FRANKENSTEIN or The Modern Prometheus: the revised 1831 edition

By Mary Shelley

This is the Revised 1831 Edition of FRANKENSTEIN; OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS, a novel written by the English author Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley about the young science student Victor Frankenstein, who creates a grotesque but sentient creature in an unorthodox scientific experiment. Shelley started writing the story when she was eighteen, and the novel was published when she was twenty. The first edition was published anonymously in London in 1818. Shelley's name appears on the second edition, published in France in 1823. Shelley had travelled through Europe in 1814, journeying along the river Rhine in Germany with a stop in Gernsheim which is just 17 km away from Frankenstein Castle, where, two centuries before, an alchemist was engaged in experiments. Later, she travelled in the region of Geneva (Switzerland)-where much of the story takes place-and the topic of galvanism and other similar occult ideas were themes of conversation among her companions, particularly her lover and future husband, Percy Shelley. Mary, Percy, Lord Byron, and John Polidori decided to have a competition to see who could write the best horror story. After thinking for days, Shelley dreamt about a scientist who created life and was horrified by what he had made; her dream later evolved into the novel's story. Shelley completed her writing in May 1817, and Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus was first published on 11 March 1818 by the small London publishing house of Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor, & Jones. The second edition of Frankenstein was published on 11 August 1822 in two volumes (by G. and W. B. Whittaker) following the success of the stage play Presumption; or, the Fate of Frankenstein by Richard Brinsley Peake; this edition credited Mary Shelley as the author. On 31 October 1831, the first "popular" edition in one volume appeared, published by Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley. This edition was heavily revised by Mary Shelley, partially because of pressure to make the story more conservative, and included a new, longer preface by her, presenting a somewhat embellished version of the genesis of the story. This edition tends to be the one most widely read now, although editions containing the original 1818 text are still published. Many scholars prefer the 1818 text, arguing that it preserves the spirit of Shelley's original publication.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wisehouse Classics
• Release date: Dec 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9789176370728

Mary Shelley

Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin was born in 1797, the daughter of two of the leading radical writers of the age. Her mother died just days after her birth and she was educated at home by her father and encouraged in literary pursuits. She eloped with and subsequently married the Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, but their life together was full of hardship. The couple were ruined by disapproving parents and Mary lost three of her four children. Although its subject matter was extremely dark, her first novel Frankenstein (1818) was an instant sensation. Subsequent works such as Mathilda (1819), Valperga (1823) and The Last Man (1826) were less successful but are now finally receiving the critical acclaim that they deserve.

Book preview

24

Letter 1

TO MRS. SAVILLE, ENGLAND

St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17-

You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings. I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success of my undertaking.

I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which braces my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand this feeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes. Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight. There, Margaret, the sun is forever visible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon and diffusing a perpetual splendour. There—for with your leave, my sister, I will put some trust in preceding navigators—there snow and frost are banished; and, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable globe. Its productions and features may be without example, as the phenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered solitudes. What may not be expected in a country of eternal light? I may there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle and may regulate a thousand celestial observations that require only this voyage to render their seeming eccentricities consistent forever. I shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world never before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted by the foot of man. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient to conquer all fear of danger or death and to induce me to commence this laborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little boat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition of discovery up his native river. But supposing all these conjectures to be false, you cannot contest the inestimable benefit which I shall confer on all mankind, to the last generation, by discovering a passage near the pole to those countries, to reach which at present so many months are requisite; or by ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at all possible, can only be effected by an undertaking such as mine.

These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my letter, and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquillize the mind as a steady purpose—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye. This expedition has been the favourite dream of my early years. I have read with ardour the accounts of the various voyages which have been made in the prospect of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean through the seas which surround the pole. You may remember that a history of all the voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the whole of our good Uncle Thomas’ library. My education was neglected, yet I was passionately fond of reading. These volumes were my study day and night, and my familiarity with them increased that regret which I had felt, as a child, on learning that my father’s dying injunction had forbidden my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life.

These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets whose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I also became a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation; I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated. You are well acquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the disappointment. But just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my thoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent.

