FRANKENSTEIN or The Modern Prometheus (The Revised 1831 Edition - Wisehouse Classics)

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: Nov 26, 2015
• 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

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 fancy

Reviews for FRANKENSTEIN or The Modern Prometheus (The Revised 1831 Edition - Wisehouse Classics)

[romonko · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

In all my life, I have never had the urge to read Mary Shelley's masterpiece until I received a copy as a gift recently. I have read a lot of classics in my life, but I have never been a fan of the "horror" genre. Well, this book was a surprise--wonderful language, well-drawn characters, a deep study into the human psyche with just the right amount of tension. After finishing the book I couldn't help but think that Hollywood did us no favours with their numerous adaptations of this story. It certainly formulated a preconceived notion in my head, and made me decide to give the book a pass. According to my research, Mary Shelley created this story on a rainy afternoon in 1816 while she was in Geneva with her husband, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and their friend, Lord Byron. How is that for a pedigree? This book is a horror story, but it is so much more. It is study in human nature, and an examination of the dangers and occurrences that can occur when a person's ambitions and preconceived notions, ruled by an imagination that has been allowed to go its own way from childhood. It examines social and human morals, especially as they were in the early 19th century. It is also a tragedy as we watch a man descent into obsession and insanity. There is a reason why this book has stood the test of time, and why it has survived numerous reincarnations as a film and television series. The underlying message is still valid today. Unbridled obsession, tragedy, romance, grief and narcissism are all emotions that we still see everywhere today. The difference today is that all these emotions and actions are out in the open and are discussed freely on television, in the news media and on social media. I think the real horror behind this "horror" story is that it forces the reader to examine their own motivations and aspirations, and maybe begin to understand how these can be interpreted. perceived and judged by others. I am sure we all know of people in the world today and in history who definitely have a "God" complex, and we can see the harm that it has caused and still continues to cause in our world. .

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[drardavis · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Despite its 19th century style and vocabulary this story still horrifies, partly because the gruesome details are left to the imagination. Victor Frankenstein does not reveal how he reanimates the creature. Stephen King would have spent several bloody chapters arranging the guts and brains and eyeballs. The motion picture image of the creature is only supported by Shelley’s description of the watery yellow eyes and the straight black lips. The pearly white teeth, lustrous flowing black hair, limbs in proportion, and beautiful features give a more godlike aspect to the monster. The violence is barely described. A dead body with finger prints on its throat. An execution. Some screams and sticks and stones to drive the creature out of a cottage. Even the death of Victor’s fiancee is but a muffled scream in a distant bedroom and a body on the bed. The true horror is symbolic, mythical, ethical, and metaphysical. Mary Shelley describes the consequences of hubris in prose while her husband gives a similar image poetically in Ozymandias. “Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.”

[aspirit-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I didn't finish this story, perhaps because I'd tired of Victorian/Gothic fiction by the time I'd started reading this novel. Perhaps, it was because I hadn't expected a frame story about how the hedonistic Dr. Frankenstein created a person on whim, abandoned him, and refused to take responsibility even as his creation showed an infantile inability to move on from his traumatic rebirth without guidance.

Half-way through the story, I was rooting for someone to shove the doctor off a cliff and help Frankenstein's monster to become a self-sufficient man. I doubt the end is that cheerful.

There is a strong possibility that this story can be a trigger from adults who'd suffered neglect and abandonment in childhood. I appreciate that Shelley wrote a story that can elicit strong emotions through its plot, but it was too difficult to continue at times. I felt that too much of the story was told from Dr. Frankenstein's point of view (POV), making the section from the unnamed monster's POV more painful.

One day, I'll try reading all the way through with different expectations.

[gbelik_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I haven't read this since high school so it felt like I was reading it for the first time. There was so much more here than I remembered, both in plot and in ideas. Well worth a re-read.

[fredacochran · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Read this in high school and loved it, I still love it, such a brilliant mine to come up with the characters and story.

