This blog post is more like a writing prompt, but readers can treat it as a review despite some spoilers. I hope this does not discourage you; instead, I hope it piques your interest enough to pick up the book if you haven’t already read this classic.

When I was a kid, I remember reading the first chapter of a random book and being amazed at the author’s command of words.  There’s a godly presence to the writer when she can manipulate words and draw images in the reader’s mind. Naive little me believed everything that is printed. It was not until later in life that I realized that even the most profound writers are as blind as the lowest common denominators–limited to one’s frame of mind.  Oh no, I’m not insulting someone’s intelligence but to remind us that humans are full of erroneous beliefs. Yes, I can hear someone saying Frankenstein was published in 1818. Mary Shelley is the product of her time, and as a modern reader, I should be forgiving, but I just can’t!  Asian cultures are slothful? South America is the land of savages? No way can I tolerate such worldviews! I am Asian-American. As an outsider like the Frankenstein’s monster, I can only appreciate the book (European culture) from afar.  The book was one of the most beautiful prose I have ever read, and I wish I could love it more but I cannot. I am no ally to outdated, prejudiced ideologies.

The book is classified as horror, but it feels more like a tragedy. College boy Victor Frankenstein from Geneva, thirsted for something more and decided to create life only to abandon it. Why? One vocabulary described his ambition: ennui, which is a noun meaning “a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement (Oxford Languages dictionary. I googled the vocabulary).” Yes, Victor Frankenstein was carried away with his studies. He was not content with idleness like his spiritual friend Henry Clerval. Frankenstein was ambitious, and that became his ruin.

What a glorious creature must he have been in the days of his prosperity, when he is thus noble and godlike in ruin. He seems to feel his worth and the greatness of his fall (p.200).

The plot sounds pretty simple when I summarized it like that– but it made me reflect on the classic literature books I have read previously (Macbeth and Crime and Punishment) which have a similar theme: the human’s conscience becoming the prosecutor. In Frankenstein, Victor attempts to redeem his error by becoming the prosecutor; meanwhile, the monster becomes his persecutor. Every decision Victor has made against the monster leads him further into misfortunes. Like a wild game of chase, he cannot escape his tormentor, who happens to be also the monster’s tormentor. Not even the beauty of the European Alps and pristine lakes can soothe the mind for too long because both are a slave to each other existence. His burden is so heavy that he globalizes it. To him, he has unleashed a horrific machination against humanity, a “sensitive rational animal (p.200)” that will defile all of Europe!  But is the monster at fault? Some have argued that the monster is more human than Frankenstein. I believe so. So does that make all us a bit like monsters?

There are so many angles I could look at from reading this dense book of 211 pages, which makes it great for reading discussions.  I can’t help but wonder myself what Frankenstein could have done differently with the monster. Why create a monster without weighing the consequence? How did he know that it was the monster who committed murder? The way how the story unfolds made me believe it’s about colonial racism, but I can’t say for sure. That’s why a second reading may be worth the time for someone like me who is always fishing metaphors.

P.S.

I often wonder where the phrase misery loves company comes from. Is it from this book? Frankenstein and the monster could not live without the other.