Six years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking. I can, even now, remember the hour from which I dedicated myself to this great enterprise. I commenced by inuring my body to hardship. I accompanied the whale-fishers on several expeditions to the North Sea; I voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of sleep; I often worked harder than the common sailors during the day and devoted my nights to the study of mathematics, the theory of medicine, and those branches of physical science from which a naval adventurer might derive the greatest practical advantage. Twice I actually hired myself as an under-mate in a Greenland whaler, and acquitted myself to admiration. I must own I felt a little proud when my captain offered me the second dignity in the vessel and entreated me to remain with the greatest earnestness, so valuable did he consider my services. And now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great purpose? My life might have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred glory to every enticement that wealth placed in my path. Oh, that some encouraging voice would answer in the affirmative! My courage and my resolution is firm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are often depressed. I am about to proceed on a long and difficult voyage, the emergencies of which will demand all my fortitude: I am required not only to raise the spirits of others, but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing.

This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia. They fly quickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant, and, in my opinion, far more agreeable than that of an English stagecoach. The cold is not excessive, if you are wrapped in furs—a dress which I have already adopted, for there is a great difference between walking the deck and remaining seated motionless for hours, when no exercise prevents the blood from actually freezing in your veins. I have no ambition to lose my life on the post-road between St. Petersburgh and Archangel. I shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three weeks; and my intention is to hire a ship there, which can easily be done by paying the insurance for the owner, and to engage as many sailors as I think necessary among those who are accustomed to the whale-fishing. I do not intend to sail until the month of June; and when shall I return? Ah, dear sister, how can I answer this question? If I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years, will pass before you and I may meet. If I fail, you will see me again soon, or never. Farewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower down blessings on you, and save me, that I may again and again testify my gratitude for all your love and kindness.

Your affectionate brother, R. Walton

Letter 2

TO MRS. SAVILLE, ENGLAND

Archangel, 28th March, 17-

How slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow! Yet a second step is taken towards my enterprise. I have hired a vessel and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have already engaged appear to be men on whom I can depend and are certainly possessed of dauntless courage.

But I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy, and the absence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil, I have no friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium for the communication of feeling. I desire the company of a man who could sympathize with me, whose eyes would reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly feel the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet courageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whose tastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans. How would such a friend repair the faults of your poor brother! I am too ardent in execution and too impatient of difficulties. But it is a still greater evil to me that I am self-educated: for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wild on a common and read nothing but our Uncle Thomas’ books of voyages. At that age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets of our own country; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power to derive its most important benefits from such a conviction that I perceived the necessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my native country. Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more illiterate than many schoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more and that my daydreams are more extended and magnificent, but they want (as the painters call it) KEEPING; and I greatly need a friend who would have sense enough not to despise me as romantic, and affection enough for me to endeavour to regulate my mind. Well, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on the wide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen. Yet some feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these rugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful courage and enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory, or rather, to word my phrase more characteristically, of advancement in his profession. He is an Englishman, and in the midst of national and professional prejudices, unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest endowments of humanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel; finding that he was unemployed in this city, I easily engaged him to assist in my enterprise. The master is a person of an excellent disposition and is remarkable in the ship for his gentleness and the mildness of his discipline. This circumstance, added to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage, made me very desirous to engage him. A youth passed in solitude, my best years spent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the groundwork of my character that I cannot overcome an intense distaste to the usual brutality exercised on board ship: I have never believed it to be necessary, and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for his kindliness of heart and the respect and obedience paid to him by his crew, I felt myself peculiarly fortunate in being able to secure his services. I heard of him first in rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him the happiness of her life. This, briefly, is his story. Some years ago he loved a young Russian lady of moderate fortune, and having amassed a considerable sum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented to the match. He saw his mistress once before the destined ceremony; but she was bathed in tears, and throwing herself at his feet, entreated him to spare her, confessing at the same time that she loved another, but that he was poor, and that her father would never consent to the union. My generous friend reassured the suppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover, instantly abandoned his pursuit. He had already bought a farm with his money, on which he had designed to pass the remainder of his life; but he bestowed the whole on his rival, together with the remains of his prize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited the young woman’s father to consent to her marriage with her lover. But the old man decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour to my friend, who, when he found the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor returned until he heard that his former mistress was married according to her inclinations. What a noble fellow! you will exclaim. He is so; but then he is wholly uneducated: he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind of ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his conduct the more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy which otherwise he would command.

Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I can conceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am wavering in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyage is only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation. The winter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring promises well, and it is considered as a remarkably early season, so that perhaps I may sail sooner than I expected. I shall do nothing rashly: you know me sufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever the safety of others is committed to my care.

