Frankenstein: Retold Inclusively

By Kath Shone

Frankenstein was written in the Romantic literary period. This literary trend of the early 1800s produced poems that described how nature elevated and blissed human minds. Most literary work at this time was written and published by men.

•In amongst these ecstatic reveries of nature
•the 19 year old Mary Shelley
•wedged the chilling story of Frankenstein
•into the literary landscape and our minds forever.

Her story filled an empty space in humankind's collective consciousness. That empty space was waiting for this story of over reaching scientific madness.

This version of Frankenstein is a translation not an abridged telling. I have translated the Old Romantic era English into easy-to-read accessible English.
•The same characters say the same things at the same times in the story.
•Plot point for plot point the story stays the same.
•The themes are all preserved.
•The transcendent and brutal settings of the story are still on the pages.
•References to poems and other literature are explained.
•Supplementary information supports understanding of the text.

This book is for
•neuro-diverse readers,
•young readers,
•English second language speakers,
•humans who like to read archetypal literature in easy-to-read language,
•English literature students who need a study guide to unravel the original Frankenstein.
•anyone (I think that's most of us) who finds old English inaccessible but would like to read Frankenstein.

This accessible Frankenstein is part of Inclusive Books (Inc!Bs) journey to rewrite history inclusively.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kath Shone
• Release date: Mar 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781991221735

Kath Shone

In keeping with Kaths love of keeping things simple here is her bio in list form.Writer.Reader.Usher of inclusive literature, culture and education.Mother.Lover of soil, plants and animalsStudent and teacher of yoga.Person who has always happily drifted along in the marginal wake of mainstream society.Founder of Inclusive Books.

Book preview

Welcome to your inclusive version of Frankenstein.

This version of Frankenstein is very close to the original story. I have translated the original into ‘easy to read’ English. I call this Inclusive English.

I have not changed

the story line,

who says what when,

the thematic references or

the essence of the story.

Now you can read the original story easily.

Neurodiverse humans may find this version of Frankenstein accessible.

This version makes a good study companion for the original book. Perhaps you are studying Frankenstein at school or college. Perhaps you are a little lost in all the old Romantic era English. This book can be read alongside the original to aid in understanding the old English.

This version of Frankenstein is helpful if you speak English as a second or third language.

Inclusive Books uses some unusual tools to make the text easy to read. Here are the tools in a bulleted list.

Sentences are short.

I often use bullets to break up long sentences or complicated ideas.

Lots of white space breaks up chunky text.

Text boxes supply definitions of words and ideas that may seem alien to you.

Bold is used instead of italics because bold is easier to read.

I use the active voice when possible.

∞

Now, let’s talk about the story. Most of us know the Frankenstein monster. The Frankenstein monster is a feature of most Halloween celebrations.

Dr Frankenstein made a creature by patchworking bits of dead human together. This ghastly looking being is part of the matrix that makes up the horror genre today. Today we call this monster ‘Frankenstein.’ Interestingly and sadly in the book Dr Frankenstein never names the creature.

We all recognise

a large humanoid creature with

green flesh,

stitches everywhere,

bolts sticking out of the sides of its head and

a dazed look in its eyes

as the Frankenstein monster.

But where did this quintessential horror character come from?

The story of Dr Frankenstein and his creature came from the mind of Mary Shelley. She wrote Frankenstein in the early 1800s at a time when woman didn’t work for a living let alone write books. Woman certainly didn’t write and publish horror books.

When Mary Shelley published Frankenstein under a male pen name, the Romantic era public thought it was a shocking and subversive tale. Nobody thought that Frankenstein could have been written by a woman. Some people thought that Percy Bysshe Shelley (Mary Shelley’s husband) wrote the story. He was a famous poet you see and of course male.

What a legend Mary Shelley is!

I just adore her. I wish I could have her over for dinner. The story of Frankenstein blows my hair back. I salute Mary’s courage in creating such a tale. I dearly wish she could have known that her story would stand the test of time and become a household name the world over.

I wish she could have known

that her story would contribute to

humans’ collective understanding of

the horrors of science gone wrong.

What a masterpiece Frankenstein is!

I hope this Inclusive writing of Frankenstein helps you to experience the grandeur of Mary Shelley’s mind.

Happy Reading!

Yours in inclusivity,

Kath

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Referencing Note

At times there are references from Wikipedia in this book. This is so that you can take yourself off to the Wikipedia website and find more information on the topic at hand. If the Wikipedia article sparks your interest, then seek out other resource material.

For instance, in Frankenstein the creature talks about reading Paradise Lost by John Milton. He also quotes from John Milton a few times. If you think that the poem Paradise Lost sounds interesting, then go check out what Wikipedia has to say about the poem.

If you want more information after that you could

read a book or blog about the poem or

read the IncBs version of the poem or

read the original poem.

Note that Wikipedia is an encyclopaedia. It is not suitable to quote encyclopaedias in academic work. Please remember that Wikipedia is not an accepted resource for university work.

Warning!

If you quote from Wikipedia or

include Wikipedia in your reference list or bibliography

your professor/teacher might penalise you.

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Preface

This is an imagined story.

