Shelley's Frankenstein : your views

[paranoid marvin]

Ok , just got round to reading this ; tbh it was only because I'm studying it in my English Lit class. The story to me seems highly contrived , and unintentionally hilarious.

The fact that the Creature self-educates from a collection of books having learned to speak by watching a family for several months (it is never explained how he actually learns to read!) is hard to swallow ; the ability for an 8 foot montrosity to make himself blend into the background and shadow his maker unnoticed is quite frankly ridiculous.

Although the language used is very beautiful (although perhaps a little too flowery at times) , and the novel raises some interesting questions about the relationship between the creator and his work , I find it quite hard to believe that this novel has stood the test of time as one of the classics.

Anyone who can convince me otherwise is quite welcome to try

 

[j d worthington]

I'm surprised no one has replied yet.

At any rate, here's my take:

Let me preface my comments by saying that, of course, no one is required to either like or respect a particular piece of great literature or "one of the classics", if you will -- certainly you'd be in a rather large company if you were to question Silas Marner's standing, for instance -- but, as you asked how this one has stood "the test of time", well, here are some of my responses:

First, the objections you raise above (his apparent self-teaching and such) were raised by reviewers upon the novel's original publication and have garnered various responses over the years, from Sir Walter Scott on. On a strictly literal level there are various reasons which are hinted at within the book: the creature's almost preternatural intelligence and cunning, for example, smack of a diabolical spirit to begin with; a possibility that lies within the very epistemological nature of the novel itself: is this being good or evil, is it soulless, is it (being constructed from the dead) inhabited by either the soul of someone who has died or an infernal spirit? In which case, such feats would be very much in the nature of any of these according to the folklore common to such. Mary Shelley wisely maintains silence on the issue not because (I suspect, given the fact that this novel was not only the product of long gestation and considerable thought, but also revised and rewritten in part with suggestions from her husband Percy and revised again with newer editions later in her life; also based on the care with which she constructed all her other works, given the evidence of her various journals, diaries, and letters, including those on this one) she didn't think this aspect through, but because she wished to maintain ambiguity on this point as well as on one which I will raise later.
Recall that this was a time of transition in literature, where the rationalism of the earlier eighteenth century was now being challenged not only by the Gothic reaction toward emotion, but also by its (partial) offspring, the Romantic movement, as well as the burgeoning tales of the fantastic and terrible coming out of Germany (on which more later) -- something the novel itself reflects, being poised between the superstitions of the past (then seeing revival) and the rationalism of the post-Enlightenment and burgeoning scientific, even mechanistic, era (a question the novel also delves into as well).

Nonetheless, the beliefs surrounding such beings were still quite maintain ambiguity on this point as well as on one which I will raise later.

Nonetheless, the beliefs surrounding such beings were still quite widely known, and therefore not the sort of thing needing going into at this point, as the majority of readers would be quite aware of them and accept them as part of the worldview of the tale. Only later, as the more clinically scientific tone began to enter into the fantastic tale, would such things be delved into and explicitly stated.
Second, on a different level, the being "shadowing" Frankenstein is because it literally is his shadow: In the same way that Hyde is Jekyll's, so is Victor's creation his shadow self. Where Hyde, originally dwarfish and wizened, gradually becomes less so, to the point where he is described as not actually deformed in any particular yet giving the impression of ugliness and deformity, also becoming stronger than Jekyll -- enough so to emerge with or without the potion or the will of the doctor -- as the latter gives more of himself to the former; so Victor's creation literally overshadows its maker because of his obsessions and the fact he pursues them without regard to either his ties to others or the impact of his actions on them. It may be significant here that the only other view we have of the creature is through Walton (and his crew), who himself is engaged in a similar scientific pursuit. Note that the only clear view he has of the creature is once he, having already heard Frankenstein's tale, is on the verge of continuing in his footsteps (so to speak) -- at which point he encounters the being face to face, which may be seen as a portent of his own shadow growing. Other than that, we only have Victor's testimony to the thing's existence -- once again indicating that it is his double (just as Walton is, in a sense, of Victor before his "fall", so to speak).