[starla_aurora · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I can understand all the love I hear for this book. It is writing is eloquent and you can fell the time period the author is from. Sadly, this extreme difference is noticed because of how many (terrible) writing styles there are in this day. I cant say much that is not already said about this book. If you are someone who enjoys very well written art, this is for you. Writing style is not what I judge highly, as long as I can feel what the characters are feeling and see what they have seen, I enjoy a book. As for the person who wrote that Hollywood got it terribly wrong, they did. I listened to this on audio book (amazing reader btw, George Guidall is brilliant -I loved his audio reading of The Ear, The Eye, and The Arm By: Nancy Farmer.

[msf59 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It has taken me decades, but I finally read this classic horror novel. I have no excuse for the procrastination, but it turned out to be a nice surprise because it is much different from the movies, we are so familiar with. The films and vampire lore surrounding Dracula, seem to have followed closely to that novel, but Shelley's Frankenstein is a much more philosophical exploration, asking big questions about nature, mankind and our different responsibilities to each. This is even more impressive if you consider that the author was only eighteen when she wrote it. If you are still perched on a fence, over this one, reconsider, and give it a try. It also worked very well as an audiobook.

[schatzi_5 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I'm not sure how I went this long without reading Frankenstein (or Dracula, which is still on my TBR list). Of course I'd heard about the story, and thought that I knew the basics of it (apparently I knew more about the movies than the book), and since it's October and Halloween is fast approaching, I thought that I'd find a creepy read.Instead, I found myself getting weepy over Frankenstein's creation. Frankenstein is a total dick, and I find it impossible to really feel anything for him except a vague disgust. Frankenstein spends years crafting his creation, and as SOON as his creation is animated, he is repulsed by him. Having brought this creation to life, with him knowing nothing about life or humans or anything, completely dependent on his creator for care, Frankenstein abandons him - FOR TWO YEARS. TWO FREAKING YEARS. Meanwhile, this poor creation is thrust into a world he does not and cannot possibly understand. He doesn't even understand hunger or thirst, much less how to speak or express his needs. All the creation longs for is acceptance; instead, he finds only horror. Every time he tries to help people in an attempt to win their favor, he's shot or beaten or hated. Is it any wonder that he becomes full of rage and turns that against his creator, whom he blames for bringing him to "life" and then abandoning him in a cruel world? I do feel sorry for the characters that are hurt because of their association with Frankenstein, but Frankenstein himself? Meh. In spite of never being formally educated, the creation is quite smart (having taught himself language and reason by observing, studying his neighbors circumspectly, and reading a few books he found abandoned) and totally calls out Frankenstein for his dickish behavior, and I enjoyed this part the most. And I hated how remorseful the creation was when Frankenstein dies, because I really wanted him to just say "fuck this hoe" and leave. Altogether, this wasn't what I expected it to be - and I'm glad for that. Three stars because I still feel we're suppose to sympathize a bit with Frankenstein, and I just can't. CANNOT.

[nittnut · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I've had Frankenstein on my to read list for years. This summer, my 14 yr. old niece was telling me about how it's her favorite book, so I decided to bump it up the pile and read it. I will be very interested to talk to her about this book. I really didn't like it. It is a miserable story and it makes me wonder whether anything could have been different, if, for example, Frankenstein had been kind to his monster? Everyone dies, everyone is unhappy, and it's so pathetically sad that any creepy factor gets totally lost. Sigh. I never thought I'd say that I liked Dracula better, but I did. I liked Dracula better.

[bibliosk8er_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A fairly quick read, and enjoyable.

[weeturtle · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book surprised me. Neither Dr. Frankenstein or his monster were anything like what I expected from their pop-cultural portrayal. Dr. Frankenstein is far from a mad scientist, and the monster is not entirely a victim, or all that sympathetic in my opinion. How to view the pair seems to be very much at the discretion of the reader. Considered a cautionary tale about science going too far, that is also something for the reader to think about, and decide if that really was the case.On the actual text, this edition features a preface written by Percy Shelley. Don't let it scare you, Mary's writing is much easier to get through. ;). The actual text is shorter than it looks, with about 1/3rd of the book being supplemental material.

