Frankenstein

I recently read Frankenstein for the first time. As a genre defining novel, it is a staggering literary achievement and one which deserves its place in the literary canon. I’m not going to discuss the misogyny or issues faced by Shelley around its publication, but rather two little points which have occupied my thinking about the book. However, I can’t help but give one contemporary example of such a misogynistic attack from the British Critic (in 1818) simply because it is so blunt: “The writer of it is, we understand, a female; this is an aggravation of that which is the prevailing fault of the novel; but if our authoress can forget the gentleness of her sex, it is no reason why we should; and we shall therefore dismiss the novel without further comment”.1

The novel had interesting origins. On 22 February 1815, Shelley gave birth prematurely to her first child, Clara, who died two weeks later. Miscarriages are hard enough to deal with in the first trimester, but I can only speculate upon the impact of the event on the then sixteen year old, Shelley. The source I read did not elaborate on the influence of this but I can’t help but think about it as the genesis for the ideas contained in Frankenstein about reanimating formerly living beings.* The following year, Shelley, her husband, and her husband’s stepsister, Claire, traveled to Geneva to stay with Claire’s lover, Lord Byron (yes, that Lord Byron**). During the visit, Byron suggested that he, Mary, Percy, and Byron’s Doctor have a competition to write the best ghost story. Needless to say Mary won the competition with Frankenstein. This was then rewritten over the next two years and published in 1818 when Shelley was just twenty years old. By this time she had, unfortunately, had a second child who died in infancy.

The image at the top of this page makes clear that the monster is a victim in the story, but people who haven’t read the book, from the bit of the story they have gleaned from popular culture, argue otherwise. The identification of who is the tragic figure and why intrigues me, mostly because I can’t get past the subtitle of the book.

Frankenstein’s subtitle is “The Modern Prometheus” which I find interesting. Prometheus was the Greek god who stole fire from Olympus and gave it to humans on earth. He was punished for this treachery by Zeus to be bound to a rock, and have an eagle sent to eat his liver. His liver would then grow back overnight, only to be eaten again the next day in an ongoing cycle for eternity. Fortunately, there are versions of the story where Heracles (aka Hercules) is able to free him after a time. So in effect Frankenstein is an allegory for the consequences of defying the gods. But which character is doing the defying? Is it Dr Frankenstein or his monster? There is certainly an argument for both or either, but this is where returning to the Greek myth makes things interesting. In one version of Prometheus tale, Zeus also sends the first human woman, Pandora to live with humans. She brought with her the famous jar/box which released curses upon humankind when opened. So if we use this as a guide, it is the Doctor who is Prometheus and the monster who is Pandora. In the myth the one thing left in Pandora’s box is hope (which in Greek mythology is a curse as it can also be interpreted in the negative sense of foreboding or used as a means of suppressing action which might otherwise shift balances of power***). This fits with my interpretation of the ending of Frankenstein where we don’t know the fate of the monster. We have an indication of his intent (to immolate himself at the north pole), but not his actions. What better example of this interpretation of ‘hope’ could there be?

Next time I’ll talk about something other than a quirky historical event, and it has been inspired by this post – how reading a book has caused reevaluation of other books’ literary merit. To make sure you don’t miss the next Great Moment in Literature, please subscribe to this site or my mailing list.

*To repeat this is speculation on my part, though since writing this, I have read other sources which suggest similar notions.

** Who, I confess, I first heard of when watching and later reading Tom Stoppard’s excellent play, Arcadia, and know about mostly by reputation as a lothario rather than for his poetry or writing ability.

*** Stephen Fry elaborates upon this in his retelling of the Prometheus myth in his book, Mythos. It is a great read and I can also wholeheartedly recommend the audiobook which Fry narrates.

1 https://romantic-circles.org/reference/chronologies/mschronology/reviews/bcrev.html