Frankenstein

By Mary Shelley

There is no greater novel and no more well-known monster than Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Now you can enjoy the original 1818 version in this beautifully designed edition.

The creature at the center of this tale is more than just a lumbering giant. He is in reality a thinking intelligent being who is tormented by a world in which he does not belong. Shelley draws upon the universal themes of creation and the nature of existence with the overall need for acceptance. As the narrative points out, it is without this acceptance that the true monster, the violent nature of humanity, emerges.

In the story, Swiss scientist Dr. Victor Frankenstein is obsessed with the secret of creation. He cobbles together a body he’s determined to bring to life until that one fateful night, when he actually does. As the creature opens his eyes, the doctor is repulsed to see that this is not his vision of perfection, but is instead a hideous monster. Dr. Frankenstein abandons his repulsive creation, and in doing so, sets in motion a chain of violence and terror wrought on by a monster who just will not be ignored

Shelley’s tale is as relevant today as it is haunting. Infused with some elements of the Gothic novel and the Romantic movement, this gripping story about the ethics of creation and the consequences of trauma, is one of the most influential Gothic novels in British literature. Frankenstein is also considered to be one of the earliest examples of science fiction and is a must read for fans of that genre as well as horror buffs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G&D Media
• Release date: Jun 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781722524050

Mary Shelley

Mary Shelley (1797-1851) was an English novelist. Born the daughter of William Godwin, a novelist and anarchist philosopher, and Mary Wollstonecraft, a political philosopher and pioneering feminist, Shelley was raised and educated by Godwin following the death of Wollstonecraft shortly after her birth. In 1814, she began her relationship with Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, whom she would later marry following the death of his first wife, Harriet. In 1816, the Shelleys, joined by Mary’s stepsister Claire Clairmont, physician and writer John William Polidori, and poet Lord Byron, vacationed at the Villa Diodati near Geneva, Switzerland. They spent the unusually rainy summer writing and sharing stories and poems, and the event is now seen as a landmark moment in Romanticism. During their stay, Shelley composed her novel Frankenstein (1818), Byron continued his work on Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812-1818), and Polidori wrote “The Vampyre” (1819), now recognized as the first modern vampire story to be published in English. In 1818, the Shelleys traveled to Italy, where their two young children died and Mary gave birth to Percy Florence Shelley, the only one of her children to survive into adulthood. Following Percy Bysshe Shelley’s drowning death in 1822, Mary returned to England to raise her son and establish herself as a professional writer. Over the next several decades, she wrote the historical novel Valperga (1923), the dystopian novel The Last Man (1826), and numerous other works of fiction and nonfiction. Recognized as one of the core figures of English Romanticism, Shelley is remembered as a woman whose tragic life and determined individualism enabled her to produce essential works of literature which continue to inform, shape, and inspire the horror and science fiction genres to this day.

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Letter 1

To Mrs. Saville, England

St. Petersburg, 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 Petersburg, 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 traveled 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 splendor. 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 favorite dream of my early years. I have read with ardor 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 favorable period for traveling 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. Petersburg 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 endeavor 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 endeavor 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 honor 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 labor—but besides this there is a love for the marvelous, a belief in the marvelous, 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 endeavors. Wherefore not? Thus far I have gone, tracing a secure way over the path-less 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 traveler 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 traveler 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 equaled. 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 we

Reviews for Frankenstein

[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.

[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.

[thedivineoomba · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book is considered the first Science Fiction Novel by many people. And, while it has many Science Fiction trademarks (new technology, etc), its more a story about the horrors of creating life. There is a reason its alternate title is "The Modern Prometheus".First off - Frankenstein is not a story about monster creating evil scientists with hunchbacked assistants or pitchfork carrying peasants. That is all in movies, and unfortunately, its what most people think of when they think Frankenstein.Yes, there is a scientist. But he doesn't have an assistant, or a castle, or even strange looking machinery. The book doesn't say exactly how Victor Frankenstein created his monster, or even what the monster looked like, except that it is gruesome, grotesque, and scary. This book is really about justice. The monster is angry at being left alone in the world by his creator, unable to be part of human society due to his extreme stature and ugliness. The monster ruins Frankenstein's perfect life, by taking away all that is important to him. This is story about cause and effect, about responsibility to one's creations - even if it was created in a fit of hubris, and the result is so horrifying that the creator runs away.Highly recommended for everyone, although I did read this a long time ago as a teenager - and the message was lost on me.

