Frankenstein

By Mary Shelley

Enter the haunting world of Frankenstein, a chilling masterpiece that defies the boundaries of science and morality. In this gripping tale of creation and consequence, Mary Shelley weaves a captivating narrative that explores the depths of human ambition and the perils of playing god. Victor Frankenstein, driven by a relentless desire to unlock the secrets of life, breathes existence into a monstrous being. But as the consequences of his actions unfold, he is consumed by regret and terror. With its timeless themes of humanity, power, and the consequences of unchecked ambition, ""Frankenstein"" remains a thought-provoking and spine-tingling classic that continues to captivate readers to this day.

A timeless tale of ambition, creation, and monstrous consequences.

Delve into the haunting depths of Mary Shelley's masterpiece.

Explore the moral and ethical boundaries of scientific pursuit.

Unleash your imagination in a world of gothic horror.

Experience the gripping power of ""Frankenstein"" and its enduring legacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fingerprint Publishing
• Release date: Oct 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9789354409684

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;¹ 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,’’² 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,¹ 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 any 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 we have seen him, for the day before we picked you up we saw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.

This aroused the stranger’s attention, and he asked a multitude of questions concerning the route which the demon, as he called him, had pursued. Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said, I have, doubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that of these good people; but you are too considerate to make inquiries.

"Certainly;

Reviews for Frankenstein

[james_knupp · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The novel that (in the minds of many) started the genre of science fiction. This original portrayal of Frankenstein's monster is much more interesting than our modern depiction of the slow, unintelligent beast. The story does hold up really well despite being 200 years old, but if you're not already a fan of 19th century prose, it's not the easiest read.

[martialalex92 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Things I learned

1. Nothing like the Mel Brooks movie
2. Viktor Frankenstein was a weepy little bitch
3. Interesting when viewed as one of the first horror novels, yet the monster was more human than expected

[evelynnygren · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Where do I even begin with this book. Well, first off, I, having listened to the broadway musical about Frankenstein—and having heard from others what happens in this book, went into this story with quite a few set expectations. Perhaps if I had had no prior knowledge of the contents of this novel, my level of interest would have been higher, but I guess I'll never know.

What I do know, however, is that while there were a few points in the story that differed from the broadway musical, the general timeline and scope of the plot matched exactly to what I had heard about from others. The story wasn't amazing (I think this has to do with the fact that it was written in a different era and therefore the structure of the prose is much more florescent), but it was surprisingly easy to follow, which is most likely why this book is recommended when one starts to read classical literature.

All in all, the entirety of Frankenstein by Mary Shelly was just solidly good; no more, no less. I am glad I started with this on my classical-literature journey, but I was not as impressed by it as I thought I would be. I would agree with others who have read this story in saying that I liked hearing about the process of this frightening tale's creation more than I did in reading the thing itself. Nevertheless, I would still recommend people read this if only to have said you've read it and know about it.

[lpg3d · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I went into this book expecting villagers with pitchforks and torches. It's not like that at all. To me, it's a very philosophical book about what it means to be human. In some ways, the monster was more human than Victor Frankenstein.

I highly recommend this Barnes and Noble edition since the end notes add immeasurably to the enjoyment of reading this book. The forward by Mary Shelley is also very worthwhile.