In other words, the novel is interpretable in a number of ways: literally, metaphorically, mythically, within the various traditions to which it belongs (or which it in turn fostered), etc. Which brings us to my main point: The novel survives because it has stimulated imaginations for nearly two hundred years (and continues to do so); because it tackles fundamental questions about life, religion, human nature, the existence of justice, of god, etc., exploring them through dramatic action; because of the very mythic nature of the novel, straddling, as it does, both the scientific/rational and the mystical/irrational.
I mentioned the tales of the German Romantics (and, by extension, the Schauerromantik), which so influenced the Gothic tales and the Romantics such as Mary's husband and Byron (among others)... and Mary herself. These, too, were riddled (quite deliberately) with the sort of "logical inconsistencies" which appear in spots in Mary's novel; yet they, too, work both because of the quality of myth they contain (and the resonance with emotions surrounding such themes and tropes) and because, at their best (like Frankenstein) this gives them something of the feeling of nightmare, with its logical distortions which yet are bizarrely fitting.
Chiefly, though, I suspect it continues to succeed with the popular (rather than the critical) reader because it appeals to the imagination and the emotions in its exploration of the questions of life and death and the ambiguous nature of the creature itself, which may be viewed as a fiend without compare, or being potentially good but, scorned not only by those around it but by its creator, turns into an enemy of all -- eliciting our sympathy by its (apparent) struggles to maintain the good within it and echoing the feelings that most of us have at one time or another of being the Outsider....

 

[HoopyFrood]

It's been quite some time since I read the story (also had to read it for my English course) but I remember that I had absolutely no sympathy for the creature and mostly for his attitude of "Give me what I want or I'll throw a tantrum" (albeit his tantrums involving the killing of others). It was just petulant and childlike and it annoyed me.

Yes, technically you could say that he is a child, having being newly created. And that the thing that he wants is only a mate to keep him company, as he realises that he is different. And perhaps although he does increase his intelligence at an exponential rate, like Charlie in Flowers for Algernon, his emotions and grasp of morals are unable to keep up. And, yes, he doesn't exactly have any nice experiences to draw on, to realise kindness, when he is beaten and chased away from a family he thought so nice.

BUT. I can't help it. He annoyed me and I just wanted to slap him and tell him to stop being silly.

 

[Lobolover]

J.D. sucessfully shuns his oponent by erecting a wall of text.

Also:

"Nonetheless, the beliefs surrounding such beings were still quite maintain ambiguity on this point as well as on one which I will raise later.

Nonetheless, the beliefs surrounding such beings were still quite" wriers block there ?

But all joking aside,I have to say the novel,though ive read it,has troubled me with its unnaturaly high level of popularity-there are far more superior works,even more recent,which are stampeded into oblivion,because one of the five books chiefly printed needs an xth milionth reprint no one realy cares about .(Some superior novels are: "In the dwellings of the Wilderness","The Brood of the Witch Queen","The King in yellow","The dark chamber","Alraune" and "The Sorcerer's aprentice" both by Ewers,etc.) So,I believe this book,like some others,is way too popular for its own good.

 

[j d worthington]

Ah, no... a bit of text got dropped. That should read:

Nonetheless, the beliefs surrounding such beings were still quite widely known, and therefore not the sort of thing needing going into at this point, as the majority of readers would be quite aware of them and accept them as part of the worldview of the tale. Only later, as the more clinically scientific tone began to enter into the fantastic tale, would such things be delved into and explicitly stated.

I was having some trouble with a cut-and-paste there, for some reason, and ended up with some serious repetition, which I was also having trouble editing. I'll try reposting the whole in a moment, for legibility's sake....

