Ah yes, the words of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley in Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, first published on Mar 11, 1818. I first read this story in high school, then again in college and love it both times. However, now just over two decades later I pick up this book to embellish in the immortal of dear Mary and wonder if when she wrote this work she had any inclination, it would be considered a masterpiece in its own right. She could not have known that one day it would be made into a picture, not one, not twice but numerous times the first in 1910.
The story of a man who’s expectation of knowledge led to the love of science, which resulted in a passion for exploration and grandeur that led to obsession and achievement. But to what end? Victor Frankenstein engaged in undertakings surpassing any ever attempted. He without consideration, self-preservation, or repercussions painstakingly constructed a human form and brought him life. Yet on the day of his creation birth, he ran from him calling him a monster and left him to his own devices. Some look at his creation as being just such named. However, was the creation indeed a monster? Is a living thing, which can think, love, empathizes, long, and want truly be considered a monster or, as Robert Waltson calls it, a hypocritical fiend. Or, should the creator, the one the creature relied on, the one who brought him life and then abandoned him be indeed perceived as the monster?
Many passages exist in these writing that I adore, but I will share just one with you:
“Nay, these are virtuous and immaculate beings! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an abortion to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now my blood boils at the recollection of this injustice. But it is true that I am a wretch.” ~ Frankenstein’s monster
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