[kakadoo202 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

never saw any movie and never knew really the story, just had this idea about the monster Frankenstein. Turns out that the monster has no name and the creator is called Frankenstein. Very surprising book. Story very different than expected. Good and quick read.

[narshkite · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

So much more compelling and complex than I expected! This is a well crafted horror novel, but it is also a commentary on the effects of violence and ad hoc "progress." The themes of scientific progression for its own sake, alienation, what we would now call PTSD are still as bracingly relevant today.

[fuzzi_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An engrossing tale of passion, ambition, and desire, and what they do to a person, and those they hold most dear.

[bearlyr · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What doesn't this true classic horror story have? We have the requisite mad scientist, grave robbers, stolen body parts, a creature made of mix and match human parts, scientific experiments, and of course it's a love story as well. What a great book! If you're one of the few who have not yet read this tale... what are you waiting for?

[engpunk77 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Quality!

At one time this was my favorite classic novel--I've read it 4 times for 4 different classes and it's amazing how many different interpretations are out there regarding the nature of the monster! One professor believed he didn't exist at all--a figment of Victor's imagination or a manifestation of his oedipus complex. The fact that the men at the end witness the existence of the monster is an example of group hysteria. That's my favorite thesis and I wish I could remember the name of my professor that suggested it to give her credit!
A chilling and complex tale that examines the relationship between man and his creator, feelings of isolation and rejection, and monstrosity. A psychological thriller as much as a horror story. Recommended to lit majors especially!
By the way, this isn't my copy but one from a library book sale. Mine is so full of notes you can barely read the text anymore...

[eyejaybee · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It is difficult to view a book as famous as Frankenstein other than through the prism of its cinematic legacy. The images conjured simply by mention of that name are almost inescapable. That is a shame because it is a marvellous book that has been poorly served by most of the screen adaptations it has spawned.Not least among the many amazing aspects of the book is the fact that Mary Shelley was just eighteen when she started to write it. Her prose has an assurance and cadence of a master rather than a mere neophyte.Frankenstein appeared very early on in the history of the novel as a prominent literary form, and it displays many traits that were common in the early nineteenth century. The first few chapters take the form of letters from Robert Walton, an English traveller who is not without his own psychological baggage, to his sister. These detail his attempts to hire a crew in the wilds of Northern Russia with a view to sailing in search of the North Pole. Having penetrated far into the pack ice of the Arctic Circle Walton encounters a wild, dishevelled man who has an amazing tale to tell. This is, of course, Victor Frankenstein. The tale is indeed disturbing but engrossing.On screen, one of the key scenes is that in which Frankenstein's creation finally comes to life (usually with the help of a stereotypically contorted servant by the name of Igor), after lengthy scenes in which Frankenstein trawled through graveyards looking for suitable parts. In the book, this scene is condensed into a handful of paragraphs, without any lurid descriptions or prurient indulgence. Construction of the creature has been an academic quest, an exercise in scientific endeavour, conducted in a private laboratory rather than the gothic attics that so frequently occur in films. Even the moment at which the creature comes to life is described with delicious understatement. 'It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.'Frankenstein's joy in his success is short lived, turning immediately to despair and self-loathing, fleeing from the sight of his awful creation. The remainder of the book is a beautifully woven tale of despair and tragedy, that remains remarkably fresh and accessible.

[wethewatched · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

They cry a lot in this book. Tears are gushed and shed. The characters weep, sometimes alone and sometimes together.