[lorisbook · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Last month, I posted that I had purchased another copy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. I was recently asked about the book so I have posted some of my impressions here.Mary Shelley (then Mary Godwin) wrote Frankenstein in 1816 after being creeped out by a dream. Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus tells the story of Victor Frankenstein, a young scientist who creates a horrendous monster during a scientific experiment.My estimate is I saw the movie 50 years after it was first released in 1931. I saw the movie prior to reading the book and was initially, confused as to who was Frankenstein. I thought the actor Boris Karloff was when in fact he was Dr. Frankenstein's creation."A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe they're being to me. I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible) renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption."Shelley used 3 narrators' perspectives in Frankenstein. Most people will tell you that it's created this way so one might understand the complexities of time and the structure of the novel. I believe Mary may have used 3 perspectives because she was in competition with Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, and physician John Polidori to see who could create the best horror story. And Mary likely imagined each of them narrating different scenes as a way to boost her own creativity.Regardless, Mary really rocked it at 18 - not only in giving us an alarming horror story but in making us think in terms of questioning our perspective and recognizing the flaws of humanity. Victor Frankenstein repeatedly left no room for doubt that tragic events would happen by saying, “Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction.” Using references to destiny, and omens of terrible destruction, lead us all to grab onto our Eyeore brain and we begin to believe that Frankenstein is destined for a hapless fate. Frankenstein might have us all believing that each species of an organism does not and cannot change. As if no alternative were ever possible. However, he could have thought, "What is my ultimate goal? How can I change so I am encouraged to experience life's possibilities?" Yes! Frankenstein could have manned up and changed his perspective and chosen a different path! Instead, he gives his creation life which wreaks havoc. As the memory of past misfortunes pressed upon me, I began to reflect upon their cause—the monster whom I had created, the miserable daemon whom I had sent abroad into the world.One parallel between Victor and the monster is that they become recluses/ social outcasts. And Frankenstein eventually recognizes his world is decaying and him along with it. Like the archangel who aspired to omnipotence, I am chained in an eternal hell.In closing, Mary lost a child in 1815 amongst controversy of that time involving living bodies versus inorganic ( dead) bodies. The following year she wrote this gothic horror story (science fiction) which was published in 3 parts in 1818.It's important to note that, Frankenstein may have recalled his mother Caroline's words on her deathbed “Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavor to resign myself cheerfully to death, and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.” In Frankenstein's final words, Yet why do I say this? I have myself been blasted in these hopes, yet another may succeed Frankenstein realizes someone will succeed at what he has failed. Perhaps Frankenstein, himself, will be awakened in another 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.

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

Ground breaking, but the style is tedious. Too much angst -- over and over.

[christilee394 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

“I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”― Mary Shelley, FrankensteinAfter reading Frankenstein, I HAD to read it again. Even after that, I skimmed through it because I knew I could catch more, and I didn't want to miss anything. After revisiting this Gothic, romantic classic, I zealously attacked the internet to read essays, class studies, theses… basically, anything that could take me farther in. I knew there was more I could catch; the sense of abandonment, ego, temper with new technology, obsession, revenge, sympathy, the duality of mankind (aka: good vs evil), the list can go on and on.“I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel...”― Mary Shelley, FrankensteinThere isn’t really anything I can say that hasn’t already been said about this classic. Two take aways I delighted in are, first, Mary Shelley’s vivid, poetic, stately language that shows the intensity of the emotions. Secondly, in society, unfortunately, looks do matter. Just because one can, doesn't mean one should. Respect and take responsibilities of new technologies and as a creator, whether parental or of inventions, one must take on the responsibility of their creation.This book managed to stay with me days, nights and weeks after reading. Wanting to discuss its contents with anyone that would participate. For myself, that is the mark of a GREAT read, one where long after the last page is read, my mind is unsettled and wants to devour more!“There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.”― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

