When I was ten years old, my knowledge of the world was meager. I'd never been on an airplane, never been out of my home state, never seen snow falling from the sky or been up in the mountains. But I took great pride in my expertise on at least one subject…Frankenstein.
If you had taken a peek in my bedroom, you would have found copies of some of my favorite periodicals: Creepy, Eerie, Monster World, Fantastic and—the gold standard for horror movie fans —Forrest J. Ackerman’s Famous Monsters of Filmland. On my shelf, you would have discovered a well-thumbed copy of Carlos Clarens' An Illustrated History of the Horror Film, and in my desk drawer a stack of index cards with information on the cast and crew of numerous monster movies. I could have told you the pros and cons of each of the Frankenstein movies made by Universal, and reeled off the names of all the actors who had played the monster.
A few of my friends shared this interest, but all of them were boys about my age. I didn't know a single girl who could have told you Boris Karloff's real name (William Henry Pratt) or identify the make-up man who had created the "classic" Frankenstein look (Jack Pierce, also responsible for the Wolf Man and Mummy). Thus my shock and awe when, a few years later during my college days, I encountered a stunning surprise…the existence of young ladies who liked Frankenstein. Or, to be more specific, liked Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein.
These were the early days of women’s studies on campus, and one of its more unexpected mani- festations came in the form of an expanded readership for this 1818 novel. One of my college professors even wrote an influential essay entitled "The Female in Frankenstein.” In her in- terpretation, the novel was "about what happens when a man tries to have a baby without a woman."
I envisioned a remake of the original Frankenstein film, drawing on this new perspective:
Dr. Frankenstein: "Ygor, you are a loyal servant but only a passable midwife…."
Ygor: "Dat is one ugly baby, Dr. Frankenstein…"
(Of course, all this leads to the even more fascinating issue of female readers' more recent obsession with novels about vampires—which nowadays far exceeds even their passion for Frankenstein. Just go to your local bookstore and you will find a whole section devoted to vampire fiction, displacing shelf space formerly devoted to poetry and drama. First Frankenstein and then vampires: how will the ladies surprise me next? By hankering after Godzilla? Freddy Krueger? The Creature from the Black Lagoon? My head spins…)
Okay, back to Frankenstein….when I first read the novel, I was in for another shock. The book bore little resemblance to the horror films of my childhood—indeed, Shelley's book has stronger ties to other genres. The book begins as an epistolary novel recounting the Arctic explorations of Captain Robert Walton—very much in the vein of adventure stories and travel literature of the period. As it develops, Shelley’s story takes on many of the trappings of the Gothic novel. But Frankenstein most reminded me of a contemporaneous literary work: Goethe's Faust.
Goethe published part one of Faust in 1806 and part two in 1832—and Shelley's Frankenstein dates from almost the exact midpoint in this chronology. The bad karma of over- reaching human ambitions is the main theme that connects these two works. From this perspective, the Frankenstein monster has more in common with the tiny Homunculus from Faust than with Dracula (Bram Stoker's novel would not appear until 1897), The Invisible Man (also published in 1897), Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (from 1886) and other later works that are often considered in tandem with Shelley's classic.
The difference here is a profound one. In a later day, the element of horror in such novels would emanate from the unnatural and inhuman monster. And, in fact, when Frankenstein was turned into a movie attraction, this was exactly its appeal. But Shelley places the horror elsewhere in her story—in the anguish of Victor Frankenstein, the scientist who reflects with despair on what he has wrought. This is a hard concept for the modern mind to grasp—raised as we are in a complaisant, positivistic age, one in which half of the ads on TV tout the latest breakthrough in technology, pharma- cology, communications, consumer entertainment or some other field of unrelenting, manufactured progress. The idea of the patent holder, the creator of the "intellectual property," turning away in disgust from the "breakthrough" innovation is strange to us.
"I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body," Shelley’s scientist relates. "For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart."
The monster itself is presented here in sympathetic terms. When he confronts his maker, his speech is more likely to elicit pity than fear. "All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me….Have I not suffered enough that you seek to increase my misery?"
Here is a flip-flop of the cinematic scenario. And at this very point, the aficionado of horror literature may well lose interest —unwilling to accept a monster as victim and the scientist as victimizer. Yet this very reversal of expected roles is the most powerful element in Shelley’s gripping tale. To this day, most people assume that the very title of Shelley’s book refers to the monster, but it actually describes the scientist—Dr. Frankenstein—as is made explicit in the title’s tagline: The Modern Prometheus. Buried beneath the gruesome account of a new man stitched together from parts of corpses is a different, far more trenchant critique of the hubris that led to the monster’s creation.
We might do well to recover a sense of the potential horror inherent in human over-reaching. Most of the real life horror stories of the last hundred years came from that very direction, and not from vampires, werewolves, goblins, mummies or lurching Karloffian figures in the night. And from this perspective, the monster in this story is the character whose fate is most closely aligned with that of the modern reader. We too are the marginalized victim of forces that predate our own existence—the 'wretched' and 'miserable' in Shelley’s words…..No bizarre make-up or Halloween décor required. And in that regard, Mary Shelley may well have given us not only one of the oldest or most famous horror stories, but perhaps the most up-to-date as well.
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