What is the source of all this misery? A lonely monster--and the miserable man who created him. The concept, which has been retold countless times in films, on TV and other media, still holds up. However, the style of writing will likely feel dated to the modern reader. Shelley can be a little over the top in conveying the misery of Frankenstein (that's the scientist, not the monster). As alluded to in my opening, there are so many sentences in this novel about crying, I began to chuckle with amusement--probably not the reaction that an author of horror seeks.

In addition, while Shelly writes gripping conflicts and arguments, the novel slows down considerably in lengthy passages where Frankenstein reflects on the loveliness of nature or dwells on the terrible situation of which the reader knows plenty already.

So is it scary? Well, I can see how it would be to readers at the time of its writing, but for those who enjoy scary movies and Stephen King stories, it might seem a bit tame.

Yes, it's a classic that will continue to be retold for many years to come. And for those interested in the history of the horror genre, it's certainly worth a read. However, if what you're really after is escapist chills and thrills, you might be better off watching The Walking Dead.

[iansales_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

All these years and unbelievably I’d never actually read Frankenstein. I thought I knew the story, of course – who doesn’t? But that was from the films, and all they’ve done is lifted the central premise of Shelley’s novel and built their own interpretations of it out of that. I read Brian Aldiss’s Frankenstein Unbound many years ago, and from that I was aware part of Frankenstein took place at the North Pole. But there was plenty – the bulk of the book, in fact – I knew little or nothing about. Like the fact it’s structured as a series of nested first-person narratives, opening with letters from an arctic explorer who rescues a man from the ice. That man proves to be Victor Frankenstein who, once recovered, proceeds to tell his story – how he worked himself into a breakdown at university, building a creature from parts (none of which are named, nor their origin specified), and which promptly escapes. And then Frankenstein completely forgets about his eight-foot-tall monster for a year, and is only reminded of it when his youngest sister is murdered and a beloved family servant is accused of the murder. He then meets the monster, which tells its story… the murder was an accident, but it feels Frankenstein owes it and must make it a mate. So Frankenstein heads off to London, and then north to the Orkneys, but after making a start on a female monster, he suffers a change of heart… so the monster murders his best friend and Frankenstein is arrested for it… Frankenstein is a lot richer a story than film adaptations have led me to believe, but it’s also – and likely this is a product of the time – less rigourous than expected. The entire Frankenstein narrative, we are supposed to believe, is being told to Walton, and yet reads like, well, like a novel. The same is true of the monster’s narrative, especially the part when he spies on the cottagers (not what you are thinking: it is from spying on a family in a cottage he learns to speak French, and to read and write it). Not to mention actual correspondence from Elizabeth, Frankenstein’s childhood sweetheart, embedded in Frankenstein’s narrative. The prose reads somewhat overwrought to modern eyes, everything dialled up to eleven – Frankenstein doesn’t have friends, he has soulmates he loves deeply. The lack of narrative rigour also takes some getting used to. But the hardest part is untangling all the subsequent versions of the story knocking about in your head in order to fit in the original source text.

[bookson23rd · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Oh what wretched mortal agony it was to try to read this agonizingly wretched book!

[lycomayflower · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Way creepier than the bolts-in-the-neck monster movies would lead you to believe (with all apologies to Boris Karloff), Frankenstein is really a study of the responsibilities of a creator/father to his creation/child and of the repercussions of failing in those responsibilities. The horror here stems from the obsessive interplay between Frankenstein and his "monster": each feels he must destroy the other. In the end, the book becomes both a sort of twisted Lazarus story and an inversion of Job, where here the creator suffers continued torments and losses at the hands of the created. Drags a touch in places, but in many ways a thrilling and compelling read.

