Book Review - 'Frankenstein' by Mary Shelley

‘Frankenstein’ by Mary Shelley

The back cover blurb from my copy reads:
‘To many readers, who have perhaps known Frankenstein only at second hand, the original may well come as a surprise. When Mary Shelley began it, she was only eighteen, though she was already Shelley’s mistress and Byron’s friend. In her preface she explains how she and Shelley spent part of a wet summer with Byron in Switzerland, amusing themselves by reading and writing ghost stories. Her contribution was Frankenstein, a story about a student of natural philosophy who learns the secret of imparting life to a creature constructed from bones he has collected in charnel-houses. The story is not a study of the macabre, as such, but rather a study of how man uses his power, through science, to manipulate and pervert his own destiny, and this makes it a profoundly disturbing book.’

It’s been many years since I read ‘Frankenstein’ and, to be honest, cannot remember what I thought of it back then.

Then I read Berthold Gambrel’s review, which prompted me to read it.

Another reason I wanted to read it was thanks to a series on YouTube by ‘Eric the Cameraman’ on ‘The Classic Monsters of Universal Pictures’, in which I found out the original ‘Frankenstein’, which I’ve never watched, is quite different from the book.

By the way, if you enjoyed any of those black and white films and are interested in the technical side of how they were filmed, I’d recommend watching his videos as he explains those techniques really well.

Before I start my review, despite the age of the novel, I’ll still mention there will be, what some might consider, SPOILERS.

The quote on the title page is from ‘Paradise Lost’:
‘Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
To mould Me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me? –’

The story starts in the form of letters from Robert Walton to his sister in England, in which he speaks of his plans to travel to the pole from Russia.

Some months later, in the summer, he writes of his ship being temporarily trapped in ice, of their fleeting glimpse of a distant traveller on a sledge, and, finally, their rescue of a near-frozen stranger.

The stranger is Victor Frankenstein and, being won over by Walton’s kindness and seeing something of his own scientific and inquiring nature in the latter, relates his sorry tale, which is told in first person.

A native of Geneva, Victor tells of his parents; how much he, the eldest of 3 boys, was loved; of his parents’ taking in of a little orphan girl, Elizabeth, who would become the love of his life; and of Henry, Victor’s best friend.

When Victor is 17, after the death of his beloved mother, he reluctantly leaves for university, where ‘natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry… became nearly my sole occupation.’

In the space of 2 years, he becomes totally absorbed in the sciences:
‘None but those who have experienced them can conceive of the enticements of science… in a scientific pursuit there is continual food for discovery and wonder.’

Even though he contemplates returning to his home, one question holds his attention – ‘Whence… did the principle of life proceed?’

The more he seeks to resolve the question, the more obsessed he becomes, giving no thought to any possible consequences.

His obsession leads to ‘… the creation of a human being… In a solitary chamber… at the top of the house… [where] I kept my workshop of filthy creation…’

Until finally, after nearly 2 years, ‘… on a dreary night of November… I beheld the accomplishment of my toils… It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes… I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs…’

Having worked almost zealously for so long with little rest and neglecting his health, now that he had finished, ‘… the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart…’

Victor runs from the thing he’s created, and when he eventually returns to his rooms, finds no sign of it.

As he’s nursed back to health by his friend, Henry, Victor puts all thought of the creature from his mind.

Victor and Henry make plans to return home, but tragedy strikes Victor’s family, and he comes to realise he is not free but remains tied to the being he created and imbued with life.

When Victor finally sees the creature again, he’s filled with rage:
‘“… do you dare approach me… Begone, vile insect! or rather, stay, that I may trample you to dust!”’

To which the creature answers, ‘“I expected this reception… All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things!... You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life?... Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it… I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Every where I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend…”’

All he wants from Victor is a mate, one he can be with, after which he and his mate will go somewhere far from people to live out their days undisturbed, in peace.

Although he initially refuses, Victor agrees to create another as he feels some moral duty to do so:
‘His tale, and the feelings he now expressed, proved him to be a creature of fine sensations; and did I not, as his maker, owe him all the portion of happiness that it was in my power to bestow?’

The weight of guilt from the first tragedy that followed from the creation of the monster and all that’s come afterwards, lies heavily on Victor, taking its toll on his health and emotions despite the best efforts of his loved ones to uplift him even as they wonder at his sometimes-erratic behaviour.

As the story progresses, the reader wonders, will Victor make a mate for the creature, or will he finally take responsibility for playing God?

I was pleasantly surprised to find I enjoyed the novel, and I’m impressed that Shelley was only 18 when she began writing it in 1816.

The language and dialogue of ‘Frankenstein’ are obviously of that time and, while modern readers may consider the wordy descriptions excessive, in those days very few people left the place of their birth as it was usually only the wealthy who travelled, and that’s the reason for the amount of rich description in older novels as many had no idea what foreign countries and landscapes looked like.

While reading ‘Frankenstein’, I realised that, while I tend to skim over descriptions in modern novels, even fantasy, I like reading the descriptions in older novels – weird.

My favourite descriptions are those regarding the natural world, and here are a couple of my favourites, the first, a lightning storm:
‘… the thunder burst with a terrific crash… vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the lake, making it appear like a vast sheet of fire… The storm… appeared at once in various parts of the heavens… so beautiful yet terrific… this noble war in the sky…’

Attempting to find some peace from his turbulent emotions, Victor travels alone to the Alpine valleys, surrounded by vast mountains…
‘The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short windings… It is a scene terrifically desolate… the traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie broken and strewed on the ground; some entirely destroyed, others bent, leaning up on the jutting rocks of the mountain, or… upon other trees… I looked on the valley beneath; vast mists were rising from the rivers which ran through it, and curling in thick wreaths around the opposite mountains, whose summits were hid in the uniform clouds…’

While I enjoyed most of the novel, I found the mid-part, where the monster relates his tale to Victor, somewhat tedious and rather contrived.

The pacing of the novel isn’t consistent as sometimes, Shelley gets to the point succinctly but, at other times, can go off on some distracted tangent.

It’s interesting that ‘Frankenstein’ is thought of as a horror story when the only horror-box it ticks is the presence of a monster.

The story is more about life and death, and questions if certain things should be undertaken simply because they can be; to quote Ian Malcolm from ‘Jurassic Park’: “… so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should.”

I like how Shelley has blurred the lines between Victor and his creation, making the reader question who the actual monster is.

The creature, attacked and shunned at every turn, repeatedly referred to as ‘monster’ and ‘fiend’ while enduring never-ending suffering, displays more benevolence than his maker.

The educated, highly intelligent Victor, heaps blame on the creature, failing to see that, having given it life, it then became his responsibility.

The tragedies that followed would not have happened if he had not brought the creature to life only to abandon it.

Victor’s constant bemoaning of his fate and his depressive state was, I think, a direct result of suppressed guilt and, possibly, cowardice, even though he believed himself guiltless:
‘I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of crime.’

This re-reading of ‘Frankenstein’ certainly surprised me in that I wasn’t expecting so much philosophical debate from so short a novel, all from the mind of a young woman not yet 20.