 

[j d worthington]

Well, let's trust it works properly this time:

Let me preface my comments by saying that, of course, no one is required to either like or respect a particular piece of great literature or "one of the classics", if you will -- certainly you'd be in a rather large company if you were to question Silas Marner's standing, for instance -- but, as you asked how this one has stood "the test of time", well, here are some of my responses:

First, the objections you raise above (his apparent self-teaching and such) were raised by reviewers upon the novel's original publication and have garnered various responses over the years, from Sir Walter Scott on. On a strictly literal level there are various reasons which are hinted at within the book: the creature's almost preternatural intelligence and cunning, for example, smack of a diabolical spirit to begin with; a possibility that lies within the very epistemological nature of the novel itself: is this being good or evil, is it soulless, is it (being constructed from the dead) inhabited by either the soul of someone who has died or an infernal spirit? In which case, such feats would be very much in the nature of any of these according to the folklore common to such. Mary Shelley wisely maintains silence on the issue not because (I suspect, given the fact that this novel was not only the product of long gestation and considerable thought, but also revised and rewritten in part with suggestions from her husband Percy and revised again with newer editions later in her life; also based on the care with which she constructed all her other works, given the evidence of her various journals, diaries, and letters, including those on this one) she didn't think this aspect through, but because she wished to maintain ambiguity on this point as well as on one which I will raise later.

Recall that this was a time of transition in literature, where the rationalism of the earlier eighteenth century was now being challenged not only by the Gothic reaction toward emotion, but also by its (partial) offspring, the Romantic movement, as well as the burgeoning tales of the fantastic and terrible coming out of Germany (on which more later) -- something the novel itself reflects, being poised between the superstitions of the past (then seeing revival) and the rationalism of the post-Enlightenment and burgeoning scientific, even mechanistic, era (a question the novel also delves into as well).

Nonetheless, the beliefs surrounding such beings were still quite widely known, and therefore not the sort of thing needing going into at this point, as the majority of readers would be quite aware of them and accept them as part of the worldview of the tale. Only later, as the more clinically scientific tone began to enter into the fantastic tale, would such things be delved into and explicitly stated.

Second, on a different level, the being "shadowing" Frankenstein is because it literally is his shadow: In the same way that Hyde is Jekyll's, so is Victor's creation his shadow self. Where Hyde, originally dwarfish and wizened, gradually becomes less so, to the point where he is described as not actually deformed in any particular yet giving the impression of ugliness and deformity, also becoming stronger than Jekyll -- enough so to emerge with or without the potion or the will of the doctor -- as the latter gives more of himself to the former; so Victor's creation literally overshadows its maker because of his obsessions and the fact he pursues them without regard to either his ties to others or the impact of his actions on them. It may be significant here that the only other view we have of the creature is through Walton (and his crew), who himself is engaged in a similar scientific pursuit. Note that the only clear view he has of the creature is once he, having already heard Frankenstein's tale, is on the verge of continuing in his footsteps (so to speak) -- at which point he encounters the being face to face, which may be seen as a portent of his own shadow growing. Other than that, we only have Victor's testimony to the thing's existence -- once again indicating that it is his double (just as Walton is, in a sense, of Victor before his "fall", so to speak).

In other words, the novel is interpretable in a number of ways: literally, metaphorically, mythically, within the various traditions to which it belongs (or which it in turn fostered), etc. Which brings us to my main point: The novel survives because it has stimulated imaginations for nearly two hundred years (and continues to do so); because it tackles fundamental questions about life, religion, human nature, the existence of justice, of god, etc., exploring them through dramatic action; because of the very mythic nature of the novel, straddling, as it does, both the scientific/rational and the mystical/irrational.

I mentioned the tales of the German Romantics (and, by extension, the Schauerromantik), which so influenced the Gothic tales and the Romantics such as Mary's husband and Byron (among others)... and Mary herself. These, too, were riddled (quite deliberately) with the sort of "logical inconsistencies" which appear in spots in Mary's novel; yet they, too, work both because of the quality of myth they contain (and the resonance with emotions surrounding such themes and tropes) and because, at their best (such as Frankenstein) this gives them something of the feeling of nightmare, with its logical distortions which yet are bizarrely fitting.

Chiefly, though, I suspect it continues to succeed with the popular (rather than the critical) reader because it appeals to the imagination and the emotions in its exploration of the questions of life and death and the ambiguous nature of the creature itself, which may be viewed as a fiend without compare, or being potentially good but, scorned not only by those around it but by its creator, turns into an enemy of all -- eliciting our sympathy by its (apparent) struggles to maintain the good within it and echoing the feelings that most of us have at one time or another of being the Outsider....