[atimco-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I'm glad I finally picked this up. For the uninitiated like myself, here's a tip: the monster's name isn't Frankenstein. Shocking, I know. Victor Frankenstein is the scientist; the monster is never given a proper name.This is verrrrry nineteenth-century Romantic, dramatic and melancholy and doomed destiny, played out over beautiful scenery without and horrible scenery within. Murder is done; a small child is the first victim. The reader can sense from the first that there will be no happy ending here.The main points of the plot are well known: Frankenstein creates a monster and then refuses to fulfill the monster's needs, and the monster takes a terrible revenge. It's fascinating how the monster is presented throughout as the more reasonable of the two. When he and Frankenstein finally meet, he keeps his temper and speaks calmly when Frankenstein is overcome with passion. The monster seems extremely literate, beyond what his his paltry education could have taught him.If Frankenstein and his monster are a picture of God and His creatures, it's breathtakingly insolent. And this is precisely what Mary Shelley intended, as she apparently called her monster "Adam." But despite all the supposed culpability of Frankenstein for the monster's crimes, consider... when the monster succeeds in destroying his creator, he realizes he has destroyed all his own chances for happiness. Instead of freeing him, his evil deeds have sealed his separation from humanity, and he cannot live with the desolation he has made. He has killed his god, and disappears into the darkness to kill himself.What really struck me as I read is how Shelley is able to create compassion in the reader for her monster. During the monster's narration, I kept thinking of people who are outcasts from society as a result of some mental (or criminal) "deformity." The monster's desire to be part of the human family is not so very different from theirs. And yet he commits horrible acts that irrevocably alienate him from human beings. He is his own destruction. But is it his fault? Or Frankenstein's?I suppose a modern reader, in relentless pursuit of Relevance and Chilling Statements on the Dangers of Scientific Arrogance in the classics, could wrestle some warnings or licenses out of the text for whatever his particular stance happens to be on the ethical issues we face in the scientific world today. I was all ready to do this myself, but I didn't find anything particularly pointed in this direction. The scientific issues are nothing compared to the theological—because everything, even science, is theological in that it reflects a worldview in which God figures... or He doesn't. The author of Frankenstein is an atheist who, not content with denying God's existence, also wants to smear His (non-existent) character. How can you hate someone you don't believe exists? And yet it's not that simple either, because Frankenstein isn't wholly bad... just human.I read this in one sitting. It's fairly short, but even so it could have been shorter. Mary Shelley should have kept it a short story instead of expanding it to a novel on her husband Percy Bysshe Shelley's advice. While I'm glad to have read this, there isn't really much that would ever make me return. It's supposed to be horror, but the descriptions of the horrific parts didn't haunt me. Stylistically, it's all right; there are a few memorable phrases here and there, but even at a mere two hundred pages it feels somewhat overdrawn, overdone. As a story, once you've read it, well, you've read it.

[thelorelei_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" rightly has a place in the pantheon of classic literature. Equally horrifying and profoundly saddening, the story of Victor Frankenstein and the creature whom he abandons has stood (and will continue to stand) as a grim indictment of society's creation of its own monsters. "Frankenstein" is a wonderful, strange, and thought-provoking read.

[coach_of_alva · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I first read this tale when I was too young to get it. I hadn't read other novels from that time period and I only knew the story from the Universal and Hammer films. I am a big boy now, and on my second reading , I found it is an excellent novel of ideas, with a good horror plot to maintain interest. I am also more accepting of what novels of the time period were like.So, have I become an expert in early nineteenth century literature? No, but I've read early Dickens, Charles Brocken Brown, and the opening pages of Ann Radcliffe's The mysteries of Udolpho, and from this little learning, I've learned that the audience of the time loved melodramatic plots, long flowery expositive speeches and detailed descriptions of landscapes they could neither see or imagine. They also liked their characters larger than life and full of emotion. They must have reveled in Frankenstein's secret shame and guilt and in the monster's suffering and rage.For myself, I love graphic novels and B-horror movies and am no stickler for realism. I wouldn't have finished or liked the book if I hadn't emphasized with the inner turmoil of man and monster: the man unable to love something hideous or to warn his loved ones of the danger; the monster who couldn't get anyone to love or accept or even thank him, reduced to hiding in cellars and roaming in wildernesses and living in caves. I've read a lot of Shakespeare this year and apparently reading so many great theatrical speeches has made me tolerant of the speeches of lesser writers. As for the picaresque details, I like them when they are well done and found Shelley's descriptions of the Swiss lakes and mountains and other backgrounds added much to the atmosphere. I only became irritated with her travelogues when she had Victor and his friend travel through England and she began extolling the beauties of her country instead hastening Frankenstein on to the creation of the bride. As for the horror, the monster kills the scientist's loved ones. What kind of brat was I to want more?As for Ms. Shelley's ideas, I could enjoy the characters and storylines they generated without agreeing completely with them. I was raised as a fundamentalist Lutheran, and made aware of what I owed my creator and savior. Even after years of near apostasy, I was found Frankenstein's admission that a creator owed something to his creation to be daring and thrilling and borderline blasphemous. I didn't buy the monster's insistence that he was born good, that he didn't want to commit his terrible crimes, that he didn't enjoy committing them (he claimed to have cried while strangling Victor's friend Henry), and that he committed them only because Victor - and society - had been mean to him.

