Frankenstein: beyond the stereotypes

Frankenstein. The primary image that used to appear in my head looked a little like this:

The common monster.. green with bolts.. mumbled and groaned. Disturbing and dumb. Reading the book never appealed to me because of this unappealing image.

But when we read Faust in my Modern European Lit class, my professor made a reference to the Prometheus myth as it appears in Faust and Frankenstein.

My notes for April 7, 2010:

Prometheus - defies the gods and lives with the consequences... 1774 - 2 years after Goethe started writing Faust, he wrote a poem about Prometheus. Shelley - both wife and husband - very influenced by Goethe (Frankenstein - A Modern Prometheus)

And there, the spark was ignited. If the Shelleys were influenced by Goethe, then I was interested in the Shelleys! This was the first time I had ever heard of the Prometheus myth being connected to Frankenstein and I was quite intrigued. Since then, Mary Shelley's novel has remained in the back of my head on my reading list.

One day, by pure chance, I was browsing the "literature" section of Value Village (oh yes... can't get much better than that) and I realized that there were more copies of Frankenstein than any other book. Naturally, this saddened me and I instinctually purchased a copy.

As I began to read the book, I was surprised by how quickly I was drawn into the story. Because the novel was occasionally a story within a story within a story, I struggled to determine which character I related to the most. Which character I sympathized with the most.

First there was the Captain Walton, who is trying to go to the North Pole. He has this innate and fierce desire for an intimate friendship. Something I often feel:

"I spoke of my desire of finding a friend--of my thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than had ever fallen to my lot; and expressed my conviction that a man could boast of little happiness, who did not enjoy this blessing."

He takes on board a man, worn down and sickly. He believes the man could be this friend he desires. Of course, the man is Victor Frankenstein. (Interestingly enough, I was so well un-acquainted with the story of Frankenstein that I thought the monster was named Frankenstein. No, it is in fact the man who creates him.) When the captain expresses his desire for a friend, Frankenstein is oh so brilliant:

"'I agree with you,' replied the stranger; 'we are unfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than ourselves--such a friend ought to be--do not lend his aid to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend, the most noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge respecting friendship. You have hope, and the world before you, and have no cause for despair. But I--I have lost everything, and cannot begin life anew.'"

Never have I resonated so exactly to a bit of text since, "And if God had gifted me with some beauty, and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you." (Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë)

Though I have a bit more hope than Frankenstein. A lot more.

Then Frankenstein begins his story. For a while, the reader knows nothing except of an impending doom that we can only assume is the creation of the monster. When he is created, the plot increases in morbidity and life starts to go exponentially wrong for Frankenstein and his family. The reader can only feel hate for the creature.

That is until, Frankenstein is confronted by his creation:

"How can I move thee? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a favourable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and compassion? Believe me, Frankenstein: I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity: but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow-creatures, who owe me nothing? they spurn and hate me. The desert mountains and dreary glaciers are my refuge. I have wandered here many days; the caves of ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the only one which man does not grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for they are kinder to me than your fellow-beings. If the multitude of mankind knew of my existence, they would do as you do, and arm themselves for my destruction. Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will keep no terms with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share my wretchedness. Yet it is in your power to recompense me, and deliver them from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great that not only you and your family, but thousands of others, shall be swallowed up in the whirlwinds of its rage. Let your compassion be moved, and do not disdain me. Listen to my tale: when you have heard that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear me. The guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they are, to speak in their own defence before they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder; and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man! Yet I ask you not to spare me: listen to me; and then, if you can, and if you will, destroy the work of your hands."

The creature is literate, feeling... even appealing in his own sort of way. He appeals to a basic human one fear: to be alone and unloved as he is. To not experience love. From anyone. It's tragic.

I can barely stand to speak about Frankenstein's creation as a creature. It feels incredibly derogatory.

Attempting to not spoil the ending for any future readers, I will only conclude on with a few favorite evocative quotes. And I beg that you set aside every stereotype and prejudice you have toward this novel and read this brilliant story about humanity, love, relationships and really big mistakes.

"A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and peaceful mind, and never allow passion or a transitory desire to disturb his tranquility. I do not think that the pursuit of knowledge is an exception to this rule. 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 unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human mind"

"Yet I seek not a fellow-feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I ever find. When I first sought it, it was the love of virtue, the feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now, that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek sympathy? I am content to suffer alone, while my sufferings shall endure; when I die, I am well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory."

"For, while I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires. They were forever ardent and craving; still I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am I to be though the only criminal, when all human kind sinned against me?"

The ending is absolutely breath-taking.

I've been on a bit of a Frankenstein craze lately. Quite interested in the Shelleys. Quite interested in any intertexuality involving Frankenstein. Third favorite book right now.

Does it really take so much tragedy to teach us to love?