One other thing, Lobo: I can't agree that either of the Ewers, The Dark Chamber, or (especially) The King in Yellow is in any way superior or more deserving than Mrs. Shelley's little opus. While Ewers' writing is often very good (especially in Alraune), it is also at times very uneven; while not being a part of the didactic movement in literature, he nonetheless expends enormous amounts of The Sorcerer's Apprentice rambling on about theoretical metaphysical constructs, bringing a halt to the dramatic action of the novel, and in general creates a very contrived scenario of puppet characters to explore his theme with far too much predictability -- something he handles much more adroitly with Alraune as well. The King in Yellow, despite my respect for the collection in overall, is appallingly written, mawkishly sentimental in handling romantic elements (again, without the benefit of being part of the "novel of sentiment" school), and (again, at times) simply slipshod in both development and overall style. What carries that one more than anything is the concept Chambers is dealing with -- a magnificent concept, admittedly -- but not the actual writing of the book.

For all its faults -- and occasionally overly-florid writing is certainly among them -- Frankenstein is much more modulated and even in its style and voice, much more carefully thought out in theme and implication (especially on the metaphorical levels mentioned above), and was strikingly original when written... enough so to be endlessly imitated ever since, as well as to inspire numerous sequels over the years, as well as more dramatic adaptations than you can count. It resonates with readers of different levels, something that I fear is unlikely to be said for those you mention two centuries (or even one) hence.

 

[paranoid marvin]

Is it conceivable that a young girl created a series of convenient circumstances in order to quickly write a scary story . It seems that even the most trashy of novels could be dissected in order to prove the brilliance of the author with deep hidden meanings in the text

i'm not saying that Shelley wasn't a great writer - she obviously was - however I'm not sure she had the time and life-experience to incorporate half of what JDW is suggesting she did into the novel

There is certainly the question of the responsibility a creator should have for his creation , and how far scientific boundaries should be pushed without gaining the wisdom of the potential qualities ; but I think first and foremost the objective was to elicit a shudder of terror from the reader

 

[Teresa Edgerton]

The fact that the Creature self-educates from a collection of books having learned to speak by watching a family for several months (it is never explained how he actually learns to read!) is hard to swallow ; the ability for an 8 foot montrosity to make himself blend into the background and shadow his maker unnoticed is quite frankly ridiculous.

I don't think this is meant to be plausible, and if that's what you're looking for you may be missing some of the implications of the subtitle The Modern Prometheus. The story takes place in the world of myth or fable, where realism is not the goal. Shelly set out to examine certain very powerful ideas. The questions she poses are very compelling, perhaps because she never provides any definite answers herself. That's why people are still talking about the book almost 200 years later.

Depending on what criteria you use when approaching this book, it's easy to come up with plenty of 19th century novels that are "better" in some way, but I personally can't think of any that are more thought provoking, or that ask more disturbing (but important) questions.

As JD says, there are explanations for the creature's intelligence, some of which would have been obvious to the readers the book was intended for. But I believe the monster's ability to think and communicate on more sophisticated lines serves as the vehicle for posing some of the more essential questions. Is he terrifying because he is ugly and clumsy and unwillingly destructive -- or is the true horror that he does have advanced capabilities, is in fact superior to mankind? Would a race of Frankenstein's monsters threaten humanity because they would be inherently evil and unnatural, or because they might be so far beyond us that we would be reduced by the proximity of something so much greater? Some people might find one aspect more frightening, others might think the other infinitely worse. In our various reactions to that question -- and many, many others within the book --- we learn something about ourselves.

In my opinion, a story that has that capacity to lead us toward that sort of self-awareness deserves to be a classic.

 

[Lobolover]

J.D. counters with an even LARGER wall of text

But all jokings aside,(again) -

I think all of those deserve reprints far more then Frankenstein,because:

1-It is public domain and accessible to almost anyone
2-It has had countless dozens upon dozens of reprints already
3-It is seriously over rated as a "horror" novel
(4-Also,it rambles too)

 

[Teresa Edgerton]

Is it conceivable that a young girl created a series of convenient circumstances in order to quickly write a scary story.