I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my undertaking. It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of the trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which I am preparing to depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to the land of mist and snow, but I shall kill no albatross; therefore do not be alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you as worn and woeful as the Ancient Mariner. You will smile at my allusion, but I will disclose a secret. I have often attributed my attachment to, my passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that production of the most imaginative of modern poets. There is something at work in my soul which I do not understand. I am practically industrious—painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and labour—but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore. But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, after having traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape of Africa or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to look on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the present to write to me by every opportunity: I may receive your letters on some occasions when I need them most to support my spirits. I love you very tenderly. Remember me with affection, should you never hear from me again.

Your affectionate brother, Robert Walton

Letter 3

TO MRS. SAVILLE, ENGLAND

July 7th, 17-

My dear Sister,

I write a few lines in haste to say that I am safe—and well advanced on my voyage. This letter will reach England by a merchantman now on its homeward voyage from Archangel; more fortunate than I, who may not see my native land, perhaps, for many years. I am, however, in good spirits: my men are bold and apparently firm of purpose, nor do the floating sheets of ice that continually pass us, indicating the dangers of the region towards which we are advancing, appear to dismay them. We have already reached a very high latitude; but it is the height of summer, and although not so warm as in England, the southern gales, which blow us speedily towards those shores which I so ardently desire to attain, breathe a degree of renovating warmth which I had not expected.

No incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure in a letter. One or two stiff gales and the springing of a leak are accidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record, and I shall be well content if nothing worse happen to us during our voyage.

Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured that for my own sake, as well as yours, I will not rashly encounter danger. I will be cool, persevering, and prudent.

But success SHALL crown my endeavours. Wherefore not? Thus far I have gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars themselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph. Why not still proceed over the untamed yet obedient element? What can stop the determined heart and resolved will of man?

My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus. But I must finish. Heaven bless my beloved sister!

R.W.

Letter 4

TO MRS. SAVILLE, ENGLAND

August 5th, 17-

So strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear recording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before these papers can come into your possession.

Last Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed in the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room in which she floated. Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we were compassed round by a very thick fog. We accordingly lay to, hoping that some change would take place in the atmosphere and weather.

About two o’clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out in every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to have no end. Some of my comrades groaned, and my own mind began to grow watchful with anxious thoughts, when a strange sight suddenly attracted our attention and diverted our solicitude from our own situation. We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by dogs, pass on towards the north, at the distance of half a mile; a being which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature, sat in the sledge and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid progress of the traveller with our telescopes until he was lost among the distant inequalities of the ice. This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we believed, many hundred miles from any land; but this apparition seemed to denote that it was not, in reality, so distant as we had supposed. Shut in, however, by ice, it was impossible to follow his track, which we had observed with the greatest attention. About two hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea, and before night the ice broke and freed our ship. We, however, lay to until the morning, fearing to encounter in the dark those large loose masses which float about after the breaking up of the ice. I profited of this time to rest for a few hours.

In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck and found all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel, apparently talking to someone in the sea. It was, in fact, a sledge, like that we had seen before, which had drifted towards us in the night on a large fragment of ice. Only one dog remained alive; but there was a human being within it whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel. He was not, as the other traveller seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of some undiscovered island, but a European. When I appeared on deck the master said, Here is our captain, and he will not allow you to perish on the open sea.

On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although with a foreign accent. Before I come on board your vessel, said he, will you have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?

You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question addressed to me from a man on the brink of destruction and to whom I should have supposed that my vessel would have been a resource which he would not have exchanged for the most precious wealth the earth can afford. I replied, however, that we were on a voyage of discovery towards the northern pole.

Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied and consented to come on board. Good God! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated for his safety, your surprise would have been boundless. His limbs were nearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and suffering. I never saw a man in so wretched a condition. We attempted to carry him into the cabin, but as soon as he had quitted the fresh air he fainted. We accordingly brought him back to the deck and restored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy and forcing him to swallow a small quantity. As soon as he showed signs of life we wrapped him up in blankets and placed him near the chimney of the kitchen stove. By slow degrees he recovered and ate a little soup, which restored him wonderfully.