[yarb_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A few themes I especially enjoyed this time:1. Imagination and the Arctic. On the first page, Walton enthuses about the imagined North polar utopia beyond the region of ice: "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"; "I shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world never before visited"; "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." It's the perfect analogue of Victor's besetting ambition, and the first letter ends with Walton's remarks on the joys of sled travel, contrasting abruptly with the succeeding (indelible) image of the Monster driving his sled North. The polar regions are ready-made blank canvases for the imagination — c.f. Arthur Gordon Pym or The Thing, just for a start. Places of disorientation where compasses go haywire and horizons dissolve.2. The young Shelley's sublimity. She's at pains here to play up Victor's annoying rationality, his anti-Romantic habit of analysis. This is in contrast to Elizabeth who is a pure poet. "While my companion [Elizabeth] contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the magnificent appearances of things," Victor tells us, "I delighted in investigating their causes. The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine." Victor's tale is cautionary against the literal and rational. "Darkness had no effect upon my fancy" he reminisces — bad child, not frightened of bugaboos. Partly this is the fault of his permissive parents and liberal upbringing, his parents, "possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence," allow his unnatural childhood proclivities free rein; partly it's just the way he is. If we concentrated more on "simple pleasures", even the history of the New World would be less sad: "If the study to which you apply yourself has a tendency to weaken your affections, and to destroy your taste for those simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that study is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human mind. If this rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit whatsoever to interfere with the tranquillity of his domestic affections, Greece had not been enslaved; Cæsar would have spared his country; America would have been discovered more gradually; and the empires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed." Wow!3. The horror. Amidst this novel's thematic smorgasbord, I think maybe we forget how disturbing it is. Shelley turns a couple of immaculate phrases in the service of the Weird — how about "who shall conceive the horrors of my secret toil as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps of the grave or tortured the living animal to animate the lifeless clay?" Bone-chilling! The way the Alpine lightning portends the Monster's reappearence in Victor's life! Or the image of the Monster lifting the curtain of Frankenstein's bed and peering in soon after having been animated! Unforgettable images. At the same time, isn't it the Monster's ugliness that's really the root of all his problems? If he weren't so misshapen and repulsive, he'd presumably be pitied and have no trouble fitting in what with his native intelligence, empathy, fidelity and good-heartedness. It's always his disfigurement that wrecks things for him. So, and not to deny the smorgasbord, isn't this at heart a simple tragedy about narrow-mindedness, petty cruelty, mistrust of the deformed or Other? Shut up, of course it isn't just that!I had completely forgotten about the Irish interlude. Like Dracula, this novel is front-loaded: the Monster's tale which occupies the central section is kinda slow and soppy. But it works. Easily one of my favorite novels and hard to think of a more influential one, or rather, one with a bigger influence beyond literature.

[ekerstein-986148 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Impressed and fascinated by this book. I would give it 5 stars although I found it overwrought at times.

It's an allegorical tale. There's much more here beyond the popular idea of a monster conceived by lightning. The birth of the monster actually only takes up one paragraph.

There's a biblical analogy to be made. Except this Adam has no Eve. A child reckoning with his maker. Reckoning with God for his imperfect form. Tormenting his maker until they both share each other's miseries.

[charon07 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I never tire of the story of meeting one's maker, whatever form it should come in. This is a classic treatment of that theme.

I first read this years ago, and my recent re-reading offered me a different perspective. I was formerly eager to find heroes and villains, and who can help but feel sorry for the poor creature, abandoned by his maker and rejected by human society? Who can help but find fault with Herr Frankenstein for his fickleness, instantly despising the creature he worked so long and so obsessively to bring into being?

Now I find the moral dilemmas less clear-cut. Still, a fascinating study about one's moral responsibilities to others, whether creator or created or just cousin on the family tree.

[jsabrina-219220 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

"Frankenstein" the book is very different from the impressions of the story I'd gained from movie images. "Baron Von Frankenstein" is not a nobleman, nor a mature or near-elderly man. He's a very bright college kid who gets obsessed with the idea of understanding the secret of the life force. There is no castle, no giant lab, no lightning storm. . . just a rented room in a student boarding house. In fact, Shelley's Frankenstein is adamant about sharing nothing about how he creates his monster, lest others share his sad fate.

The "monster" is the true hero of the book -- an ugly creature abandoned by his creator in the moment of his uncanny 'birth.' Although at first animal-like, he gradually grows into the sensibilities of a man, with an instinct to do good. But his sincere efforts to be good, and to win his way into community, are rebuffed at every turn, and these disappointments hurt him to the point of furious revenge.

Victor Frankenstein spends most of the book wallowing in guilt and depression, unable to either see the capacity for virtue in his creation or provide it with the means to have a peaceful existence. The monster, his twisted mirror, is a wretch battling desperately for companionship, love, knowledge, and justice.

This is definitely a novel written in another time. The story is revealed through the letters of an ambitious sea captain who stumbles into the final chapter of the larger story. Everything is related as memory, and there are far too many pages of Frankenstein moaning about his unhappiness. It's not an adventure story or a horror story or an action-adventure. Instead, it's a moral tale played out in fantastical circumstances, leaving the reader to judge who, in the end, is the true monster.

[librolindsay · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I admit that I approached Frankenstein with a little apprehension. I have the unfortunate and somewhat unfounded tendency to assign most books (esp. British Lit) written before, say, 1850 or so with an assumption that they will be stuffy, slooooow-going, and filled with archaic language. How wrong I was! Even through an English degree, this book somehow eluded me. I'm really glad to have finally read it, and I think I might consider it to be one of the most engaging and provocative of the "classics" I've yet read.
My familiarity with Frankenstein, or Frankenstein's monster I should say, was restricted mostly to Halloween images. I haven't seen the classic film (which I am now more enticed to view), so my idea of Frankenstein was of a somewhat beastly but overall gentle oversized man with lots of stithces. This book, as I thankfully found, paints a much more vivid and complex picture, and I found myself constantly going back and forth in sympathizing with Victor and the monster. I ultimately side with the monster, but the book confronts very complex sociological issues of creation, parenting, and responsibility that necessitates a lot of reader involvement to really understand the characters and issues. Despite that I could guess just about every major event and that some of the language was a little dated (of course is was written in 1818), the story still hooked me along to the very end, creating an avid curiosity in the plight of every character. No longer will what I once viewed as "stodgy" classic literature deter me!

[sarahlh-41506 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I can't believe it took me this long to read this!

(It's more of a 3.5 than a 4 but sshhhh, don't tell Mrs. Wollstonecraft.)

It kept me riveted, but god, I can't imagine having to sit in a boat on a choppy sea and listen to Dr. Frankenstein alternate between an elaborate recollection of his ENTIRE LIFE and violently crying for what was probably at least an hour, if not more, of his life.

[eurohackie · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A lonely English sea captain sets sail for the North Pole from his base in Russia. As he grows closer to his destination, his crew rescues an emaciated form from the icy waters. Their mysterious guest slowly recovers his strength, then relates (to the captain, at least) an incredible story: he is chasing a monster - a demon - of his own creation, with a mixture of fear, vengeance, and determination.I was surprised to find a frame story; though why, I'm not sure - quite a few novels from this time period are constructed thus. There is a hint of Dracula as well, with the epistolary style of this frame. But of course the meat of the work is in the 23 chapters between these letters, one in which Victor Frankenstein confronts quite a few existential questions around the idea of what it means to play god.This is quite a compelling tale, not the least reason being that its written in such a manner as to suggest that Frankenstein is insane, and has been for most of his adult life. The fact that he falls into illness the very same night that he gives his horrible creation life, and continues to have these spells of illness any time he has a 'confrontation' with the creature, gives pay to that idea. The fact that he, alone, is aware of the creature's existence and is the only one who ever speaks with him is another reason for thinking thus. I spent most of the book trying to decide if this was some sort of phantom delusion or if his personality had somehow split into two conscious entities. Either way, the idea that he was blaming himself for his monster's crimes from the start, and pursuing him to the literal ends of the earth, makes the idea of him literally chasing himself into craziness all the more likely.I'm no great critic of literature, so I suppose no matter how you interpret it, there are still lots of thought-provoking ideas and questions here. What does it mean to create another sentient being? Do you have a charge to care for it? Can you really close Pandora's box after opening it? What does it mean to be an outcast on the basis of qualities you can't control? Does a complete absence of love or support lead to a life of evil and vengeance? There's certainly lots to chew on.I never read this book when I was a kid, and have grown up with the popular culture ideas of Frankenstein('s monster). I'm not sure I would have truly appreciated it without a bit of life experience behind me, so I'm glad I'm reading it for the first time as an adult.

[fence_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Just as with Dracula most of us are familiar with the story of Frankenstein and his creation, even if popular culture often refers to the monster by that name. It probably suffers a little because so many of us think we know the story, why should we read something that we already know about. But it is worth a read.

Framed by the letters of an Arctic explorer to his sister, the main body of the novel is made up of Frankenstein relating his past to Capt. Walton. Frankenstein urges Walton to listen to him, and to learn from his mistakes, to not let his passion take over his life. It may be the end of him, as Frankenstein’s has destroyed his. He tells of his childhood in Geneva, of growing up a happy child, of heading off to college in Germany where his ambition first surfaces. He believes he knows how to create life. And so, of course, he sets his mind to doing just that, only for this passion and enthusiasm to ruin his life.

