation with the very definition of evil. Elizabeth Kostova's debut novel is an adventure of monumental proportions - a captivating tale that blends fact and fantasy, history and the present with an assurance that is almost unbearably suspenseful - and utterly unforgettable.

A Novel

The Historian

“ That is how we left my dearest friend resting in Bulgaria, may he sleep there in peace until the end of the world.”

"Here is the history of Mehmed, may he rot in hell, by a Christian historian turned flatterer. May he rot in hell also."

I never knew what it meant to be lonely before I left you, because I had never been loved as your father loved me—and you, too, I think.

the study of history should be our preparation for understanding the present, rather than an escape from it.

Silje Løvli Lorentsen

I stood watching a wave of loss come through the celestial air toward me, through that beautiful morning. Then my grief reached me, an unspeakable fire.

Ahead of us, at the end of the valley, I saw two peaks rising sharply out of the hills, two lone mountains like angular wings. And between them, still far off, we could see the towers of a little church. Helen suddenly grasped my hand hard.

I wonder if you will find me before I can find him. I wonder if he will find me before I can find him. I wonder why he has not found me already. I wonder if I will ever see you again.

The doors to the other rooms stood ajar, and sunlight filtered into them through the green trees in the windows opposite and caressed the bindings of innumerable books, books that lined the walls and sat in wooden crates on the floor, or lay heaped on tables. Among them were shelved loose documents of all shapes and sizes, many of them clearly of great antiquity. No, this was not Rossi's neat study but rather a sort of cluttered laboratory, the upper story of a collector's mind. Everywhere I saw sunlight touching old vellum, old leather, tooled bindings, hints of gilt, crumbling page corners, knobby bindings – red and brown and bone-colored wonderful books – books and scrolls and manuscripts in a working disarray. Nothing was dusty, nothing heavy was heaped on anything fragile, and yet these books, these manuscripts were absolutely everywhere in Stoichev's rooms, and I had a sense of being surrounded by them in a way one is not even in a museum, where such precious objects would have been more sparsely, methodically displayed.

The poor victim's face was ashen, his eyes were closed, and his breath came in rattling gasps. There was an ugly tear in his neck, larger than when we'd last seen it, but the more horrible because it was strangely clean, if ragged, with only a fringe of blood at the edges. It occurred to me that such a deep wound ought to bleed copiously, and the realization sent a thrill of nausea to my stomach.

The track soon narrowed to a small wagon road, and after this to a footpath through the forest, which sloped upward before us. Only the last stretch gave us a steep climb, and this we negotiated with ease. Suddenly, we were on a windy ridge, a stony spine that broke out of the forest. At the very top of this spine, on a vertebra higher than all the rest, clung two ruined towers and a litter of walls, all that remained of Castle Dracula.

I felt a kind of dread even before he put his hand up to pull the cord, and when the cleverly made drapery parted under his grasp, my heart seemed to turn over. The velvet opened to reveal a life-size and radiantly lifelike painting in oils, the head and shoulders of a young, thick-necked, virile man. His hair was long: heavy black curls tumbled around his shoulders. The face was handsome and cruel in the extreme, with luminously pale skin, unnaturally bright green eyes, a long straight nose with flaring nostrils. His red lips were curved and sensual under a drooping dark mustache, but also tightly compressed as if to control a twitching of the chin. He had sharp cheekbones and heavy black eyebrows below a peaked cap of dark green velvet, with a brown-and-white feather threaded into the front. It was a face full of life but completely devoid of compassion, brimming with strength and alertness but without stability of character. The eyes were the most unnerving feature of the painting: they fxed us with a penetration almost alive in its intensity, and after a second I looked away for relief.

"But the first impression I had of Turgut's study was not on of the preeminence of English literature; I had instead the immediate sense of a darker presence, an obsession that had gradually overcome the milder influence of the English works he wrote about. This presence leaped out at me suddenly as a face, a face that was everywhere, meeting my gaze with arrogance from a print behind the desk, from a stand on the table, from an odd piece of embroidery on one wall, from the cover of a portfolio, from a sketch near the window. It was the same face in every case, caught in different poses and different media, but always the same gaunt- cheeked, mustached, medieval visage.

The room was filled with a pleasant greenish light, mixed with soft pink and yellow. I realized after moment that this was sunlight fltering through a blend of trees outside two large windows with hazy curtains of an old white lace. The room was lined with extraordinary furniture, very low, carved of dark wood, and cushioned in rich fabrics. Around three walls ran a bench heaped with lace-covered pillows. Above this, the whitewashed walls were lined with prints and paintings of Istanbul, a portrait of an old man in a fez and one of a younger man in a black suit, a framed parchment covered with fine Arabic calligraphy. There were fading sepia photographs of the city and cabinets lined with brass coffee services. The corners were filled with colorfully glazed vases brimming with roses. Underfoot lay deep rugs in crimson, rose, and soft green. 