Two days passed in this manner before he was able to speak, and I often feared that his sufferings had deprived him of understanding. When he had in some measure recovered, I removed him to my own cabin and attended on him as much as my duty would permit. I never saw a more interesting creature: his eyes have generally an expression of wildness, and even madness, but there are moments when, if anyone performs an act of kindness towards him or does him the most trifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with a beam of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw equalled. But he is generally melancholy and despairing, and sometimes he gnashes his teeth, as if impatient of the weight of woes that oppresses him.

When my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble to keep off the men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions; but I would not allow him to be tormented by their idle curiosity, in a state of body and mind whose restoration evidently depended upon entire repose. Once, however, the lieutenant asked why he had come so far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle.

His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom, and he replied, To seek one who fled from me.

And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?

Yes.

"Then I

Reviews for FRANKENSTEIN or The Modern Prometheus

[griffin_reads · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

There is a lot of commentary that can be had about the situation Frankenstein was put into and what the meaning of life is. I personally felt that what came out of the story and what can come from it was better than the delivery.

[benkaboo-51322 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Summary: Driven guy takes things a bit too far and ends up creating something that destroys everything:

Things I liked.

Introducing the main protaganist through the eyes of a secondary category. This reminded me a bit of Gatsby and Nick.

Good questions/ideas: The 'Other', obsession, what is human etc. Good fodder for thinking/rethinking about what you believe.

Things I thought could be improved:

Main character is pretty whiney, and doesn't really take a lot of responsbility for his actions. It makes him hard to relate to a bit unlikeable. Given most of the story is told through his eyes that's a problem. I'd probably recommend giving him a bit more self-awareness at the end, preserving his stupidity in the main story, to increase the sense of empathy and connection with his tale.

Some of the plotting is a bit far fetched and obviously contrived to drive the story. In particular I remember when he decides to reveal his secret to Elizabeth but only 'after' their fateful wedding day. If he was going to be truthful with her wouldn't he/she do it immediately. .

Highlight:

Probably when the 'other' spoke for the first time. Hollywood had taught me to expect one thing. I was pretty taken aback and appreciated the variation.

Lessons Learned:

Chill out in life or you might find the object of your obsession ends up wrecking all the good things you have in your life.

[nodosaurus · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The story is well-known, but differs from the movies. The story is mostly about Dr. Frankenstein’s reaction to his creation, it is verbose but well-written.The first parts of the book seemed long and slow, it gets bogged down in long Victorian dialogs. I almost gave up on it. But once the monster is created, the story improved dramatically.It is all about the relationship between the monster and Dr. Frankenstein. It is a love-hate relationship on part of the monster, and repulsion from Dr. Frankenstein. This gave me some problems as Frankenstein started as a scientist with a purely rational approach to the work. Once the monster is created he became immediately repulsed without getting to know or understand the monster, he is completely driven and consumed by his emotions. It felt out of character given the first part of the book.Unlike the movies, the monster is very intelligent and capable. He learns to survive on his own, then teaches himself language. Driven by the cruelty of man, his one goal is to find love. I found the monster much more interesting than Frankenstein. He eloquently tells his tale and wins he heart of the reader, but not of Frankenstein who continues his revulsion to the monster.It is an interesting read. Like many books of the day, in my opinion, it would do well with an update to the characters and dialog. But it is worth the read.

[thetruebookaddict · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I can't believe I waited so long to read this book. I've read Dracula three times. I recently watched the film, Mary Shelley. I immediately picked this up to read. While somewhat more wordy than Dracula, in my opinion (I enjoy Dracula's epistolary format), I liked its insight and observations on mankind. How we so often have difficulty looking beyond the physical appearance to what the person is like inside. How we judge and underestimate on appearances alone. I would even go so far to say that Shelley's "monster" was symbolic of women and how they were treated in her time. Judged by gender/outward appearance; believed not capable of anything beyond typical womanly tasks. Certainly not capable of writing a novel such as Frankenstein!

I will definitely reread at some point. I bet there is a great audio version available.

[ltmanning · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Two stars for the fact that this author was a product of her time. Long, long, long book. Interesting use of first person...with three different narrators.Actually like the old movie version better.But that's just me.I actually feel sorry for the kids who have to read this as a school assignment. I would have died. Or read the SparkNotes instead.

[jcgirl-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Brilliant and timeless for generations.

[kamgeb · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I read it because my son was reading it for high school English. It was much better than I remembered it. It really isn't a horror story as much as a story about how people judge things and make assumptions about things.