[kr_patterson · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

While the story had some flaws in my opinion, which I won't enumerate here, I really liked the story overall. I found it very interesting to get the "real" story of Frankenstein after having grown up with a certain image of him from the media, TV, and movies. I was surprised that I had no idea what the story was really like. The only thing my notion of it and the actual book had in common was the fact that Frankenstein created a monster. (Did I miss the lightning bolt?) He didn't even look the same! I was excited at the premise, but then would find the story lacking at times, and was frustrated as I felt great potential for it to have been better. I got the feeling that the author was trying to create some degree of sympathy for the monster, and for most of the book I did not feel it. In fact, I thought he whined a bit too much. But at the end... well, I loved how it ended. I did feel sympathy. He was the monster I wanted him to be. Fun to read right before Halloween.

[amartino1208 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A scientist creates a creature who then terrorizes the nearby town. The monster learns about the town and the people in it to where he can understand and communicate. This teaches kids no matter ones appearance, we should learn to accept them for who they are and not judge them by what they look like.

[amilofinn · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I didn't know what to expect from this book, although I did suspect it would be quite unlike the Hollywood and Hammer film versions of it. It is different and surprisingly easy to read, considering its age. I think this is because of the variety of first person narratives and the cleverness of Mary Shelley and her story. I find the basic idea about a proud man creating a monster he can't control still brilliant, shocking and as relevant today as it must have been when it was first written.

[jcbrunner · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Frankenstein is one of those books which everybody thinks they know the story but that happens to be totally different from the popular account. The story is multi-layered: A story told in letters giving an account of another life. The most surprising fact is the erudition of Frankenstein's monster that, by the way, speaks French despite being created in Germany (probably out of German body parts) by the troubled existence of Viktor Frankenstein who is from the city of Geneva. The monster learns French by observing a French refugee family in Germany and reading the few books in their library.The different story lines, protagonists and motifs are a sprawling mess. A modern editor would certainly have triggered a clean-up of the manuscript towards one of these strands as the novel is at times a horror story, a Bildungsroman, travel and adventure writing and even a part-time romance. This complexity has made it very difficult to produce a good movie. Most memorable are certainly the different characters - though not yet imagined as Boris Karloff and the mad scientist. The different scene locations are also featured prominently. Landscape is very important too with scenes in Switzerland, Germany, France, England and the North Pole.

[louis.arata · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It took reading it several times before I came to appreciate how marvelous the story is. The language initially seemed ponderous, but the more familiar it becomes, the easier it is to enjoy. There are so many different ways to look at the story: themes of creation, the Creator vs the Creation, the concept of beauty, a sense of loneliness, a sense of personal identity. How we define ourselves, how we are viewed by others. It's also interesting to read it through the lens that Mary Shelley may have seen herself as the Creature, given how she was raised by her politically radical parents. Definitely worth reading.