Not inconceivable, but I don't think it applies here. She was a very gifted young girl who had been exposed to some very sophisticated ideas by her father and his associates, later by Shelly and his associates. She had also been marked by profound experiences, like the death of a daughter born prematurely.

By the time she started writing Frankenstein she was far from a typical teenage girl -- if, indeed, she had ever been that.

 

[paranoid marvin]

I don't think this is meant to be plausible, and if that's what you're looking for you may be missing some of the implications of the subtitle The Modern Prometheus. The story takes place in the world of myth or fable, where realism is not the goal. Shelly set out to examine certain very powerful ideas. The questions she poses are very compelling, perhaps because she never provides any definite answers herself. That's why people are still talking about the book almost 200 years later.

Depending on what criteria you use when approaching this book, it's easy to come up with plenty of 19th century novels that are "better" in some way, but I personally can't think of any that are more thought provoking, or that ask more disturbing (but important) questions.

As JD says, there are explanations for the creature's intelligence, some of which would have been obvious to the readers the book was intended for. But I believe the monster's ability to think and communicate on more sophisticated lines serves as the vehicle for posing some of the more essential questions. Is he terrifying because he is ugly and clumsy and unwillingly destructive -- or is the true horror that he does have advanced capabilities, is in fact superior to mankind? Would a race of Frankenstein's monsters threaten humanity because they would be inherently evil and unnatural, or because they might be so far beyond us that we would be reduced by the proximity of something so much greater? Some people might find one aspect more frightening, others might think the other infinitely worse. In our various reactions to that question -- and many, many others within the book --- we learn something about ourselves.

In my opinion, a story that has that capacity to lead us toward that sort of self-awareness deserves to be a classic.

Tbh I consider Frankenstein to be a work of science - fiction , and therefore the novel is based in fact rather than fantasy. The discovery of galvanism - or electricity - at that time the tale was written meant that it was entirely plausible that Frankenstein could re-animate dead matter

To many learned minds at this time , not only was such a scientific breathrough possible , it was almost inevitable ; and just as has always been the case , the most frightening stories are those which are the most believable

I agree that there are implications in the novel that the Creature is the first of a race which is quite clearly superior to mankind ; the Creature after all outwits one of the most intelligent humans on numerous occasions. But I think that one of the underlying principles of the novel is that mankind corrupts everything that it encounters ; to it's own detriment

 

[j d worthington]

Teresa is right on that. If you look at any of her diaries, journals, etc., as I mentioned above, she had not only read but had deeply thought about many of the great philosophical writings up to that period, not to mention the various literary classics, political treatises, etc. This was in part the result of having the parents she had (William Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft, each very active in such fields, as well as the writing of fictions that explored these themes), and exposure to some of the greatest poets and thinkers of her era as visitors and colleagues of her father. And then there are the sorts of life experiences we simply don't deal with in the industrialized modern world; exposure to death in a manner "up close and personal" that moderns simply can barely conceive of, for instance, including that of her mother and the infant daughter mentioned, as well as other relatives, at a time when children weren't "shielded" from such things.

While the initial impetus was to "tell a ghost story", as with writings of any stature, this one quickly left that as a minor consideration, addressing the great themes of the time. Look at some of the things that went into the very conception of the thing: the galvanic experiments indicating that life was electrochemical in nature (discussed by those at the Villa Deodati in the same span of time as the reading of the Fantasmagoriana that inspired them to the "party trick" of competing to write a ghostly tale); the debates brought on by Rousseau's writings; the social upheavals of the American and French revolutions, which brought into question the very fundamental nature of the respective roles of society and the individual; the increasing view that the universe is essentially a mechanism (and the impact of such an idea on the concept of God or, for that matter, any form of supernaturalism -- Le Fanu also explored the latter portion of this in some of his tales, where the ghosts themselves symbolize the "immense machinery of hell", where the haunted protagonist is haunted not due to any faults of his or her own, by simply by the workings of a blind universe); Burke's essay on the sublime and beautiful; the various metaphysical examinations of the great novelists of the period (including the Gothics, who frequently tackled precisely these points of turmoil); the rights and responsibilities of any creator, including one of any piece of art; the possibility of actually creating life, indicated by the increasing understanding of how the mechanism of life works... all these are but a few things which she was involved in discussions on at the time she was working on the novel, and according to her papers, they were very much on her mind in the creation of the book (as they were in other of her works).

