Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Really surprised by the simplicity and transparency of
the writing. I expected something much thicker than this, especially since it
was written largely as early as 1818, though I consumed the 1831 edition. Yes,
disbelief has not only to be suspended, but hung by the neck from the highest
branch, and left there. Not only do we have the assembly of human bits, but we
also have the being’s own story, which is couched in the same manner as Victor
Frankenstein’s memoir, despite the fact that the “thing” claims he has yet to
learn language. He does this, and then proceeds to read Paradise Lost, which is
just hanging around the rural areas of Switzerland. But overall it is a very
rewarding read, with lots of surprises, such as, for instance, that
Frankenstein never refers to his creation as a “monster”. And it’s only as a
result of the being’s mistreatment and the breaking of his word by Frankenstein
that he embarks on his retributions against the family.
Having never read it before, I decided that this must
be the time. It is impressive, but it comes across like a middle-class
Brookside. The writing style is convoluted, verbose and forever playing God. It
did have its moments, but as Rossini said of Wagner, it’s the hours in between
that are the problem. I’d read it again, however.