[fyrefly98 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Summary: Victor Frankenstein, the son of a wealthy Geneva family, was encouraged in his pursuit of the study of the natural sciences, and from his reading gleans the idea of creating life from non-life. So he builds a creature from human body parts, and animates it, and is then struck by the horror of what he's done, during which time the monster escapes. It soon learns that it is monstrous, and by hiding in a shed near a house with a family, learns language. It vows vengeance on Frankenstein, for creating it and abandoning it, and proceeds to kill those that Frankenstein loves, and to destroy his every chance for happiness.Review: This was a really fascinating read, and made for a surprisingly intense discussion at book club. I'd grown up with the pop-culture monster image in my head, and I knew enough to know that Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster (although does his behavior make him the one that's truly monstrous? Discuss.), but I'd never before read the actual book. I was surprised how much of it doesn't match the Hollywood version, and by how much of it's from the monster's point of view - he's very articulate, which surprised me.The prose was really pretty dense - no point in saying once what you can say three times with a bunch of adjectives, I guess - and there was a lot of wailing and (metaphorical) gnashing of teeth and rending of garments, which got a little bit (a lot, actually) tiring. But I liked that it could be read on a number of levels - as a horror story, as a story about scientific ethics, as a story about the human condition and what it really means to be human, so that was all great. I also entertained myself as I was listening by seeing how far I could carry my theory that Frankenstein himself actually was murdering all those people - several times throughout the novel he goes into fits and has a fever from which he doesn't recover for several weeks, and when he does, someone else close to him is dead. It doesn't quite hold up throughout the entire story, but I thought it made an interesting possibility. 3.5 out of 5 stars.Recommendation: I didn't love it, but it's absolutely worth reading, both to get the real scoop on the mad-scientist cliche, and to provide lots of really interesting possibilities for debate with others.

[sturlington_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Some might argue that Frankenstein, which depicts a scientist using technology to play god and reanimate a corpse, is the first science fiction novel. I have trouble coming up with an earlier example of science fiction than Frankenstein, published in 1818. So the first science fiction writer, Mary Shelley, is actually a woman, and her creation endures as a true classic of the genre.Those who take the time to read the book may be surprised to find that Frankenstein’s monster is not a green bolt-head with a limited vocabulary. Although larger and stronger than most men, he is actually intelligent and an eloquent speaker. After trying to interact with people and being rejected because of his hideous appearance, the monster realizes that no human will accept him and he is doomed to isolation. He becomes obsessed with seeking vengeance from his creator by murdering members of his family. Frankenstein vows to destroy the monster, and the two engage in a chase that finishes in the Arctic.Shelley wrote Frankenstein when she was just 18, and it was published anonymously when she was 21. The story of the novel’s composition is almost as legendary as the novel itself. When Percy and Mary Shelley were visiting the poet Lord Byron one rainy summer, they amused themselves by each writing a ghost story. There, Mary Shelley had a dream that gave her the idea for the story:"I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together. I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life, and stir with an uneasy, half vital motion. Frightful must it be; for SUPREMELY frightful would be the effect of any human endeavour to mock the stupendous mechanism of the Creator of the world."(Another guest, Dr. Polidori, wrote a vampire story, so two classic horror figures were born from the same game.)The classic theme, and warning, explored in Frankenstein is that man should not play god. The dawn of the Industrial Age brought with it fear of what man and machines could accomplish, and the unforeseen consequences they could have. There is also a theme of the monster as isolated, without an identity, adrift in a world where he can make no connections and life has no meaning for him. Again, this poses a warning of the dehumanization that technology can bring. These themes resonate throughout the science fiction genre even today.Of course Shelley’s creation endures in films, plays and popular culture. Frankenstein also spawned several science fiction tropes, including the mad scientist and the monstrous reanimated corpse. Frankenstein represents our continuing fears of meddling with technologies we do not understand. Writer Isaac Asimov coined the term “Frankenstein complex” to describe the fear of robots. Even the term “frankenfood” has been used to refer to genetically manipulated food.As familiar as Frankenstein is, it is worth it to return to the original novel, which remains an entertaining and relevant work.