And, as noted earlier, this book was not written quickly -- it was the product of months of effort; and even once it was written, it was recast and revised, recast again in light of suggestions from her husband (and others), and revised yet again in later life. As for the "series of convenient circumstances" you mention -- I'm not sure to what you refer here. If it is to the gathering at the Villa Deodati, I'm afraid that is far too well documented to support such an assertion. If not that, then I'm at a loss as to what you refer....

 

[paranoid marvin]

Teresa is right on that. If you look at any of her diaries, journals, etc., as I mentioned above, she had not only read but had deeply thought about many of the great philosophical writings up to that period, not to mention the various literary classics, political treatises, etc. This was in part the result of having the parents she had (William Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft, each very active in such fields, as well as the writing of fictions that explored these themes), and exposure to some of the greatest poets and thinkers of her era as visitors and colleagues of her father. And then there are the sorts of life experiences we simply don't deal with in the industrialized modern world; exposure to death in a manner "up close and personal" that moderns simply can barely conceive of, for instance, including that of her mother and the infant daughter mentioned, as well as other relatives, at a time when children weren't "shielded" from such things.

While the initial impetus was to "tell a ghost story", as with writings of any stature, this one quickly left that as a minor consideration, addressing the great themes of the time. Look at some of the things that went into the very conception of the thing: the galvanic experiments indicating that life was electrochemical in nature (discussed by those at the Villa Deodati in the same span of time as the reading of the Fantasmagoriana that inspired them to the "party trick" of competing to write a ghostly tale); the debates brought on by Rousseau's writings; the social upheavals of the American and French revolutions, which brought into question the very fundamental nature of the respective roles of society and the individual; the increasing view that the universe is essentially a mechanism (and the impact of such an idea on the concept of God or, for that matter, any form of supernaturalism -- Le Fanu also explored the latter portion of this in some of his tales, where the ghosts themselves symbolize the "immense machinery of hell", where the haunted protagonist is haunted not due to any faults of his or her own, by simply by the workings of a blind universe); Burke's essay on the sublime and beautiful; the various metaphysical examinations of the great novelists of the period (including the Gothics, who frequently tackled precisely these points of turmoil); the rights and responsibilities of any creator, including one of any piece of art; the possibility of actually creating life, indicated by the increasing understanding of how the mechanism of life works... all these are but a few things which she was involved in discussions on at the time she was working on the novel, and according to her papers, they were very much on her mind in the creation of the book (as they were in other of her works).

And, as noted earlier, this book was not written quickly -- it was the product of months of effort; and even once it was written, it was recast and revised, recast again in light of suggestions from her husband (and others), and revised yet again in later life. As for the "series of convenient circumstances" you mention -- I'm not sure to what you refer here. If it is to the gathering at the Villa Deodati, I'm afraid that is far too well documented to support such an assertion. If not that, then I'm at a loss as to what you refer....

The convenient circumstances to which I refer are in the story itself. The fact that the Creature is able to find refuge undetected in an abode adjacent to an inhabited property ; and that he is able to view everything going on in this home without the occupants ever being aware. That a foreigner happens to brought to the house and is taught how to speak their language , and that a collection of literary classics is found abandoned from which the Creature is able to self-educate from

Perhaps I am looking at those aspects too practically , and Ishould be concentrating on the more philosophical aspects. It's just that I am used to reading novels which better suspend my sense of disbelief

Judging by the educated replies to my comments , it is quite clear I am in the shadow of my peers (as I quite expected). I simply comment on what I see , with only little knowledge of the times and events surrounding he novel.