[lydia1879 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

So this book is brilliant, but I loathe one of the characters.

It's a gothic story with beautiful prose and wonderful metaphors and these short, sharp lines that take my breath away.

Sometimes, it's a little wordy, a little too fancy, a little too lengthy. I feel as if that's Percy Shelley's influence creeping in through her prose - would that I could read her work unedited.

The premise for the story is fantastic.

... and then we get to one of the characters. Victor Frankenstein.

Victor, Victor, Victor.

If anything prevented me from reading this book in one sitting, it was him. As a literary device - he's perfect. His flaws illustrate the creature's compassion and ask us what it means to be human.

But I don't like him. He's a hypocritical coward and his passages are basically just 18th century man-splaining. If anything will prevent me from returning to or recommending this book, it's Victor Frankenstein.

Am I supposed to be this abhorred by him, and react this way? Probably.

... but I wish I read more from the creature's perspective. I think I would've loved this story a whole lot more if I had.

[morgandax · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I hate to say it, but I didn't enjoy the writing style. I wasn't expecting the 'letter' format (where the story is told via a series of letters sent between various characters) so that threw me off from the beginning, and while eventually I was able to get into it and get past that annoyance, I found the story lagged a bit because of it. It's a product of its time.

This is a classic that anyone remotely into horror should probably try to read, the story is excellent, but unfortunately, at least for me, the writing hasn't aged well.

[withlightandlove · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Wow! Mary Shelly wrote this book when she was 19! When I was 19 I was getting drunk and struggling to get myself up to go to work every day.This book is truly amazing. I expected, considering it was written in the 1800's, to be a challenging read, but it wasn't at all. She writes with such beauty, and creates such empathy and humanness in the 'wretch'. I became extremely bored with Victor's constant self-pity, and more connected and sympathetic with his creation than him.A beautiful story, heartbreaking and interesting to the end.

[dbeveridge_6 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I'm a horror movie fan, and Boris Karloff has always been one of my greatest cinematic heroes. But if you haven't read this book, then you have no idea what Frankenstein is really about. Despite its very 19th century English style, it is an adventure story that moves, and at the same time it poses moral and ethical dilemmas that are as relevant today as when the book was written. There's a reason this one is a classic.And the great Simon Vance narration is wonderful as always.

[tess_w · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is a great version of the classic. It is so much better written than the classic Dracula. Victor Frankenstein creates a hideous being from corpses. This monster, after failing to receive acceptance because of his appearance, kills those beloved by its creator. His demand is that Frankenstein build a mate for him. Frankenstein refuses and the monster then destroys everything the Dr. loves. He also destroys Frankenstein’s sanity. It’s obvious that the author was well-educated because her choice of words was superior to most other writers that one reads.

[breic-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I loved the over-the-top writing style and plotting. Parts of the story are just skeletons—the creation of the monster, especially—but on the other hand it never gets bogged down. The stakes are large ("I shuddered to think that future ages might curse me as their pest, whose selfishness had not hesitated to buy its own peace at the price, perhaps, of the existence of the whole human race"), the themes and the tragedy enormous. There could have been more depth, but there are still multiple levels of complication, and it is also just a fun story. > I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was very different, when the masters of the science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand: but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the enquirer seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in science was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth> Such were the professor's words—rather let me say such the words of fate, enounced to destroy me. As he went on, I felt as if my soul were grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were touched which formed the mechanism of my being: chord after chord was sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception, one purpose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein—more, far more, will I achieve: treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.> None but those who have experienced them can conceive of the enticements of science. In other studies you go as far as others have gone before you, and there is nothing more to know; but in a scientific pursuit there is continual food for discovery and wonder.> After days and nights of incredible labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of generation and life; nay, more, I became myself capable of bestowing animation upon lifeless matter.> Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.> "Hateful day when I received life!" I exclaimed in agony. "Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and abhorred."> We may not part until you have promised to comply with my requisition. I am alone, and miserable; man will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species, and have the same defects. This being you must create.> You would not call it murder, if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts, and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man, when he contemns me?> Sometimes, indeed, I felt a wish for happiness; and thought, with melancholy delight, of my beloved cousin; or longed, with a devouring maladie du pays, to see once more the blue lake and rapid Rhône, that had been so dear to me in early childhood: but my general state of feeling was a torpor, in which a prison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene in nature; and these fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of anguish and despair. At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the existence I loathed; and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance to restrain me from committing some dreadful act of violence.> Yet when she died!—nay, then I was not miserable. I had cast off all feeling, subdued all anguish, to riot in the excess of my despair. Evil thenceforth became my good. Urged thus far, I had no choice but to adapt my nature to an element which I had willingly chosen. The completion of my demoniacal design became an insatiable passion. And now it is ended; there is my last victim! … Yet I seek not a fellow-feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I ever find. When I first sought it, it was the love of virtue, the feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now, that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am content to suffer alone, while my sufferings shall endure: when I die, I am well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory … For while I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires. They were forever ardent and craving; still I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all human kind sinned against me? … I shall quit your vessel on the ice-raft which brought me thither, and shall seek the most northern extremity of the globe; I shall collect my funeral pile, and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch, who would create such another as I have been … Some years ago, when the images which this world affords first opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer, and heard the rustling of the leaves and the warbling of the birds, and these were all to me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by crimes, and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death? … Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to thine; for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my wounds until death shall close them forever.

