Reviews
complex and compelling, can easily be devoured in one day. i am feeling quite empty now that i have finished it. i particularly enjoyed mary shelley’s dissection of what it means to be a human and to live. to live despite suffering, rejection, and the crushing weight of loneliness.
Think not, Walton, that in the last moments of my existence I feel that burning hatred and ardent desire of revenge I once expressed; but I feel myself justified in desiring the death of my adversary. During these last days I have been occupied in examining my past conduct; nor do I find it blamable. In a fit of enthusiastic madness I created a rational creature and was bound towards him to assure, as far as was in my power, his happiness and well-being. This was my duty, but there was another still paramount to that. My duties towards the beings of my own species had greater claims to my attention because they included a greater proportion of happiness or misery.
Mary Shelley intertwines the timeless themes of past guilt and future fear, seamlessly shaping them into a vivid portrait of Victor’s relentless struggles. Not excessively, but with a delicate touch of hope—an ember of faith in goodness, even against the weight of our most inherent darkness. I’m not particularly drawn to straightforward depictions of anguish; instead, I’m captivated by the slow unraveling, the kind that lingers and leaves an aching void. Yet Shelley has a way of disarming me, slipping past my expectations whenever I anticipate a conventional portrayal of suffering. I can say with certainty that I’m wholly devoted, destined to remain a wreck for as long as Victor Frankenstein is bound to his crushing fate, searching for salvation amid his own ruins. And to the one whose wisdom shaped a life-changing story for Walton and all who would later hear his tale; I beseech the universe to grant you peace at last, as you perish with your enemy crushed in your grasp. It is both your punishment and your redemption, a fate only you can ensure is not in vain. May you find eternal peace alongside those you once loved.
I like how interesting the story of each character. I totally understand their views; I concluded that I am easily swayed with words/stories. That kept me going because I learned more about myself for a second there. I had to carefully read everything because I feel like I'd miss on something but there's still something lacking.
I am not hooked as y'all, and I feel guilty... I've been reading the reviews about this book because I didn't LOVE this enough. After I finished it, I felt relieved because FINALLY??? It's done. Next.
Might be because of AP Literature, but this might be the first book I REALLY understood. Not just like surface level stuff. Or I’m being overconfident. Victor and Henry shoulda made out sloppy style
Who are we in this story? And what does that say about us?
I love this book, there’s so much I’m left to think about. The constant ramblings about nature’s beauty and awe, though lengthy, create an important juxtaposition to the Creature’s unnatural and repulsive existence. I felt a deep sympathy for him and maybe related a little to the feelings of betrayal and rejection that motivated his behavior. Victor was super annoying sometimes and undeniably egotistical, which I didn’t realize was so intentional until reading up on some Mary Shelley history. To me, the story felt like somewhat of a rebuttal to the traditional Creation story we’re generally familiar with, which seems obvious given the explicit references to Paradise Lost and Prometheus but that might still be me projecting my own complicated feelings of spirituality onto the text.
felt as if a lot of the monologue was very unnecessarily long and drawn out; otherwise i enjoyed
WOW where to start with this? I had very high hopes for this legendary classic and was NOT disappointed.
I must confess, this is my first Mary Shelley book so I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but I have only heard good things, so I was eager to get started.
From the moment I started this book, I was truly hooked on every word, something that doesn’t come often for a book written almost 200 years ago. I had presumed it would be a slow-starter but NOPE, we were straight into the story and I couldn’t put this book down.
What do I not love about this book? Everything was spectacularly created, such as the divine and meaningful word choice that gave me shivers when describing even the simplest of things, the dimensional and realistic characters, and the way that Shelley is able to describe the most relatable of feelings and reactions to experiences that prove this book is just so valid almost 200 years on. I also loved the moral conflict that has still left me wondering and reflecting on who I believe was justified in this tale.
5 ⭐️
And it still remains one of my favorite novels to this day.
The earliest example of science fiction, a truly thought provoking book.
Het verhaal had een trage tempo, wat me niet erg beviel. Bovendien waren er kapot veel typos, wat zeer vervelend is. Het schrijfstijl was een enorme hinder om me in het verhaal te laten gaan, maar dat was verwacht aangezien dit boek 200 jaar geleden geschreven is. Ik had iets duisterder verwacht, en ik ben niet bepaald onder de indruk van dit boek, maar ik ben toch blij dat ik het heb gelezen aangezien het een klassiek boek is binnen de genre. Vooral in het begin, maar ook daarna, voelde ik mee voor het 'monster' van Frankenstein, die door zijn uiterlijk alléén als monster werd beschouwd.