Never before had I known the sudden quiver of understanding that travels from word to brain to heart, the way a new language can move, coil, swim into life under the eyes, the almost savage leap of comprehension, the instantaneous, joyful release of meaning, the way the words shed their printed bodies in a flash of heat and light. 

The dim room was indeed tiny, and hushed, too, set far back from the voices of tourists below. August volumes crowded the shelves, their bindings caramel colored and brittle as old bone. Among them, a human skull in a little gilded glass case attested to the collection's morbid nature.

The castle was made of brown stones like discolored bone, joined neatly together after some long state of dilapidation. When we came through the first passageway to a chamber of state (I suppose it was), I gasped: through a leaded window the surface of the lake shone a thousand feet below, stretching white in the sunlight. The castle seemed to be clinging to the edge of the precipice with only its toes dug in for support. The yellow-and-red church on the island below, the cheerful boat docking just then among tiny beds of red-and-yellow flowers, the great blue sky, had all served centuries of tourists, I thought.

"This is not such an old book" he told me. "But it has some very old stories in it. They are not very happy reading, my dear, but maybe they will help you write your paper." Mr. Binnerts settled me at a table, and I looked gratefully at his retreating sweater. It touched me to be trusted with something terrible. 

At farms along the road we stopped to buy picnics better than any restaurant could have made for us: boxes of new strawberries that gave off a red glow in the sun and seemed to need no washing; cylinders of goat cheese weighty as barbells and encrusted with a rough gray mold, as if they'd been rolled across a cellar floor. My father drank dark red wine, unlabeled and costing only centimes, which he recorked after each meal, carrying with it a small glass wrapped carefully in a napkin. For dessert we ravaged whole loaves of newly baked bread from the last town, inserting squares of dark chocolate into them.

Maybe it was because Rossi was on my mind as I passed under his windows that I became acutely aware of his lamp still shining there. In any case, I was actually stepping into the puddles of light thrown from them onto the street, heading toward my own neighborhood, when they – the pools of light –went out quite literally under my feet. It happened in a fraction of a second, but a thrill of horror washed over me, head to foot. 

My first glimpse of this change had brought tears of surprise to my eyes in the train lavatory, as if someone had wounded me; the smudge on my sensible cotton underpants looked like the thumbprint of a murderer.

...far below us, an ivory city with a molten, sunlit sea breaking around its walls, roofs redder than the evening sky inside their tremendous medieval enclosure. The city sat on a large round peninsula, and its walls looked impenetrable to sea storm and invasion, a giant wading off the Adriatic coast. At the same time, seen from the great height of the road, it had a miniature appearance, like something carved by hand and set down out of scale at the base of the mountains. 

historian´s library

In this internationally bestselling novel, the author of The Swan Thieves has 'refashioned the vampire myth into a compelling...late-night page-turner' - San Francisco Chronicle Late one night, exploring her father's library, a young woman finds an ancient book and a cache of yellowing letters addressed ominously to 'My dear and unfortunate successor'. Her discovery plunges her into a world she never dreamed of - a labyrinth where the secrets of her father's past and her mother's mysterious fate connect to an evil hidden in the depths of history. In those few quiet moments, she unwittingly assumes a quest she will discover is her birthright - a hunt for the truth about Vlad the Impaler, the medieval ruler whose barbarous reign formed the basis of the Dracula myth. Deciphering obscure signs and hidden texts, reading codes worked into the fabric of medieval monastic traditions, and evading terrifying adversaries, one woman comes ever closer to the secret of her own past and a confrontation with the very definition of evil. Elizabeth Kostova's debut novel is an adventure of monumental proportions - a captivating tale that blends fact and fantasy, history and the present with an assurance that is almost unbearably suspenseful - and utterly unforgettable. 'Quite extraordinary....Kostova is a natural storyteller....She has refashioned the vampire myth into a compelling contemporary novel, a late-night page-turner' - San Francisco Chronicle 'Filled with fascinating details of archaic vampire lore, the splendours of the Ottoman Empire and the beauty of the Romanian countryside' - Times Literary Supplement

Wish I wasn't such a slow and sporadical reader. This book is simply amazing. 

Hogne 

As I released her, turning swiftly back to my briefcase and to Helen, I saw on the older woman's face the gleam of a single tear. I've read there is no such thing as a single tear, that old poetic trope. And perhaps there isn't, since hers was simply companion to my own. 

Sara 

athena

A beautiful book that made me never want to put it down. So much history was packing into this book, and it feels as though I’ve looked through a portal into the past. 

Tory Gaudreau

To you, perceptive reader, I bequeath my history....Late one night, exploring her father's library, a young woman finds an ancient book and a cache of yellowing letters. The letters are all addressed to "My dear and unfortunate successor," and they plunge her into a world she never dreamed of-a labyrinth where the secrets of her father's past and her mother's mysterious fate connect to an inconceivable evil hidden in the depths of history.The letters provide links to one of the darkest powers that humanity has ever known-and to a centuries-long quest to find the source of that darkness and wipe it out. It is a quest for the truth about Vlad the Impaler, the medieval ruler whose barbarous reign formed the basis of the legend of Dracula. Generations of historians have risked their reputations, their sanity, and even their lives to learn the truth about Vlad the Impaler and Dracula. Now one young woman must decide whether to take up this quest herself-to follow her father in a hunt that nearly brought him to ruin years ago, when he was a vibrant young scholar and her mother was still alive. What does the legend of Vlad the Impaler have to do with the modern world? Is it possible that the Dracula of myth truly existed-and that he has lived on, century after century, pursuing his own unknowable ends? The answers to these questions cross time and borders, as first the father and then the daughter search for clues, from dusty Ivy League libraries to Istanbul, Budapest, and the depths of Eastern Europe. In city after city, in monasteries and archives, in letters and in secret conversations, the horrible truth emerges about Vlad the Impaler's dark reign-and about a time-defying pact that may have kept his awful work alive down through the ages.Parsing obscure signs and hidden texts, reading codes worked into the fabric of medieval monastic traditions-and evading the unknown adversaries who will go to any lengths to conceal and protect Vlad's ancient powers-one woman comes ever closer to the secret of her own past and a confrontation with the very definition of evil. Elizabeth Kostova's debut novel is an adventure of monumental proportions, a relentless tale that blends fact and fantasy, history and the present, with an assurance that is almost unbearably suspenseful-and utterly unforgettable.

Bella Baxter

If I could have given this book a 3.5, I would have. It was interesting, to say in the least, but for the first 450 pages it was SO. BORING. It was a chore to push through the breadth of historical documents or architecture that I actually didn't care about. I did enjoy the journey the characters took to different countries and the casual interactions they had with one another. But I'm the type of reader that likes the constant suspense and thrill to keep me interested and this book just wasn't it. When I read a book, I'm committed from start to finish, so if I had a DNF shelf, it'd definitely be on it.

This book has forever ruined me for other books. The perfect (and I do not use this word lightly) balance between mystery and history, revealing clues and secrets little by little throughout the whole story. I can't believe I just read 700 pages, and I wasn't bored for a single one of them. 

Melissa Palmer

I loved the writing of this book. It was a great gothic read.

I love me a good historian pov. I really enjoyed how the narrative revealed itself starting from the pov of the daughter. 

Florence

The record-breaking phenomenon from Elizabeth Kostova is a celebrated masterpiece that "refashioned the vampire myth into a compelling contemporary novel, a late-night page-turner" (San Francisco Chronicle). Breathtakingly suspenseful and beautifully written, The Historian is the story of a young woman plunged into a labyrinth where the secrets of her family’s past connect to an inconceivable evil: the dark fifteenth-century reign of Vlad the Impaler and a time-defying pact that may have kept his awful work alive through the ages. The search for the truth becomes an adventure of monumental proportions, taking us from monasteries and dusty libraries to the capitals of Eastern Europe—in a feat of storytelling so rich, so hypnotic, so exciting that it has enthralled readers around the world. “Part thriller, part history, part romance...Kostova has a keen sense of storytelling and she has a marvelous tale to tell.” —Baltimore Sun

rumbledethumps

I'm really torn about this one. Overall I really enjoyed it. The story was fascinating, and Kostova kept a lot of balls in the air in order to ultimately deliver it. Her descriptions of setting are outstanding, as is her ability to build some tension in a scene.

However, these two things ultimately collide. Whenever there was mounting tension in the story, descriptions of place and food and people released the tension, which ultimately led to strange pacing  that just didn't feel appropriate to the story. 

Additionally, she isn't particularly good at writing distinct voices, which is especially problematic in that the story is told primarily through three people: the narrator, her father, and the father's mentor. Had I not listened to the audiobook for a lot of it, I would have had difficulty distinguishing the three from each other.

I'll read more from Kostova as this was her debut. I can only hope she figures out a way to bring her gifts for suspense and setting together in a way that serves the story.

Stefanie Viens

I thoroughly enjoyed this novel, despite the length and some tedious bits of monologue. I was quite entertained by the way Kostova backed up her Dracula lore with (what appear to be - I didn't double check) historical facts and cultural references. She makes the vampire king quite believable. <spoiler>I was pleasantly surprised during the last third of the book that Dracula was actually a real character, I kept expecting to be told that the narrator and her father had dreamt it all up, or that it was some religious cult operating under the Dracula guise.</spoiler> I felt like the supernatural element was very well integrated and it didn't just seem to appear out of nowhere.

Rachel Kanyid

THIS was SO good. My goodness. I've had it waiting on my "to-read" list for years I feel like and I finally got around to it and boy was it super good! Not usually a fan of vampire/related things, but this was so well crafted!

Jacqueline Jordan 

This book was quite long, but I enjoyed the vast majority of it. The plot was well-crafted and the characters were very realistic.

Izza

Christine W

I absolutely loved this, the twists & turns left you wondering what was real and what was fantasy. It was fantasy/ suspense mixed with old world mythos

Robert S.

I must add my disappointment to many others on this list. 

This book tries so hard to be good. It is well written. It has an interesting plot, "A family of historians get caught up in the search for Dracula's final resting place." And the setting is really wonderful.

But there are so many lousy parts of this book, I don't even know how to describe them. 

First, the story is narrated by the main character, Helen, in the modern era, who is reminiscing about her time as a young woman in the 1970s who was reading a journal from her father's younger days in the 1950s, who was reading the notes and papers of his mentor from the 1930s. That very idea stretches the idea of narration waaay to far.

Second, this book has no idea what it wants to be. The idea of historians following the real historical trail of Vlad Teppes is fascinating. The idea of these historians finding the real Dracula along the trail is also fascinating. But this book accepts both the historical truth of Dracula as well as all myths about vampires as being pure facts. No discovery that these things are real, just pure acceptance. 

Finally, the book's finale, which I won't spoil, pushes towards a horror/action climax, where the previous 600 pages were about tracing through history. And then, the true climax of the book, everyone is given a Disney like happy ending. 

If this book was 300 pages shorter, I could slightly recommend it, but it is too long to be this weak. 

I was very disappointed.

Charles Siboto

It's Dracula and librarians. You have to love it.

Mary Rose Luksha

At first I was very intrigued by this book. A friend of mine described it as "The Da Vinci Code for smart people," and I enjoyed that book and looked forward to reading this one.

In the beginning, I was not disappointed. There were twists and turns, and I even got a little scared when I would read it late at night.

But the way Kostova finishes the book, it's like...it's like she just wanted to be done with it, and so finished it up as quickly as she could. The end was so anti-climactic that I was incredibly unsatisfied after the slow but engaging build up she created.

While the book is written well, and it is a creative story, and it is incredibly engaging up until the last 100 pages, I feel cheated. I stuck with her, hoping for an insane climax, and I was given droll, boring, coincidences that led to the end of the book.

Spoiler:
If anyone else has read the book, don't you think it a little odd that all of the main characters just happened to see the same book, in the same library, and came to the same conclusion in order to meet simultaneously and save the day? Yeah, ok.

louis

love the book, it is very interesting and has a good plot . it confused me a little because of old names and places which ive never heard but it was still very good

I think I would have enjoyed this a lot more if I weren't Romanian lol 

Sarah Escorsa

After a very good beginning this book becomes a very tedious read... I'm really quite disappointed here, since I expected much better from this book! Oh well, I should know by now that two many raving critics often mean a big disappointment...

Amy Burnett

This has to be one of my favourite books. Easy to put down and pick up again, the writing is so beautiful and calm and the story is captivating. 

Historian

Maria Brogueira

good book, it takes a bit to actually make you want to read, but suddenly you just want to know the answer to everything!!!! I learned a lot about the History related to the time of Dracula, it was quite interesting

Rucha Phatak

I am in love with this book... I swear on the old blank book with a dragon in the middle that I found on my library desk...

Maria

торжественно освобождаю себя от дочитывания этой книги, промучившись до 80%

Sheila Goicea

I first came across this book when my friend and I were making paper roses for her wedding decorations out of old books. She had picked this book out for its beautifully "marshmallow" aged pages - where the edges have turned a hue of golden brown. We were gluing the petals together when I saw the word "Dracula." I immediately thought, "What have we done?!" Reading the description of the book, I knew I would eventually have to read it. 

My interest in Dracula and Romanian lore, first peaked after reading Bram Stoker's Dracula. Then, ironically, I ended up marrying my husband, who was born and raised not 30 minutes from Castelul Bran, or better known as Dracula's castle. 

Enough about me, and onto the book review...

This book was brilliantly written. 

I loved everything about this book. Yes, it is long, and takes a bit for the plot line to pick up in the beginning. But, the endurance reading is totally worth it. Kostova doesn't waste any words that she wrote, all having meaning and importance. For anyone who likes a meaty text, packed full of detail, historic locations, and all-encompassing plot lines, this is for you. 

Note, this is not about the Twilight-type vampires that are so prominent in today's literature. This is a twist off of the original  Dracula novel, dedicated to the story of Vlad Tepes of Wallachia.

A definite 5 stars.

This review can also be viewed on my blog: She's Going Book Crazy

The Historian A Novel

Reviews

Highlights