[sweetiegherkin · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An ambitious young man sets forth on a dangerous sea journey to the north when he encounters a lost soul, a formerly ambitious man of science who is tormented by the demonic being he created.As a child, I had read a young readers' abridged version of Frankenstein, which I enjoyed. For some reason, I never got around to reading the original as an adult. Finally, I have done so. I was at first thrown off by the framing device of Walton writing letters home to his sister, as I didn't understand whose these people were and how they fit into the story that I at least knew the basics of in terms of main characters. It honestly takes quite a while even after meeting Victor Frankenstein to learn his whole name, which is just slipped into bits of his part of the narrative. I'm sure that the early readers were more shocked by this monster tale having it couched so, with the story making one think it will go in a certain way (adventures on the sea, perhaps a friendship or even romance for Walton) before making steep turns into science fiction and then horror. However, it did seem a little contrived at times, particularly when the narrative within Walton's letter then contains a letter from Elizabeth to Victor, in which she has to describe to him the role of Justine in his family's household, even though he's supposedly known Justine for essentially his whole life. Nevertheless, this book is amazing in that Shelley wrote it basically on a dare during a holiday with some friends. And the story has clearly endured over the many years, with Frankenstein and his monster being a part of the culture that even young children understand. (Interesting to me that there is really very little description of the creature beyond inhumanly tall with a mummified skin, yet every visual incarnation of him is with green skin, bolts coming out his neck, a block-ish head, etc.) There's plenty of food for thought in here about who is really the villain, what makes a being human (and humane), and how ambition can move science and humanity forward but how it can also blind people into ignoring the ethics of what they are doing. I'm definitely glad to have finally read this classic, but it's not an instant favorite of mine personally.For the audiobook listener, Gildart Jackson did an excellent job. I actually had started a different audio version with another narrator and gave up about a third of the way in because that narrator was a bit too monotone for me to hold interest in the story as a result.

[dr_cicle · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I had to read this for my Monsters and Fairy Tales class. The plot was very interesting but there were a few things that bothered me a bit. The time is very messed up and confused me a lot while reading this. If you have or will read this book then you know what I am talking about. Also, the writing style was difficult for me to get through at times. Overall, I really enjoyed this book.

[niquetteb · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Frankenstein created a hman being and was disgusted by him. He spent a long time in a state of delirium. He sought after his creature ntil his own death grasped him. Shelley is not a very talented writer.

[great_east_road · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

See my review of this book, and many more, at Tales from the Great East Road.

After a childhood of indulging his scientific curiosities, Victor Frankenstein has realised his purpose: to create life from death. But despite succeeding, once he lays eye upon the creature his has created Victor knows he has made a grave mistake. He has created a monster, one which torments his soul and preys upon his family. No-one is safe, and now Victor must travel and destroy his work before anyone else is hurt.

