" For some reason, I decided this summer to read the other two original "monster" novels: Stoker's Dracula and Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera. Of course, the other one is Shelley's Frankenstein. Taking on this task probably has more to do with my purchasing, assembling, and gruesomely painting the entire set of the plastic Aurora monster models as a pre-teen than it did with any literary interest, yet I find my response is primarily literary. I read Frankenstein decades ago, and I was impressed by the fusion of themes, ideas, and action that made the book a compelling read and the occasion for thoughtful reflection on the nature and consequences of creation and creators. Both Dracula and Phantom were less impressive. One reason is both authors's implementation of the dreary mechanism of validating the narrative by inventing "plausible" ways to provide important story information: journals, newspaper accounts, interviews, and other "documentation" ostensibly to allow readers to suspend disbelief and entertain the tale as the tale entertains them. Although others require such coy fibbing to accept the validity of a narrative, even to the point of being satisfied by the words "Based on a True Story" before a novel or a film, for me a story is a story. No matter how much of a story is "based" on anything actual, it is still "made up," and being "made up" does not in any way lessen my enjoyment of the story. As a result, I find the "lumber" of verification tedious, and I pity the contortions of plot and verisimilitude that verification requires of an author. Strike one for the Count and Opera Ghost. Oddly, another bad pitch concerning Leroux that is not an objection I actually share but might be raised by a more traditional reader is that this novel wanders; there are large and odd digressions in this tale that might infuriate those who expect a "straight" narrative (such as the ridiculous deliberations and arguments of the two managers, the fairly unnecessary explorations of Erik's previous life, and the torturous description of the torture and incredible (in the original sense of unbelievable) sufferings of the Persian and Raoul), the kind of objection that might be raised against my own novel, Burn & Learn, which is otherwise more different than similar, and I find that as amusing as I found Leroux's digressions. Ball one for the Opera Ghost. A minor point for the block-headed reader might be that the words "Phantom of the Opera," which really is a compelling title for the novel, and just a cool name to be known by, never appear in the text, where Erik is called "Opera Ghost" or known by his own name. Strike two for Erik. The characters in the novel also suffer from HIS (hyper-intensity syndrome), which means men and women with the tale constantly over-react to the smallest events; that is just annoying. Strike three for the Phantom. Is he out? Well, yes, but strangely, I still recommend the book for two reasons. One: we really should know the original tale from which so much silliness has been made. At least this novel has the dignity of priority and innocence of the future that makes the tale worth reading. My second reason is really the reason I am writing this review, and I cannot underscore its significance enough: I love this tale for the author's relentless devotion to "unmasking," in every sense, the supernatural. In every case, Leroux goes far out of his way to legitimize as comprehensible and thoroughly explain EVERY SINGLE manifestation of the supposed supernatural. Not one event believed by characters in the story to be supernatural is allowed by the author to remain so. I found that skepticism and rationalism refreshing, so much so that it made me pity the tale-spinners of today who feel that they must make their stories plausible by insisting the supernatural is "real." Leroux's genuine interest in providing explanations for what might appear to be supernatural is a laudable goal, and for that, I thank him. Even now, I wonder if such a story about a really ugly sociopath like this one would even get off the ground today, without the trappings of otherworldly claptrap to "validate" the tale. Leroux seems to say that beneath the fancy, dimming accoutrements of fantasy is the ugly face of everyday quotidian existence, but at least that is real, and that, here and now, is what we must deal with. "
— Eric, 8/25/2013