A woman's hand in black gloves offered me the platter of organ meat. I felt revulsion, but my manners required that I take a bit of liver from here and a bit of tripe from there. . .

Yves Navarro finds himself a slave to class and upbringing throughout his encounter with the supernatural, this occurs to his detriment. Likewise the reader owes a debt to Fuentes and gives him a few passes. I know this reader did. There is a core of a good novel here. Details about the health and attentions of Fuentes at the time of Vlad aren't readily availible. Fuentes did more than most to inform my sense of history 20 years ago. I can forgive an afterthought of a novel devoted to one's homeland becoming a failed state. I know that disappointment if not the pain. There are few surprises here. There are also splashes of genuine color and history.