[justagirlwithabook · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

 I had to read Frankenstein as required reading my senior year of high school and I loved it. It was just the right amount of suspense, creepiness, and some big questions of morality. Reading this one also clarified any misconceptions I had about who was who - Frankenstein is Frankenstein, not his monster, and he does some pretty insane things pushing the boundaries between life and death in his obsession to bring back the one he loves. I found this fascinating and couldn't put the book down. It, for the most part, is close to the level of my love for Dracula.

[ghr4 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Two hundred years after its publication in 1818 Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein remains a powerful and relevant work with merits that go well beyond acknowledgement as the groundbreaking first science fiction novel. Across much of the plot this has the veneer of a standard gothic melodrama filled with malicious misdeeds and tragic deaths. But it is the strong themes and character dynamics teeming beneath the surface that make this a literary classic.At its core, Frankenstein is an allegory of man’s hubris, warning of the dire unforeseen consequences when man overextends his grasp, reaches too high and too far (beyond what is natural, and therefore supernatural), presuming to possess godlike capabilities. But at its heart, this is a tragic story of benevolence and basic human decency ironically embodied in Victor Frankenstein’s monstrous creation. He is thrust into life a true innocent, gentle and loving, but unable to receive those qualities in kind, and therefore he is transformed into malevolence – a vengeful murderous fiend, intent on the destruction of his creator, whom he views as ultimately responsible for his misery.Shelley’s character portraits of Victor and the monster, each intricately woven and the two then fully interwoven into a remarkable yin yang relationship, form the fabric of the story and propel the novel forward. Early on, as Victor dives headlong into his study of the unnatural, combing through the remains of the dead to combine the parts into unholy life, thirsting for knowledge that lies beyond man’s realm, he is insensible to the lush beauty of the natural world around him and distanced from interpersonal relationships. Victor’s work consumes him; he is oblivious to the seasonal beauties of nature: “Winter, spring, and summer passed away during my labours; but I did not watch the blossom or the expanding leaves – sights which before always yielded me supreme delight – so deeply was I engrossed in my occupation.” And after the creature is brought to life, Victor, horrified by his creation, suffers intense physical and psychological decline: palpitations, anxiety, nightmares, languor, and weakness. In karmic irony, Victor’s creation of life now seems to sap the life from him: an intriguing start to a zero-sum game that Shelley plays here.In order to explore the character and soul of the monster, Shelley is forced into a dicey plot device that strains the reader’s ability to suspend disbelief. The monster takes up secluded residence in a village hovel, and through observation of neighbors he learns of human emotions and interactions, and by reading books he gains a remarkable level of literacy, all in a rather short period of time. It is a contrivance, but a necessary one in order to allow him to relate his life from his point of view – and it works well, primarily due to the power of his emotions.After the monster’s murderous spree has begun, he meets up with Victor and early in their initial conversation sums up his plight: “Remember that 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. Everywhere I see bliss from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend…. I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity: but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow-creatures, who owe me nothing? They spurn and hate me.”The monster then relates his experiences from the very beginning, but his was no natural birth; rather it was thrust to life from the void. Shelley masterfully conveys the confusion, haziness, and the “strange multiplicity of sensations” that seized him. As he tells his tale, it feels like the story of early man, indeed first man, learning as he goes: discovering fire, sensing hunger and the need for food, clothing, shelter. Due to his outsized frame and hideous appearance, he is an outcast, forced to view the world through a chink in a window of his hovel. As he studies a neighboring family he learns of the hardships of the everyman: poverty, hunger, and physical afflictions such as blindness – and thereby feels compassion for his fellow man, a compassion which will never be returned in kind. And from there springs the unstoppable murderous rage through which he vows to kill those most dear to Victor, wreaking vengeance and misery upon his creator. And so, the monster, stitched together from the dead and brought to life by Victor, has become a relentless killer. The dead regenerated into life with lives now taken in revenge, as the zero-sum game concludes.It must be noted that Shelley’s dialogue is often overwrought in telling the melodramatic aspects of the story: the kind of dialogue generally accompanied by intense hand-wringing and faint-hearted histrionics. This style was surely de rigueur in the Romantic Era, but it is simply treacly to the modern reader. Nevertheless, that distraction aside, Frankenstein is one of the most disturbing and moving novels ever written.