I appreciate the comments made , and think they will help me better understand the novel as a whole , as well asraise a number of issues of which I had not even previously considered

 

[Teresa Edgerton]

Tbh I consider Frankenstein to be a work of science - fiction , and therefore the novel is based in fact rather than fantasy. The discovery of galvanism - or electricity - at that time the tale was written meant that it was entirely plausible that Frankenstein could re-animate dead matter.

But not necessarily that it could think and move on its own. Galvanism was only a mechanical process, and the frog legs didn't keep jerking after you removed the electricity.

Something to keep in mind is that 19th century writers who produced works that we now consider to be science fiction still regarded science in a very similar light as magic. While scientists had moved beyond the Natural Philosophy of previous centuries, the non-scientific public thought of scientists as not far removed from magicians. You can see this attitude in Hawthorne's "Rappaccini's Daughter," "Dr. Heidegger's Experiment," and "The Birthmark."

Rappaccini is characterized "as true a man of science as ever distilled his own heart in an alembic" and Aylmer in these words "the pale philosopher had investigated the secrets of the highest cloud region and of the profoundest mines; he had satisfied himself of the causes that kindled and kept alive the fires of the volcano; and had explained the mystery of fountains, and how it is that they gush forth, some so bright and pure, and others with such rich medicinal virtues, from the dark bosom of the earth. Here, too, at an earlier period, he had studied the wonders of the human frame, and attempted to fathom the very process by which Nature assimilates all her precious influences from earth and air, and from the spiritual world, to create and foster man, her masterpiece." In both cases, the scientist still has much of the alchemist, and the effects they produce conjure the fabulous world of myth rather than the sterile atmosphere of the laboratory.

When Dr. Heidigger summons his friends to his study, "they anticipated nothing more wonderful than the murder of a mouse in an air pump, or the examination of a cobweb by the microscope, or some similar nonsense, with which he was constantly in the habit of pestering his intimates." While these were typical scientific experiments of his time, the "experiment" he then proposes involves nothing less magical than the waters of the Fountain of Youth.

Returning to Aylmer, when discussing his wife's birthmark with her, he says, "Georgiana, you have led me deeper than ever into the heart of science." But when they visit his laboratory, he entertains her with "optical phenomena" that sound much more like magical illusions:

"In order to soothe Georgiana, and, as it were, to release her mind from the burden of actual things, Aylmer now put in practice some of the light and playful secrets which science had taught him among its profounder lore. Airy figures, absolutely bodiless ideas, and forms of unsubstantial beauty came and danced before her, imprinting their momentary footsteps on beams of light. Though she had some indistinct idea of the method of these optical phenomena, still the illusion was almost perfect enough to warrant the belief that her husband possessed sway over the spiritual world. Then again, when she felt a wish to look forth from her seclusion, immediately, as if her thoughts were answered, the procession of external existence flitted across a screen. The scenery and the figures of actual life were perfectly represented, but with that bewitching, yet indescribable difference which always makes a picture, an image, or a shadow so much more attractive than the original."

Then he goes on to an even more magical demonstration:

"When wearied of this, Aylmer bade her cast her eyes upon a vessel containing a quantity of earth. She did so, with little interest at first; but was soon startled to perceive the germ of a plant shooting upward from the soil. Then came the slender stalk; the leaves gradually unfolded themselves; and amid them was a perfect and lovely flower.

'It is magical!' cried Georgiana. 'I dare not touch it.'

'Nay, pluck it,' answered Aylmer,--'pluck it, and inhale its brief perfume while you may. The flower will wither in a few moments and leave nothing save its brown seed vessels; but thence may be perpetuated a race as ephemeral as itself.'

But Georgiana had no sooner touched the flower than the whole plant suffered a blight, its leaves turning coal-black as if by the agency of fire.

'There was too powerful a stimulus,' said Aylmer, thoughtfully."

And just as in these stories the scientists are also alchemists and wizards, I think that Shelley's Victor Frankenstein is as much magician and necromancer as he is scientist.

