Hideous Love: The Story of the Girl Who Wrote Frankenstein
3.5/5
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About this ebook
From Stephanie Hemphill, author of the Printz Honor winner Your Own, Sylvia and the acclaimed novel Wicked Girls: A Novel of the Salem Witch Trials, comes the fascinating story of gothic novelist Mary Shelley, most famous for the classic Frankenstein.
An all-consuming love affair with famed poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, a family torn apart by scandal, a young author on the brink of greatness: Hideous Love is the story of the mastermind behind one of the most iconic figures in all of literature, a monster constructed out of dead bodies and brought to life by the tragic Dr. Frankenstein.
This luminous verse novel reveals how Mary Shelley became one of the most celebrated authors in history.
Stephanie Hemphill
Stephanie Hemphill is the award-winning author of Hideous Love: The Story of the Girl Who Wrote Frankenstein; Wicked Girls: A Novel of the Salem Witch Trials, a Los Angeles Times Book Prize finalist; Your Own, Sylvia: A Verse Portrait of Sylvia Plath, a Michael L. Printz Honor Book; Sisters of Glass; and Things Left Unsaid: A Novel in Poems. She lives in Chicago, Illinois.
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Reviews for Hideous Love
24 ratings8 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I wasn’t sure I’d like this book: I don’t know anything about Mary Shelley, I haven’t read Frankenstein, I haven’t read a verse novel I liked. Though it was required for a class, I’m incredibly glad I read this book! It blew me away, and has inspired me to read more about Mary Shelley, as well as finally read Frankenstein. I’ve already recommended it to several people - including you!<
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I found the life of the protagonist more appealing than the writing of this book. It was a pleasant enough read, although less poetry than choppy prose in short lines.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I love a good biographical novel. History has so many stories in and of itself, and yet it leaves room for the imagination to conjure its own legends. Mary Shelley, author of FRANKENSTEIN, is a woman that intrigues so many readers, and who clearly inspired Stephanie Hemphill, author of HIDEOUS LOVE.Told in verse, HIDEOUS LOVE begins with an origin story of sorts, with Mary narrating portraits of her family -- her half sisters, her obnoxious Stepmother, her hard-to-impress father. And then she meets Percy Shelley, the poet, and Mary falls so head over heels in love that there's no looking back. Even if it means disgracing her family and being outcast by the ones she loves.Over the span of several years, HIDEOUS LOVE chronicles the passionate and often tumultuous affair between Mary and Shelley, as they travel throughout Europe, become entangled in the affairs of other writers (such as the notorious Lord Byron) and are often accompanied by Jane, Mary's half-sister. Mary's life was wrought with tragedy as much as it was passion, and this novelization of her history is a real page-turner, with intrigue around every corner. This is definitely a book that historical fiction fans and fans of Mary Shelley will enjoy exploring.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Alright. This book is way more than what I thought it be. For sure, I love the writing. But the characters had my stomach in knots.Love: Let me tells you the way this love is hideous. This love is doomed from the start. And iffy guy attracted to a young girl, romance moves fast. Oh and did I mention he is STILL married and has a child on the way while he is pursuing her. Yup.Cause he is. And I knew as soon as she feel for his antics there was no going back. This love isn’t one I enjoyed but really cringed at. There were so many underlying lies and betrayals, yet once she was married to this man she looks the other way. I mean, in this time period you have too. She is woman and women in that time period solely relied on their husbands. But man, I felt sorry for this girl and what she went through.Plot: This story is told in verse form. Like a poem. So it was a quick read for me. Each poem was written beautifully with full detail of what is happening in her life. From her courtship, to marriage, to giving birth, to struggles that any married couple goes through. Still, I think had this girl not been so infatuated with this man, she could of saved herself a lot of heartache.Frankenstein: Because of that heartache, she is fueled to write. And write she does. She creates this magnificent story that goes on to successful. Even more successful than what she every thought.Overall, I enjoyed this story. Though I would of preferred a more detail story rather than verse form. I mean, it does give good detail in verse but I think in a novel form it would have been richer. If you like verse form with plenty of drama, check this book out. Hideous Love is good.