Voordat hij nog de betekenis van kwaad en goed kon leren werd hij als kwaad beschouwd en werd hij door zijn schepper afgewezen. Mary Shelly is een slimme vrouw, ze haalde meermaals naar de hypocrysie van de mens en de tekortkomingen van de maatschappij (haar commentaar over hoe werk je geest niet mag martelen; haar commentaar over de vrienden van Justine die haar in de steek lieten; nu met het monster van Frankenstein dat constant wordt veroordeeld, zelfs door degene die hem heeft gemaakt). Er waren ook tijdsperiode-eigen racisme en islamofobie aanwezig. Van dit boek heb ik niet genoten, maar het zet wel aan het denken. Wat maakt van iemand een monster? Wat drijft de mens tot zekere acties? Wat doet het met jou als je ouders je op jonge leeftijd in de steek laten? En verantwoordt trauma kwaadaardige acties?
This was a fun book to read. A bit slow at times, but I found myself so emotionally invested in Frankenstein’s unnamed creation who parallels that of Genesis’ Adam. The horror lies in Victor’s passionate love and destructive desecration of nature as he toys with life and death using natural philosophy and modern science. The common misconception that Frankenstein was the monster in this story doesn’t actually seem too far off when he brings his creation to life and turns a blind eye to the heinous acts they cause. It’s his own ineptness and cowardice that causes the horrors that occur in the story. This monstrous creature surely isn’t blameless, but he becomes embittered and enraged from being left to wander the world alone and learn basic survival skills without a companion willing to treat him as any other human.
It’s not a wonder why this 1818 novel stands the test of time today. Frankenstein’s experimentation echoes the threat of the ambition of AI development and endless debates over its looming unchecked power. The feeling of “otherness” has yet to be unfelt today when tensions against those of different races, cultures, sexualities, and gender identities are perhaps even more violent these days. And most prominent of all may be the idea that monsters aren’t born, they are created. We all have the potential to become one, and we all strive for connection in the hopes that it’ll save us.
I read this because I have watched so many Frankenstein reboots that I really wanted to read the original.
This just wasn't what I was expecting. I love flowery prose, but this felt long, drawn out, and unnecessary. While the language was easy enough to follow, it wasn't an easy read for me.
I just really didn't like it very much. I will always recommend giving classics a try, but this wasn't for me.
yes but no idk
"I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me?" *** Reading this completely dispelled my preconceived notions about the monster. I even used to think that Frankenstein was its name—but it was actually the creator's! So the great question of this book is, who is the real monster? I conclude it's the latter. 😕 Overall, I'm glad to have read the first sci-fi novel. One classic down, and plenty more to go!
one of the greatest works of literature didn't disappoint me. yes it was kinda long and tiring sometimes bcs mary was told by percy to make it a novel even though she wanted it to be a short story, so it's understandable. but oh my god. i want to talk about mary and her frankenstein like all the time. I really enjoyed reading it, plus the explanation of why she wrote it what did the relationship between frankenstein and the monster meant and overall what inspired her its just so... interesting to me! frankenstein was not supposed to be a likeable character and i think mary did a great job portraying his not-so-good personality. on the other hand the monster just didn't know how to act like a person, bcs he wasn't one and never will be one, even though he tried. the dynamic between these two characters was really good. i also enjoyed the second part of the book, the one where the monster talks about how he had lived throughout the years before he met frankenstein. also the nature descriptions were really good. . i don't really know what else to say, i really enjoyed this book and mary is definitely my favorite romantic author ever!
One of the best books ever written
the curse of being alive
mary shelley don’t let the critics tell you it was percy who wrote the novel (he may have some nice poems but we both know his gothic novels were not giving v much ozymandias)
The book that made me read again
I really loved this book. Full of meanings and made me think a lot about life and existence.
reread <3
I'm actually really glad I read this book--I'd always been put off by the movie image of the creature, with screws and stitches all over the place, but that's not how he's described here, and this book doesn't feel like that at all. The nestling narration is really intriguing--it draws the reader into one story at a time. Victor Frankenstein and the Creature are both morally, shall we say, gray. Interestingly, I sympathized greatly with the creature whose morality was pretty straight for most of his early 'life'. And yet, I also can't blame Frankenstein for the creature's actions. Really good story, highly recommended.
