Frankenstein
Mary Shelley
Initial release: January 1, 1818 (UK)
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| Junji Ito's adaptation |
To say Mary Shelley’s seminal novel is Important Literature is an understatement. Lots of books are Important Literature, yet are little better than penny dreadfuls, or worse, just boring. Frankenstein is something else altogether. Its very origin is practically a spook story in itself; during the “wet, ungenial summer” of 1816, Lord Byron, the world's biggest fuckboy, invited several of his friends, including Shelley, to spend a weekend with him, during which they held a ghost story contest. The initial draft of the book was written during this time, and Shelley would continue to work on it, eventually releasing it to an audience that was not always receptive; some were appalled by the themes in the book, others were appalled that a woman wrote it.
This lack of understanding of the book has not changed much in the two centuries since; even now, most people haven’t even read it, and only know the lumpen face of Boris Karloff from the 1931 film adaptation, which was almost nothing like the book, the iconic lumbering, groaning creature a far cry from the intelligent, tormented monster of Shelley’s novel. (To be fair, the stage plays weren’t very faithful either. But that’s besides the point.) But perhaps it would be prudent to point out that the reason there’s so many adaptations of varying quality is because the story clearly resonated with people; its ruminations on good vs evil, fate vs agency, were compelling.
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| a portrait of Mary Shelly, ca. 1840 |
The gist: Victor Frankenstein is the beloved son of a well-to-do family in Geneva, Switzerland, sometime in the late 18th century. He goes to university in Ingolstadt, Bavaria for an education in science; while there he becomes obsessed with the idea of learning the secrets of life and death, culminating in constructing a new person. Upon the completion of his project (animated by a process that Shelley was very ambiguous about) he is so horrified by the sight of it that he runs away. The creature, left to its own devices, is forced to learn its way on its own, isolated and shunned by humanity. From thereon the creature, who is filled with rage at being brought into a world that fears it, dooming it to a life of loneliness and hate, torments Victor by systematically killing everyone he loves and forcing him to build it a wife, which Victor nearly does only to back out at the last minute, enraging the creature even further.
Victor, for his part, has absolutely no pity for the abomination he created, feels no guilt in what he’s done to the poor thing, but only guilt for the threat it poses to him and his family. He spends most of the book in one guilt-ridden torpor or another, a common ailment among gothic novel protagonists. In the end, with nearly his whole family dead, Victor seeks revenge on the creature for ruining his life, never really stopping to think that the creature’s life came pre-ruined, and all because of him. In other words, Frankenstein’s not the monster, the monster is Frankenstein.
It’s a far cry from the archetypal mad scientist story that the 1931 film presents; here, young Victor is hardly a scientist, though often mad. Despite some discussion on galvanism, it’s never explained clearly how he animates the creature. What we see in this story is less a story about what happens when you play God, but about what happens when you play God and then disregard the consequences. Victor is in every respect a bad god (or parent — though, to our children, are we not the same thing?) abandoning his creation at the moment of its birth. Little wonder that the creature, with no protection or advocate, having to learn its way on its own, bears such ill-will towards him. It and Victor are both tragic figures; both are guilty of villainy in their own right, and it all boils down to Victor indulging his obsessions.
There are two versions. The 1818 version is fairly radical in tone, such as in how women were depicted. The 1831 edition was heavily altered, partly to appease conservative critics, but mostly to reflect Shelley’s gloomier disposition after a series of misfortunes in adult life. The 1831 version is by far the more well-known version of the book. While Shelley’s gone through the whole thing and edited things in manner of style, the vast substance of the book remains unchanged; but, it’s altogether more fatalistic than the original edition. A lot of the ruminations on destiny weren’t present in the 1818 edition; there, Victor was making his decisions of his own accord. “Destiny” and “fate” are good excuses to absolve yourself of blame, not that it seems to do much good in this case. For what it’s worth, I mostly read the 1831 edition, because that’s the most common version and it’s the one I had in print. In truth, 95% of the book is the same. What’s changed however makes all the difference.
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| a very different idea of the Creature |
It’s impossible to overstate just how important this book was. Sure, on its face it’s just another gothic novel at a time when the genre was really taking off, but its ruminations on the pursuit of knowledge, how science and progress are a double-edged sword, continue to resonate today. Remember that science was only then just beginning to pass out of the realm of alchemy and “natural philosophers” into the codified, regimented, organized structure it is today. All kinds of new theories were being presented at the time, some of which even stuck around.
This kind of rapid progress can be really concerning for some people. Look at how much has changed since just 1990. While the specific concerns may change, the anxiety stays the same. But this book isn’t an anti-science screed, it’s about taking responsibility for your own actions, and what happens when you don't.
There’s a lot to talk about with Frankenstein, and better thinkers than me have done so, but suffice it to say that Frankenstein is an interesting book from feminist, scientific, and structuralist perspectives. This is Important Literature; more than that, it’s proof that science fiction was invented by a woman.