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5I really could not get in to this book. My guess is because I am not really into Frankenstein and historical type fiction
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/54Q, 4P (my VOYA codes). I gave this novel-in-verse work a 4 for quality as it flows pretty well and makes you feel like it could have actually been written by Mary Shelley, and I gave it a 4 for popularity as I believe many people would like to read this book - even if they aren't normally readers of poetry or novels-in-verse. The book was a great fictionalization of many true events in Mary Shelley's life and I really felt as though I had an inside view into her personal diaries or journals. The book is powerful through its simplicity and it really shows what kind of a person Mary was and the type of tragic life she lived - before and after writing one of literature's most famous books - Frankenstein.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5An engrossing, nicely detailed fictionalized verse biography of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A hauntingly lyrical story about the life of Mary Shelley. I had no idea what her life was like before reading this book and I was captivated. The author creates a deeply moving and intimate narrative centered around a diary that the author keeps. The losses she suffered and the unique life she led is worth the price of admission. The prose is crisp, evocative, and wastes not one word. Lovely.
Book preview
Hideous Love - Stephanie Hemphill
I AM MARY
I want to be beauty,
but I am not.
I want to be free,
but I am not.
I want to be equal,
but I am not.
I want to be favorite,
but I am not.
I want to be loved,
and yet I am not.
MY MOTHER
I never knew my mother.
She did not nurse me from her breast.
She could not soothe my aches and tears.
I learned to walk without her aid.
I never knew my mother.
She did not hold me in the dark.
She could not sing away my fears.
I learned to speak without her voice.
I never knew my mother.
She helped establish women’s rights.
I wear her legacy like a pledge.
I learned to think and fight reading her words.
I never knew my mother
for she died when I was eleven days old.
LONGING TO BE DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL
My father, William Godwin,
is a political philosopher
highly respected by his peers.
He is progressive,
teaching his daughters
as if they are sons.
When I stand in his presence
I feel as though I must
leap upon a chair
just to meet his shoulders.
My father, William Godwin,
is a tower of light.
MY STEPMOTHER
She was spawned from creature,
not man, and sends shivers
up one’s arms.
Under her hair must be horns.
She is Medusa
trying to turn me to stone
in the eyes of my father.
At times I swear
she was born to torture me
and for no other purpose.
She needles me
with her incessant blather.
She prods me to misbehave
when she stupidly
misuses language
and forgets facts.
She picks on me
for my impatience with others
as she herself is small-minded.
She criticizes me for not being
as pretty as her daughter, Jane,
despises me for not being Jane.
She reflects no history,
nothing of which to be proud.
All she bears is the marital hand
of my father which baffles me
more than snow in July.
She shuffles me away
to Dundee, Scotland,
when I am fourteen
and for that I am grateful.
OUR UNUSUAL HOUSEHOLD
1814
Fanny is the eldest,
my half-sister, daughter of my mother
and Gilbert Imlay, an American enterpriser.
She never seeks trouble
and is quiet and reserved.
Her stated last name
is the same as my father’s, Godwin.
Charles Clairmont, the next eldest,
is the son
of my awful stepmother,
Mary Jane Clairmont
and Charles de Gaulis,
who died when Charles was one.
Charles is fair haired,
and fortunate to be a boy.
I am the third eldest
and best bred.
Learning comes easily to me,
as does frustration.
Clara Jane Clairmont (Jane)
is nearly my age,
the daughter of my stepmother
and some unnamed suitor
my stepmother calls Charles Clairmont,
yet not the same man
as was Charles’s father.
We sometimes get on
and at other times I wish
to pull Jane by the roots of her hair.
And then there is William,
the youngest,
the offspring of
my stepmother and my father,
doted on by my stepmother
until it pains the eyes.
None of us has the same parents.
MY RETURN FROM DUNDEE, SCOTLAND
Spring 1814
At first I was afraid
to leave my home,
to leave my father’s care,
knowing that my banishment
to the Baxters
meant to punish me.
My arm of pustules and pain
represented all the ways
I could not be well and good
in my own house.
But I found a family in Scotland.
A family like I had read about in books
where the mother and father
care for one another
and all the children
are their own.
I found girl friends in Scotland,
the two daughters of the Baxters,
Isabella and Christina.
We became as inseparable
as words and letters.
My arm healed
and my temper soothed.