[renbedell · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The science fiction classic that is nothing like the movies and instead filled with angst and a desire for love, not only by the creature, but also by Dr. Frankenstein. The writing of this book is amazing. Mary Shelley has a way with words that make every sentence seem deep and meaningful. The story jumps back and forth between the doctor and the monster, with both of them lamenting about who they are and their acceptance in the world. It is depressing, dark, and suspenseful. The book is about finding meaning and Mary Shelley describes it in a great way.

[msaucier818 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was not what I expected at all. I have seen various television and movie productions of Frankenstein, and none of them are accurate to the story at all outside of the creation of a "monster" out of dead human parts. The course of the story was very unexpected, and there is not nearly as much sympathy for the monster as I would have expected going into the book. The intellectual side of me very much enjoyed this book as it brings up many good philosophical questions about the meaning of life. It also even has a hint of science fiction in the sense that it looks the question of how would a creature such as this develop into an intelligent being.

I am glad I read this and am surprised that it took me so long to get to it. Recommended for all.

[bohemima · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The book is different from the movie.How often have we heard and said that? In the case of Frankenstein the differences even more difficult than usual. The classic horror movie with Karloff is, oddly, more true to the essential message of the novel than one might expect—although the plot details are way off.We start with a framing device: Frankenstein has been rescued by a ship’s captain from the frozen waters of the far north. He (Frankenstein) tells his awful (in all senses of the word) tale. Frankenstein’s unhealthy curiosity and hubris lead him to create a “man.” This well-meaning, if bizarre, experiment doesn’t go well. Horror, murder, and mayhem ensue.But this isn’t just a Gothic romance designed to thrill the heart of the innocent reader. Instead it’s a study of what happens to a creature who is feared, hated, and rejected by everyone, including his creator. The reader soon realizes that if the Creature had been afforded even a modicum of compassion and understanding none of the evil would have ensued. This idea is well-realized in the movie from the 1930’s.Frankenstein is often read as a study in hubris and pride; the doctor is seen as impious at best and Saranic at worst. None of this is supported by the text.The book retains its suspense and compulsion to keep turning the pages even on a third or fourth reading. An excellent moral tale, couched in enough melodrama to please any lover of sensational fiction. There’s nothing prurient or gross to keep it from young or sensitive readers. Highly recommended.

[lisahistory · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Upon rereading, was really horrified by Frankenstein himself, creating something so heinous and then trying to distract himself, or falling ill, every time he might have been doing something responsible about his creation. This, I suppose, makes it a tragedy as well as a horror story, because his own hubris not only led him to the creation of the monster who would destroy him, but to the neglect of the problem which caused so many unnecessary deaths.

[kristelh_15 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Story of a monster. Shelley create this story during an evening spent with friends. The literary device would be "projecting the perils of man seeking to play God." (Foster). The real monster is the creator in this story. This book projects the period of the nineteenth century of the dual nature of man, that we are both good and evil.

[m.belljackson · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This illustrated version enhances the power of Mary Shelley's story as the fragmented features and intermittent color call up both the tragic horror and the pervasive deep sadness.With foreshadowing of lightning and storms, it was surprising that Victor Frankenstein's creationsimply came alive by opening its milky eyes. In this instance, the combination of his awakeningin the movie heightens the strength of the original story. Grateful for both!