 

[Teresa Edgerton]

Sorry, we posted simultaneously. I didn't meant to stun you (if that's what Lobolover really mean) with another wall of words when you were already reconsidering.

 

[paranoid marvin]

Sorry, we posted simultaneously. I didn't meant to stun you (if that's what Lobolover really mean) with another wall of words when you were already reconsidering.

I'm glad you DID post.F as a conjuror/maagician dabbling in the dark arts is an interesting idea...

 

[j d worthington]

Teresa has once again brought in another aspect that, while I briefly touched on it earlier, she has explained much more eloquently -- that shadowland between science and superstition which was still very much a part of the beliefs of the time. Her choices from Hawthorne are excellent; we might also include Roger Chillingworth here as well, especially as Hawthorne hints quite strongly he may be (at least in some ways) something of an agent of a diabolical power.

Something to keep in mind (again, as Teresa notes earlier, in her comment on the subtitle of the novel, "or, the Modern Prometheus") is that literalism was something being greatly questioned at this time, as was the case with the rationalism of the previous century. There was a reaction toward symbolism, myth, allegorical figures and situations, and the imaginative potential of such themes in general. This gave us a much richer literature as a result; one that, at its best, is almost endlessly interpretable and can be enjoyed on a multitude of levels simultaneously.

I fear that is one of the things I find rather lacking in so many more recent writers, linked with the concurrent obsession with literalism. It robs so many promising works of depth and profundity, as well as texture, leaving them, in my view, flat and insipid in comparison. This is by no means true of all modern writers -- there are several working now who are very worthy inheritors of the great tradition -- but (especially, it would seem, in genre writing) it does seem to be rather prevalent. As a result, much of this writing appears, in John Ravenor Bullen's phrase, "mongrel and ephemeral", doomed to being reading matter which dates far too quickly and becomes, at best, curiosa as far as future generations are concerned....

 

[Lobolover]

Again,im not denying its GOOD,its just some people (readrofessors) tend to think this is the One and Only "horror" novel in the entiere world history and the "greatest" horror book in the history of the universe-Im saying the others I read were far beter writen-yes,it was marvelous for its time,but that doesnt mean we have to disregard works of similar or higher qualities,simply because we want to look "edycated" and want to scoff at any other work as inferior,without having even read it (again,the atitiude of several professors I met with,one being an open confession) and run around in circles, flaping with girlands and sacrificing virgins to the fulll moon any time a repint of one of the most reprinted,the most affordable and obtainable books, maybe besides the Bible,pops up.

Again,I say that this is probably a sign of what ive long coned "Books far too over rated for their own good".Basicly,any book that is so universaly showed down evryones throat,that it gets featured in children cartoons could belong here-as well as any book taking the paper away far to often from too many others.

 

[j d worthington]

I've no problem with continued reprints of Frankenstein, though I think it's a good thing that both the original version and the later one are kept in print these days (for comparison, if nothing else). And with each new reprinting which is given a scholarly touch, there is new information on Shelley and a new take on the novel made available. So I'm not going to complain about reprints here.

I do agree that some (by no means all) academics have severe tunnel vision here... but that's true with any academic field, and literature (especially something as narrow as the weird field) is no exception. Poe still goes through periods of decline critically speaking, and even Frankenstein has had its periods of eclipse -- on top of which, it was not accepted into the literary canon for quite some time to begin with....

We have seen in the past few decades (at least in England and America) a greater acceptance fof the weird tale as worthy of note academically, and this has resulted in some reissuing of more obscure or out-of-print works, and is quite likely to continue to do so, as long as they provide a rich field for discussion and analysis....

 

[Lobolover]

Yes-the level of such tunnel vision arises when no teacher of professor of LITERATURE to whom ive ever spoken has ever even HEARD of Lovecraft-but all have heard of Frankie.........and I think ONE of them has read it.

Its like-weve mentioned many tales we'd like to see back in print-be it a more acessible Wakefield,some things like "Ape's Face",a reprint of Ewers,"The Medusa",Barry Pain,etc.,but we dont.Yet there are so many versions of other books.And also,theres only SO MUCH you can get out of a study of one book in 190 years.