I had read Frankenstein as a teenager, but I’ll admit to remembering very little of it, and reading it this time around I just couldn’t get over how selfish the good doctor is.

I know, it is a first person story, so obviously we are going to get his point of view, his thoughts and emotions. But he never even tries to put anyone else first. At more than one point in the story he mentions that another character is sad, or tormented, but each time he follows up by saying that if only this character knew how bad he himself were feeling they would be put to shame. No one could possibly *feel* as much as Frankenstein.

And never once does he take responsibility for his own actions. He created the “monster” and promptly abandons him, yet, while he acknowledges guilt (although that may just be him putting himself at the centre of the entire world) he later says that he is blameless. Blameless!

Despite Frankenstein’s flaws this is a great read. Or possibly because of his annoyances, they certainly make him more of a character, its just a pity that there is no one else in the novel to balance him out. Yes, the monster gets to tell his tale, and you can’t help but pity him, despite his actions, but he isn’t enough to truly balance out Viktor’s influence.

[booklove2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

First, this book shoulda coulda been called 'Frankenstein's Creature' or 'Frankenstein's Monster' to prevent the endless confusion about the name on the cover.  Also, it just sounds better.  Most Frankenstein projects seem to focus on the creation of the creature, but in the narrative itself, it is mostly bypassed, which as I reader, I'm not sure if that's a positive or negative.  This book has many more layers than any iteration of the story that I've seen before.  BUT since the book is so short, possibly those layers shouldn't even be there.  For example, the cottagers history seems extra and takes focus away from Frankenstein and his monster.  But I love the first part, sailors on a ship surrounded by ice seeing one sled go by, then the next day, seeing the other sled go by.  Then the ice breaks apart.   So mysterious and haunting.  But reading this now, since the story is so embedded in everything, 200 years later, readers know who is on those sleds!  The story is short and sometimes scattered, with the narrator somehow mostly needlessly bookending Frankenstein's story and then the monster's story.   Most of the book I was wondering if Frankenstein had been imagining the monster, as most other characters don't see the monster at all.  But I was proved wrong on that theory.  I'm glad to have this foundational classic under my reading belt.

[zoes_human · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Yes, it's a classic with a kernel of genius in it, but it is also long-winded, pedantic, and tiresome. DNF at page 34.

[david_masumba · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is a gramatically powerful book that is set in Geneva and has a very dark romance about it. It does enlighten you to the sadness of the view of outsiders.

[jzacsh-533759 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I loved the story, I just hated the book. Ok, let me rephrase. I loved the plot, the overall concept, the characters, the sub-stories that take place. They were all fun. I hated how long it was. It could have been written in ½ or less of the length seen here. So much of the book is just the main character talking about his inner feelings repeatedly and with only the slightest variation.

If it weren't for that (feeling it was dragged out), I'd give it 3-4 stars. Not 5 stars, because I found the main character unbelievably helpless and lacking in any planning capability. I don't just mean in the obvious reaction to Frankenstein about taking responsibility for your creations, but the fact that he's told repeatedly what his adversary's actions will be. Instead, Frankenstein plans zilch and then is devastated when his adversary follows through exactly as promised. Come on.

Of course, I think some of these things are just the book being from 1818, so I'm guessing if I'd have read it then, I'd have enjoyed it 5-stars much.

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

I know this is classic, but it is also boring. Frankenstein, the doctor, is whiny and single-minded. He's the villain of the book from my perspective. The monster at least exhibits some personal growth and emotional depth, but he's absent from much of the book. I was just reading words on a page much of the time without engagement and only made it through thanks to it being a buddy read.

[ragwaine · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It took me 50 years, but I finally got around to reading this classic. It was totally different than what I expected, which was something more like the movie, which I watched in its entirety for the first time after I finished and have to say that I liked the movie better than the book. I can imagine Shelley turning in her grave when the movie came out since the monster in the book was very articulate and it had so much more meaning. I love flowery writing, but wow she could go on and the self-hate of both Frankenstein and the monster got really repetitive and boring; it was like hearing someone whine about self-made stress over and over again.