The story revolves around a

peculiar

imaginary and

scientific

event.

Dr Charles Darwin and German anatomy specialists have imagined that the scientific event might be possible. I, on the other hand, don’t believe that such an event is even remotely possible.

This story is much more than your typical ghostly horror story.

The scientific event makes this story fascinating and convincing.

The event makes the story more believable than stories about ghosts and spells.

This believable horror includes an interesting study of human ambition and drive.

There is no real event that could drive the story characters as the imagined scientific event does.

I have tried to keep the characters’ behaviour as true to the principles of human nature as possible. But I have creatively mixed the principles in unrealistic ways.

The Iliad: the tragic poetry of Greece,

Shakespeare’s The Tempest and Midsummer Night’s Dream and

in particular Milton’s Paradise Lost

are literary masterpieces that have all used this method.

I am a humble writer who wants to give and receive entertainment through my work. I have adopted this method of mixing of human feelings in unusual ways to entertain and captivate you.

The idea of the event came to me in casual conversation while on holiday with friends. I began to write this story as a form of amusement and mental exercise.

Other motives mingled with these as I wrote.

I know that this story and the characters I have designed will make you, dear reader, think.

So many novels these days are draining and sappy. I didn’t want this book to have a draining effect on readers. Rather I wanted to show the enjoyment of family and homey affection. I wanted you to be uplifted by reading about true goodness.

The hero’s character, behaviour and opinions do not reflect my own beliefs.

Also, I am not trying to undermine or insult anyone’s way of life or belief systems.

Another point of interest is that I began to write this story in Switzerland. That is why I set the story mostly in Switzerland. I spent the summer of 1816 in Geneva and the surrounding area with friends. It was cold and rainy.

In the evenings we crowded around a blazing wood fire. Sometimes we amused ourselves with German ghost stories. These tales made us want to write our own horror stories. Two other friends agreed that we should have a competition to see who could write the best story. One of these friends is a writer loved by the public. If he had ever finished his story, I am sure, it would be better than anything I could ever hope to produce.

We all agreed to write a story about something supernatural.

However, the weather improved. My two friends left me and went on a journey up the Alps. Their story ideas were swallowed up by the magnificence of the scenery. The following tale is the only one out of the three which has been completed.

Marlow, England, September 1817

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Epigraph

Did I request thee,

Maker, from my clay

From darkness to

Promote me?

To mould me man?

Did I solicit thee

PARADISE LOST

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Volume 1: Letter 1

To Mrs Saville, England.

St Petersburg, Russia, Dec. 11th, 17-

You will be happy to hear that I am safe. I know you have been worried that my trip would be a disaster. But nothing bad has happened so far.

I arrived here yesterday. My first task is to write to you, my dear sister, and let you know that all is well. In fact, my confidence is growing. I’m sure this expedition is going to be a success.

I am already far north of London. I walk in the streets of Petersburg and feel a cold northern breeze on my cheeks. The breeze strengthens my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand this feeling? This breeze has come from the place I am going to. This breeze gives me a taste of my icy destination.

This wind of promise makes my daydreams more intense and vivid. Everyone says that the North Pole is the seat of frost and desolation. In my imagination I see it as a region of beauty and delight. Margaret, in the North Pole the sun is always visible. The broad disk of the sun skirts the horizon diffusing constant splendour.

With your permission, my sister, I will put some trust in the explorers who have gone before me. They say that in the North Pole snow and frost are banished. I expect to sail over calm seas and to be wafted to a land of superior beauty and wonder. No other place on earth is like it. Who knows what I will find in a country of eternal light?

I may find the power that attracts the compass needle.

I may be able to explain celestial mysteries.

I may be able to explain the strange rhythms of heavenly bodies.

I will finally satisfy my intense desire to be the first person,

to visit a part of the world unseen by human eyes and

to walk on land that has never been printed by human feet.

These are the things that attract me to the North Pole. These things conquer all fear of danger or death. These fantasies convinced me to begin this laborious voyage with a childlike joy.

Imagine a child and his friends on holiday. They decide to take a small boat to their local river and embark on a voyage of discovery. Imagine the excitement of the children, eager and playful. That is how I feel.

Of course, these images are products of my imagination. But even if I put fantasy aside this voyage of discovery is valuable. It will benefit humankind.

I will discover the way to the North Pole.

My discovery will serve sea travel. Maybe I will discover a short route from one side of the world to the other. Or maybe I will discover the secret of why magnets are always drawn to the north.

These thoughts settle me and sooth my anxiety. My heart glows with enthusiasm. Nothing tranquilizes the mind as much as a steady purpose. The soul has something to focus on and feels calm.

This expedition has been a favourite dream of mine since I was young. I read about the voyages of discovery in the seas around the North Pole. You might remember that Uncle Thomas’s library was made up of books about voyages. I didn’t receive the best education, but I loved reading. I read these books day and night.

As Father died, he told Uncle Thomas to forbid me from living a sea faring life. I had to stay away from the sea to get my inheritance. I was disappointed. This disappointment faded when I studied poetry.

Poetry tranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I became a poet. For one year I lived in the paradise I created with my words. I fantasized about being as recognized as Homer or Shakespeare.