Frankenstein is a novel that explores the nature of playing God and questions the limits of science. Through its melodramatic prose and horrific descriptions, it is a masterwork of the Gothic and Horror genres. The idea of an arrogant young man who believes he can defeat death only to have it go terribly wrong is one that has been used many times since this novel’s publication. Victor tries to play God, only to regret his actions and detest his own creation, which in turn causes the Creature to hate him in turn, blaming Victor for his wretched existence. The novel challenges the idea of power between man and God: Victor is the creator thus the Creature believes him to be the cause of his suffering, and the only one able to relieve it, yet the Creature is far superior in strength and ability to survive in the wild. He haunts Victor’s every move, striking down those he loves one by one despite all efforts to stop him; the Creature’s free will gives him power over his God. The Creature also blames his murderous intent on Victor, insisting that he was inherently virtuous before the misery of rejection caused him to seek vengeance, whereas Victor believes him to be monstrous through and through. Mary Shelley questions the nature of mankind: are we born to good, or is this just a human ideal? After all, animals have no sense of evil, just survival. Is Frankenstein’s creature man or beast? As in real life, there are no solid conclusions drawn.

Within this novel’s style it is possible to see the origins of the Gothic genre. Whilst the questions asked are intriguing and it reads well, it is written in an almost painfully melodramatic way. Victor is often found weeping at mere thoughts and worries, whilst his creature laments his fortunes over and over to anyone listening: “When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.1” This reads as awfully heavy-handed, and soon becomes fairly boring.

It is easy to see why Frankenstein is considered a classic: its deep questions into human nature and the tormented journey of both Victor and his creature are fascinating to read. However, it is hindered by the overly dramatic writing style and self-serving soliloquies, which causes the novel to become repetitive.

3 stars.

1 All you need to do is add an “O” to the beginning of this quote and you have yourself a Shakespearian monologue!

[isatyajeet · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What makes this story magnificent is that it doesn't rely upon cheap thrills or blood or gore to achieve its horror (not that I'm opposed), and yet without any of these things it chills you to the bone with its monster. Although there are shocks and twists along the way, truly terrifying is what Shelley exposes about the nature of humanity, it's biases, its frailty in memory and perception, and its conceptions of truth, beauty, and purpose. As you approach the end, you have a sneaking suspicion the real monster of the book is you, in the emptiness of all that you think you are and all that you are not. That's the magic. As so few books can, this story transcends its pages to include you as one of its destined characters, to spook you with your own conclusions it had set lying in wait…and in this way you sympathize with both Frankenstein and his monster in having both created an existential terror while also being one! And thus you are left unhinged.
Beware: the more you chew on this book the more it will haunt you...someplace deep, very deep.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein has endured in the popular imagination for two hundred years. Begun as a ghost story by an intellectually and socially precocious eighteen-year-old author during a cold and rainy summer on the shores of Lake Geneva, the dramatic tale of Victor Frankenstein and his stitched-together creature can be read as the ultimate parable of scientific hubris. Victor, “the modern Prometheus,” tried to do what he perhaps should have left to Nature: create life.



Shelly depicts birth as both creative and destructive, and the monster becomes a disfigured mirror of the natural cycle of life.
The monster, therefore, embodies Dr.Frankenstein’s corruption of nature in the quest for glory.
The protagonist's hamartia (fatal-flaw) - the god complex - is most clear in the line:
“Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world.”

This, for some, maybe an allegory of Gnosticism whereby God is a tyrant who creates evil in the world through repression.
What is the final verdict in terms of the Creature's good or evil identity?
Also are we, as human beings, formed by "nature" or "nurture" or both?
It is really hard to say who is the monster/evil, Creator =!= Createe.
But then again, how would we measure humanity in either of them? 

The Daemon* was innocent, sweet, and caring, but also abused, abandoned, and unloved. The fact that society fails in its ability to sympathize with the creature is evidence enough of the absence of morality and common decency. As a result, the creature is a prime example of isolation. Essentially, the Creature does not begin as the cruel and monstrous murderer, but rather is a product of the lack of sympathy from society, and more importantly from his creator, Victor. Even being the source of the Creature's misery, a dying Victor earns his "child's" loyalty as the Creature drapes himself over his dying "father" and exclaims, "Oh, Frankenstein! Generous and self-devoted being! I...destroyed thee by destroying all thou lovedst". As if facing the reality he has painfully known all along, the Creature beholds his dead father and states, "Alas! He is cold, he cannot answer me".

Maybe the monster is more human than the human.

[ladycalamity · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Amazing book. It's so much more than I thought it would be. Very interesting!

[kellyholmes-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A chilling tale! I read this in high school, which was a while ago, but even thinking about it now gives me the creeps.

