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Becks

Shockingly, Frankenstein Is Relatable Content ★★★

A lot of us read Frankenstein in one English class or another, and have seen adaptations of it depicted in both film and TV. Because of this, you likely have some existing opinion of the book, "Its alive! Its ALIIIVE!" and all that stuff. I did too, but re-reading Frankenstein as an adult has made me see it completely differently.


I'd like to think that if I was around in the 1800s, I'd have been friends with Mary Shelley. She infiltrated the boys club that was the Romanic literary scene, and was overall a trailblazer for spooky girls everywhere. This admittedly effects my opinion of Frankenstein, there are elements of the book that I don't enjoy, but I forgive them because Mary Shelley is cool.


Frankenstein is very of its time. Featuring contemplations about the self, the Alps, and adorned with the Sublime, it is so Romantic capital R. Shelley constantly flexes her intelligence throughout the novel, namedropping scientists, scholars, philosophers and poets, allowing for the well read Victor to feel all the more three dimensional. At the start of the novel, Victor is so written by a woman, he is well mannered and incredibly adoring and respectful of the women in his life. This changes though, after the creation of the Creature. Moody, self-centred men, I wonder where Shelly got her inspiration from?


This book refuses to explain anything but you just have to roll with it, it makes for a much easier read. To me, it feels more like a Gothic psychological thriller than a Gothic horror. Any information about the Creatures creation, the 'science' behind it all, or even just the logistics of travelling around so much are completely glossed over. Some of my favourite parts of the book are where Shelley somewhat breaks the fourth wall, anticipating the readers want to know more, and basically calls them sadistic freaks, it makes me laugh. Instead though, we get an immense amount of backstory into side characters, which I could go without. Because of this the story is a little slow at times, but is worth sticking with.

Until the story reaches a fever pitch at the end of the novel, I find its main characters to be incredibly relatable. First of all, Victors experience of being engrossed in a project that takes up all his time and attention, only to step back and realise that its awful, is literally what it is to be a writer most of the time. He is haunted by his mistakes and attempts to out run them (literally), a feeling which we are all confronted by at some point in our lives. Then there's the Creature, confused, clambering for connection, and chronically misunderstood. If you put aside all the murder and questionable scientific practices, you're left with two characters in the midst of emotional turmoil, undergoing some of the most identifiable feelings in the human experience. It's hard to decide who, if anyone, is in the right when their actions are fueled by such sympathetic motivations.


Though all the sympathy in the world doesn't stop Victor from becoming incredibly irritating. He throws out ironic comments like, "no creature had ever been so miserable as I was" a self-centred and ignorant approach to the situation at best. His inaction and victim complex renders him unlikable, even in contrast to the Creature. The Creature's angst is warranted, he was created only to be abandoned and resents ever being made, a notion that somehow feels even more human coming from a non-human being. Through him Shelley explores mankind's need to inflict pain upon others when in pain themselves, "I am malicious because I am miserable" the Creature says. This is carried out through his killings and torment of Victor, and almost becomes embodied in the companion that he requests. The creation of another being, a bride, so that she can suffer just as the Creature does is inhumane, but hey, at least they would be able to relate to each other. By the end of the book Victor and the Creature are comparing each others pain, essentially competing to prove who is the most miserable, this is where, I think, any sympathy for either of them is lost.



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