You know that I failed. My poetry was not popular. I was heavily disappointed. But then I inherited a fortune from my cousin. My thoughts returned to my childhood passion.

Six years have passed since I first decided to journey to the North Pole. I can remember the exact moment I dedicated myself to this mission. I began to train my body to endure cold. I went out onto the North Sea with whale hunters. I endured cold, hunger, thirst and deprived myself of sleep. I often worked harder than the sailors during the day. At night I studied math, medicine and sciences that would help me as a naval adventurer. I got a job whaling in Greenland. That crew admired me greatly. I was proud when the captain offered me the second in command position.

And now, dear Margaret, don’t I deserve to achieve something great? I could have spent my life in luxury. But I prefer glory to wealth and pomp. I wish someone would encourage me or congratulate my ambition. My hopes rise and fall. My spirits are often depressed.

I am about to depart on a long and difficult sea voyage. The journey will demand all my determination and focus. I will need to keep my crews spirits up as well as my own.

This is the best season for travelling in Russia. Here they use sledges instead of carriages. I must admit that I love the sledge more than the carriage. We skim smoothly over the ice. Yes, it is very cold. There is a big difference between sitting still on a sledge for hours and moving around on the deck of a ship. So, like the Russians I wrap myself up in furs to prevent my blood from freezing in my veins. I don’t want to lose my life before I get to the Archangel Port of the White Sea.

We will leave for Archangel in two or three weeks. I will hire a ship there. I will employ as many sailors as I can who are used to whale fishing. I won’t leave until June arrives. And when will I return? Ah, dear sister, how can I answer that question? If I succeed many, many months or even years will pass before we see each other again. If I fail, you will see me again soon or never again.

Farewell, my dear and excellent Margaret. May heaven shower down blessings on you and save me so that I can once again testify my gratitude for all your love and kindness.

Your affectionate brother,

R. Walton.

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Volume 1: Letter 2

To Mrs Saville, England.

Archangel, 28th March, 17-

Surrounded by frost and snow time passes slowly here. But I have taken a second step forward in my enterprise. I have hired a ship and am busy collecting dependable and courageous sailors. There is one thing I want but can’t seem to find. I have no friend. Margaret, when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success there is no one to share my joy. If I experience disappointment, I have no one to cheer me up. I write about my highs and lows, yes. But it is a poor substitute for a human friend.

I crave a friend who would understand me, that is like me. You may think I am romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly want a friend.

There is no one around here who is

gentle yet courageous,

educated but open minded,

who has tastes like mine.

There is no one to approve of my plans or help me change them. A friend like that would fix the flaws in your dear brother.

I am too emotional when planning and too rushed when dealing with difficulties. I wish I were better educated. You know I am self-educated. For the first fourteen years of my life, I ran wild and read nothing except Uncle Thomas’s voyage books. At fourteen I found the celebrated poets of Britain. Only when I needed other languages to understand poetry did I begin to learn.

Now I am twenty-eight. In truth I am more illiterate than many school boys of fifteen. On the other hand, my dreams are magnificent and grand in scope. But I need perspective (as the painters call it). I need a friend who would be sensible enough not to dismiss me as a romantic. I need someone I respect enough to accept advice from.

Well, these thoughts are pointless.

I won’t be finding any friends,

on the open sea

or in Archangel Port among merchants and sailors.

But some pure feelings beat in these rough sailors’ rugged bosoms.

My deputy for instance

is wonderfully resourceful and courageous,

wants glory madly,

is an Englishman,

has experienced national and professional prejudice,

is unsoftened by education and

still has some of the noblest human qualities.

I first met him on a whaling ship. I found out he was unemployed and in the city. So, I hired him. He is gentle and mild. He is so kind that he will not hunt. He can’t bear the sight of blood. He is heroically generous.

A few years back he loved a Russian lady. The lady was moderately wealthy. He had just received prize money and so the girl’s father agreed to let them marry.

When he saw her before the wedding, she threw herself at his feet. She begged him to let her go. She confessed to loving somebody else. She said that her father would never let her marry her lover because he was poor.

My generous friend freed her from the engagement.

He,

had already bought a farm with his prize money,

had wanted to spend the rest of his life on it,

gave the farm to his rival,

also gave his rival the rest of his prize money to buy livestock with and

went to the young woman’s father and asked him to let the couple marry.

The father refused saying he was honour bound to my friend. So, my friend left the country and didn’t return until he heard that the young couple had married.

What a noble fellow! I hear you say.

He is a noble fellow. But he has spent most of his life at sea and that is all that he knows.

Don’t think that because I wish for the comfort of friendship that my resolution has slipped. I am still committed. Once the weather allows it my voyage will begin. The winter has been deadly severe. Spring promises to be early and to supply good sailing weather. I won’t set out until it is safe though. You know me well enough to know that I am prudent and considerate. I take the safety of my crew very seriously.

Words can’t describe how I feel knowing we will depart soon. At times I am elated. Often I am trembling and fearful. I am going to unexplored regions, to the land of mist and snow. But I won’t be killing an Albatross. Don’t worry