My imagination awoke
like a sleeping giant
in that stark landscape,
and I began to write stories.
I return to my house
of chaos, calmer
and more assured.
There is so much
of the greater world
I know now
will be a part of me,
and I am not afraid.
MR. SHELLEY
May 5, 1814
He is the buzz
of our Spinner Street home
when at sixteen
I return permanently from Dundee.
No other topic passes between anyone’s lips.
Jane declares that when Mr. Shelley
falls silent
the air ceases circulation,
that when a smile flushes his countenance
the room boils with laughter.
And even quiet Fanny agrees.
But I remembered Mr. Shelley
from my visit home
the year before
as more buzzard than noteworthy,
fairylike
with the curly blond hair
of a schoolgirl,
his hands frail as silk stockings.
I remember he stood beside
his wife and I wondered
who wore the dress?
In a voice pert as a baby starling,
he had proclaimed my father was a genius
who deserved his financial support,
and I admired Mr. Shelley for that.
But the ceaseless obsession
that my stepmother, the woman of scales and dread,
my siblings, and even my father
seem to have for Mr. Shelley is comedy.
No man can live up to it.
Jane smirks, "You’ll see,
his noble birth, his high ideals—
You’ll choke on your coal-stained doubts."
I roll my eyes at my stepsister,
thump downstairs in my blue everyday frock,
because why would I dress up
to dine with some pansy of a man?
Even his name sounds like a girl, Shelley.
But when I slink
into the parlor
Mr. Percy Shelley
traps his gaze
upon my brow
so tight
I cannot inhale,
and then he gasps
as if I am a masterwork.
I stand stunned.
He genuflects before me.
No one has ever looked
at me, and certainly
no one has ever looked at me
like this,
like I am anything sigh-worthy,
something to hang diamonds on.
This man who owns
the breath of my father
stares at me
as though I am holy.
When Mr. Shelley
introduces himself to me
this second time,
I swear I smell rosehips
and lavender on his palms.
I glance around
and smile
to find that this evening
his wife is not in attendance.
WHAT IF HE LIKES ME?
May 1814
What if it was not only awe
and admiration for my breeding,
but something more that caught
Mr. Shelley’s eye,
something particular about me?
What if he calls again,
what shall I wear,
how coy should I act,
what exactly have I to say to him?
What if he didn’t care
for me at all and I imagined
the moment happening between us?
What if he never calls again
and I am left to wonder
what might have been?
He is yet a stranger to me,
and then somehow I feel
as though I have known him
for many years now,
as though he may be the one
I imagined would come
and whisk me away
like a valiant soldier
rescuing me from the prison
of my house.
HE COMES TO CALL
May 1814
At first one can
be certain whom
Mr. Shelley intends
to visit and that name
begins not with an M.
He and my father
argue into the night
about politics while
Jane and I hide on the stairs
catching phrases as if they sate,
like they are crumbs for the starving.
We listened to Mr. Coleridge’s poem
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
when I was a little girl
in much the same manner,
hiding behind a chair.
I saw nightmares because
of it for a year.
Now what I hear,
the sweet tones of Father’s
and Mr. Shelley’s sharp intellects,
breeds dreams when I sleep.
He glimpses me
one night as I linger
in the stairwell
and the next day
when Mr. Shelley calls
he requests me,
as well as Jane,
whose attendance I hope
is for nothing more
than to dissuade suspicion.
When Mr. Shelley and I meet
I will certainly stutter.
I will fall down the stairs
before I have a chance to speak.
I must remember that everything
I say reflects upon my brilliant parents.
For once I wish to bite my tongue.
LIKE MY FATHER
May 1814
Mr. Shelley does not dote
on Jane. She is but
furniture to him.
"You are finer
than your surroundings,"
he says to me.
"I see it in your
broad forehead—
intelligence, cleverness."
I blush until my cheeks
become the color of my hair.
He gestures to the portrait
of my mother above
the mantel. "I know
the writings of your mother;
have you read them?"
I nod my head.
I wish for words
to pour from my mouth,
as usual, but today
I stand mute.
"You too
have great things to write.
It is your lovely fate.
And I believe I will
be your guide."
His winsome eyes snare me.
And somehow
I feel in my heart
that he may