Both of them can go to hell!
Highlights
You hate me, but your abhorrence cannot equal that with which regard myself. I look on the bands which executed the deed; I think on the heart in which the imagination of it was conceived and long for the moment when these hands will meet my eyes, when that imagination will haunt my thoughts no more.
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.
For while I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisty my own desires. They were for ever ardent and craving; still I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all humankind sinned against me?
When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.
My heart was fashioned to be susceptible of love and sympathy, and when wrenched by misery to vice and hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without torture such as you cannot even imagine.
Oh! Be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your purposes and firm as a rock.
Soon, oh, very soon, will death extinguish these throbbings and relieve me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears me to the dust; and, in executing the award of justice, I shall also sink to rest. Then the appearance of death was distant, although the wish was ever present to my thoughts; and I often sat for hours motionless and speechless, wishing for some mighty revolution that might bury me and my destroyer in its ruins.
How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!
But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be- miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.
The path of my departure was free and there was none to lament my annihilation. My person as hideous and my stature gigantic. What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.
These wonderful narrations inspired me with feelings. Was man, indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous and magnificent, yet so vicious and base? He appeared at one tinme a mere scion of the evil principle and at another as all that can be conceived of noble and godlike. To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honour that can befall a sensitive being; to be base and vicious, as many on record have been, appeared the lowest degradation, a condition more abject than that of the blind mole or harmless worm. For a long time I could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or even why there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased andI turned away with disgust and loathing.
If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched.
Alas! Why does man boast of sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by every wind that blows and a chance word or scene that that word may convey to us.
Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth nor of heaven, could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were ineffectual. I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial influence could penetrate. The wounded deer dragging its fainting limbs to some untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow which had pierced it, and to die, was but a type of me.
Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.
Even where the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence, the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. They know out infantile dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified, are never eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with more certain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives. A sister or a brother can never, unless indeed such symptoms have been shown early, suspect the other of fraud or false dealing, when another friend, however strongly he may be attached, may, in spite of himself, be contemplated with suspicion.
Een menselijk wezen in perfect evenwicht behoort altijd een kalme, vredige geest te bewaren en nimmer toe te staan dat deze rust verstoord wordt door hartstocht of voorbijgaande begeerten. Ik geloof niet dat de wetenschap op deze regel een uitzondering mag vormen. Wanneer de studie, waaraan je jezelf geeft, geneigd is je genegenheid voor mensen te doen afnemen en je behagen in die simpele genoegens, waarin geen bijmengsels bestaan, te vernietigen, dan is die studie beslist onwettig, dat wil zeggen ongeschikt voor de menselijke geest. Als men zich altijd aan die regel hield; als geen mens ooit toestond dat de rust van zijn huiselijke genegenheid verstoord werd door wélk verlangen ook, dan zou Griekenland nooit onderworpen zijn; Caesar zou zijn land gespaard hebben; Amerika zou geleidelijker ontdekt zijn; en de keizerrijken Mexico en Peru zouden niet verwoest zijn.
studie/werk zouden niet mogen interferen met je privéleven, dat is iets dat sinds 1800 gezegd maar niet toegepast wordt zo te zien
Alleen degenen die de verlokkingen der wetenschap gevoeld hebben kunnen de kracht daarvan begrijpen. Bij iedere andere studie kun je niet verder komen dan alle anderen die je zijn voorgegaan, en er valt ook niets méér te weten; maar bij scheikundige onderzoekingen is er voortdurend stof voor ontdekkingen en verbazing.
You hate me; but your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself. I look on the hands which executed the deed; I think on the heart in which the imagination of it was conceived, and long for the moment when these hands will meet my eyes, when that imagination will haunt my thoughts no more.
The fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.
I knew that I was preparing for myself a deadly torture; but I was the slave, not the master, of an impulse which I detested, yet could not disobey.
Even where the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence, the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. They know our infantine dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified, are never eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with more certain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives. A sister or a brother can never, unless indeed such symptoms have been shown early, suspect the other of fraud or false dealing, when another friend, however strongly he may be attached, may, in spite of himself, be contemplated with suspicion.
Life is obstinate and clings closest where it is most hated.
It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxury there is otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief.