By NORMAN SPINRAD (Gryphon Pubns; 1994)

This novella, originally serialized in TOMORROW magazine, is a rare foray into vampire lore by science fiction legend Norman Spinrad (for the record, VAMPIRE JUNKIES was republished in the 1994 French-language collection VAMPS, together with three other bloodsucking-themed Spinrad stories).  It has a great central concept, and a raunchy streetwise verve that’s pure Spinrad (not a writer known for his restraint), but the telling leaves something to be desired.

The central character is no less than Count Dracula himself.  Fleeing the “unseemly chaos” in his homeland of Romania (presumably the 1989 revolution that took place therein), the Count settles in the fabled Chelsea Hotel.  This, remember, was pre-Giuliani NYC, when the city was beset by drugs, murder and homelessness.  Drac’s first encounter is with a junkie prostitute named Mary, who he administers what she initially believes is a hickey.

The story is related in brief chapters with pithy headings (“Take a Hit on Me,” “Shuttin’ Down the Avenue,” etc.) that alternate the first person recollections of Dracula and Mary.  His language is opulent and refined, while hers is streetwise and slang-riddled (“Hey, not bad, considering I scored that shit from a space-case cabbie, fixed me up a lot better than I woulda expected”).  Upon biting her and finding himself “in the throes of a blissful ecstasy I had not felt for decades,” the Count decides he must be in love, although, as Mary quickly surmises, he’s actually reacting to the heroin in her blood.

Eventually Dracula figures out he’s become a heroin addict, just as Mary learns she’s a vampire, leading the two to embark on a citywide bloodsucking spree.  The victims are assorted junkies and lowlife, turning Dracula and Mary into media icons, and allowing for the type of trenchant social commentary beloved by Spinrad.

This is all enjoyable enough, but hobbled by an overly perfunctory treatment.  Spinrad’s follow-up book, JOURNALS OF THE PLAGUE YEARS (1995), was by his own admission an outline that ended up taking the form of a novel, and that appears to have also been the case with VAMPIRE JUNKIES, which feels more like an overview than a proper narrative.  Description is virtually nonexistent (the Chelsea Hotel where so much of the story takes place goes shockingly undetailed), with the book’s chief concern being the competing voices of Dracula and Mary.  That’s not such a terrible thing given that dialogue (particularly of the four-lettered variety) is an important component of the Spinrad aesthetic, yet I can’t help feel that VAMPIRE JUNKIES could, and should, be much more than the mildly amusing trifle it is.