[mbmackay · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In 2015 The Guardian published a list of the 100 best novels published in English, listed in chronological order of publication. Under Covid inspired lockdown/social distancing, I have taken up the challenge.Everyone knows "Frankenstein" but I was under the mistaken impression that the name referred to the created monster, while I now know it to be the name of the creator. The "monster" doesn't seem to have a name.Mary Shelley published the book at 21 years of age. It is an amazing feat. While it is a little patchy, and the tone inconsistent, the book is a great read, and is famous and remembered for good reason.

[booktsunami · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Somehow, over all the years I have managed to escape reading Frankenstein. Of course I knew the general idea...mancreates monster but I was unaware of the moral complications introduced into the plot.Yes, it's a horror story originally developed as a "ghost story" by Mary Shelley, laid up in Geneva with husband and Lord Byron as the next door neighbour. (As an aside, I have a feeling that I've seen Byron's name carved into the dungeon wall in the Chilon Castle at Montreux on Lake Geneva). Ah yes...I just checked up on it and that's correct but he wrote a poem about a prisoner in the dungeons here...and signed his name.I felt I know the area around Geneva that Mary was writing about ...and the lake etc because I've spent a bit of time in Geneva and grown to like it. Also I've travelled across the border to Chamonix ...another site where Frankenstein met up with his monster creation.Mary has actually written quite a thriller. It did keep me on the edge of my seat wondering about what twist the plot would take. And I must admit I had some sympathy for the monster created by Victor Frankenstein who was abandoned at birth by his creator. He really wanted to be good ...and had some good natural instincts but was abandoned by his dad/creator and never given any decent sort of upbringing. Maybe he might have turned into a good citizen if Victor had "done the right thing" as a creator/dad.I found myself questioning the possibility of the monster being to lie secluded so close to the family of Felix without being discovered....then realised I was questioning this trivial aspect of the tale without really questioning how Victor in a few short years had acquired sufficient knowledge to create a living being. Actually, not a bad story ....hope that it doesn't give me nightmares. I give it four stars.

[bell7_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A man traveling to the North Pole by boat recounts in letters to his sister how he came across one Victor Frankenstein, a young man who told him a wild story of creating life - only to be horrified by his creation.Frankenstein is one of those books whose images from the movies have probably impacted our our pop culture-driven perception of what they are about more than the original subject matter. That being the case, I was frequently surprised by the text itself and exactly how things played out. Despite relaying the story to a sympathetic listener, Frankenstein comes across as really weak and cowardly in his inaction though much of the story. This reader's sympathy was much more with the creature who did not ask to be made and was given a miserable existence of being feared and hated wherever he went. The flowery language of its time took some getting used to, and I certainly gave my brain a bit of a workout trying to wrap my mind around some of the long and involved sentences. An engaging read that, at just over 200 pages, isn't too daunting of a classic to try.

[beauxarts79 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The seedbed for all our contemporary posthumanism, but I could have done with a happier ending.

[lucky2loki · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The nesting narrative is very effective, and the story -- considering its time, and of course the lack of the archetype 'Frankenstein' in previous literature -- is perhaps surprisingly inventive. It rarely goes in the directions one might at first expect, even when familiar with the basic story beats. The intertextuality is also intriguing to me (thankfully this edition had elaborate endnotes for a lot of these references), and I'm particularly fascinated with the monster's self-identification with both Adam and Lucifer from "Paradise Lost". The novel is additionally quite short, making for a brisk read. That said, it also has a lot of meandering. Dr. Frankenstein's constant dread and anguish takes up a lot of pages (understandably), the monster's (admittedly great) soliloquies the same, as do small side-stories and travel descriptions (less understandably and less great), and this combine to making the plot feel a bit slow at times by my 2020 standards. All in all a novel I found to be good enough to be worth reading for its immeasurable impact on not only popular culture but the world in general, but probably a bit too dreary and dragged out for me to ever decide to revisit now that I've read it once.- Loki

[bobbybslax · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The writing seems stiff at times, but maybe that's just the time in which it was written. Whatever the case, the story and characters present a complex emotional tragedy.

[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.