[reading_fox · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Seminal fantasy work, one of the early defining books of fantasy genre. Shame it isn't more readable though I suspect that's just my more modern tastes.

[dalepeters_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Disappointing, especially for such a highly regarded "classic". 5% action, 95% describing how everyone *feels* about what just happened.

[aseikonia · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is the second or third time I've read this and it's just as marvelous as before. A tale within a tale within a tale by a literary mastermind at the height of her genius.

[cindywho-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is another one I'd just never gotten around to reading. The story is far from what popular culture has made of it (I confess I was most familiar with the Young Frankenstein version) The monster is much more vocal and interesting. Victor is kind of a weenie and it's all a bit overwrought. I listened to the audiobook from the classic tales podcast and the narrator was pretty good, obviously enjoying all the "begone!s" and "wretchs"

[moniquesnyman-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A classic isn't a called a classic because it's a run-of-the-mill type of book. It's a groundbreaking novel/movie/song that inspires people and stays with you forever, and it's likely that it won't be topped in one, two or sometimes three generations. A classic is a classic because it's unique, and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is definitely a classic. The prose is beautiful, the story is gripping and the book itself is absolutely breathtaking. As far as horror is concerned, this is one of those must-have classics that you can revisit every couple of years.

But we all know the story about Frankenstein and the monster he creates out of body parts. We all know who Igor is and what happens in the end, I mean, if you haven't read the book then you've probably watched one of the movies, right? So, instead of going on and on about the plot we all know about, I'm going to talk about the beautiful book. Seriously, this is one super pretty book. It's in Penguin Books' horror series, recently brought out for horror fans that includes five other fantastic titles (American Supernatural Tales was one of them). This is one pretty edition for one creepy tale ... in other words, you'll freaking love it if you have a thing for horror books. Also, I'm pretty sure it'll be a collectors edition in the not-so-distant future.

If that doesn't appeal to you, and you need a little something extra, rest assured that I can sweeten the pot for those folks on the edge. Guillermo Del Toro is the series' editor and there's a nice little introduction by him. Yes, he's not all movies all the time, sometimes this horror director makes time for books too!

So, yes it's pretty, yes it's a great edition and yes, the editing is great. As far as I'm concerned you can donate your other editions of Frankenstein to the less fortunate, because this one just looks so much better on a bookshelf.

[imshi_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I really didn't like this one. Maybe it's because of all the hype about it - surely after that anything would be a letdown. The reason I didn't like it was this: I felt that the themes of the novel were very interesting (knowledge, humanity, etc.) but I felt the execution was poor. Some key events in the novel depended on far too convenient plot devices (The monster needs to learn about humankind and morality! Oh, look, there's a random suitcase of philosophy texts lying in the woods! How convenient!) and because of that for me the plausibility of it suffered. And I KNOW it's meant to be a fantastic as opposed to realistic story, but I feel that with really, really good writing an author can make readers believe in things that are fantastic and implausible - and the writing in this book definitely didn't do that. Giving it two stars only because it's remained popular this long, so I suppose there must be something going for it.

[mmillet_7 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I have been trying to read this book for months, but that doesn't mean that I didn't enjoy it. It's a great scary story with plenty of misery and death to satisfy the best scary story lovers. Shelly's writing is incredible, some of her passages really stuck with me and I am amazed at how young she was when she wrote it. Really enjoyed it, but don't think I'll pick it up again anytime soon.

[emresevinc · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It would be unfair to both Shelley and the author of the Afterword to write a short review of this masterpiece. Thus I will not attempt to accomplish this dificult task. Suffice it to say that the deep dilemmas posed by this novel are still relevant for us and no film adaptation can match the atmosphere of the original novel. (PS: Would it make a great exercise to re-read the book in the light of the strong Artificial Intelligence or Artificial General Intelligence theses?)

[ms7claudia · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Reading online on my Wattpad app on Iphone. Already read it once before but I am re-reading it. Great fluid language.

[gma2lana · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I finished it, wow, that was a goal for me. I almost quit in the beginning of the book, but stuck it out. It was very slow for me in the beginning, but then picked up. I felt sorry for the monster. It's unfair someone has the capability to create life and then walk away because of the horrible sight before him. Not at all like I thought it would be as I was expecting more of the movies aspecty, I know, lame thinking, but I can say that I have read this classic.