It is conjectured, I know, that Frankenstein is an allegory alluding to the dangers of playing God
with science. Well, anybody in search of allegories can find them wherever they
want to, just as easily as they can spot Jesus’s face in the bumps on a potato.
Who can know whether Mary Shelley intended it that way? Maybe she did, but if
she did, I’m afraid she executed it badly.
As I said in an earlier post, an allegory has first to work
as a plausible story, and Frankenstein is
so short on plausibility of both character and plot that the whole thing is risible.
If, as one critic of Wuthering Heights
avers, Heathcliff is a Byronic sham, then Victor Frankenstein is an utter
Byronic shambles. He’s given to such outlandishly melodramatic speech and
behaviour, and so lacking in the further reaches of fundamental reason, that it’s
impossible to take him seriously. In fact, the only one of the main characters
who argues his case convincingly is the Creature, and even that’s implausible
given the source from which he learns his linguistic skills.
As for the plot, rarely a page goes by which fails to encourage
a sense of incredulity at the sheer lack of thought given to it by the author.
At the end, for example, Victor has died on Walton’s ship, and the Creature tells
Walton that he is going to head for the furthest reaches of the North Pole,
there to build a large fire and cast himself onto it. He jumps off the ship and
onto an ice floe heading north, taking with him nothing but the clothes he
stands up in. He fails to explain where he’s going to find the materials to
make such a bonfire at the Pole, or what means he has to light it. The book is
loaded with such ludicrous lapses.
My first thought on reaching the end was to cast the book
onto my own living room fire, but I didn’t. Burning books is something I don’t
do, not even bad ones. I expect I’ll just put it away somewhere and forget
about it. I did my duty.
7 comments:
Its interesting to me that you've been reading Frankenstein during such a harsh winter, (one of the worst in the UK in quiet some time?), and that Shelly wrote the book while isolated during "The Year Without a Summer," because of harsh weather conditions believed to have been caused by volcanic explosions. I believe there was snow in June or July of that year...
Perhaps that explains a lot of Victor's whining. Poor weather does that to us. I wonder if the whole playing God thing could have arisen from the extreme changes in Mother Nature that year... more a don't mess with Mother Nature rather than a don't play God lesson here...
From Wikipedia:
"In July 1816 "incessant rainfall" during that "wet, ungenial summer" forced Mary Shelley, John William Polidori, and their friends to stay indoors for much of their Swiss holiday. They decided to have a contest to see who could write the scariest story, leading Shelley to write Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus and Lord Byron to write "A Fragment", which Polidori later stole and rewrote as The Vampyre[23] — a precursor to Dracula. In addition, Lord Byron was inspired to write a poem, Darkness, at the same time."
Well, i guess 'don't mess with Mother Nature' is interchangeable with 'don't play God.'
But does that make it a classic?
The fact is, Andrea, I've never read anything so lacking in credible plot elements as this. And then there's the 'woe is me' stuff, which must take up a good 50% of the book. And the way in which Walton describes Victor in such obsequious terms. And the fact that several of the male characters relate to each other in such feminine ways. And the stodgy, over-elaborate style of English, even in dialogue.
Frankly, to me the whole thing is amateurish.
I was just making note of something *i* find interesting.
I haven't read it, but after reading all you've had to say about it i wouldn't call it a classic. Nor do i want to read it.
I does make me wonder, though, why it has been so lauded, called a classic, and why its required reading in so many schools.
If its because of a man-made humanoid creature, then the old Jewish tale of The Golum (sp?) should do well.
Ah, forget about Frankenstein. Hopefully the next is better.
Here's a fun quote:
"If there aren't any skeletons in a man's closet, there's probably a Bertha in his attic."
I wasn't being sharp with you, Andrea. It was just a bit late and I wasn't reacting as objectively as I might. No offence. In fact, no offense. how's that?
As for why F is so lauded, I think there's a complex position to be constructed in opposition to academic presumption regarding literature, but I'm not knowledgeable enough to be the one to construct it. Maybe in this case the reason goes something like: 'Mary Shelley was the daughter of a notable philosopher and moved in the rarefied company of great poets, therefore she must have been intelligent and deep-thinking. If she wrote a novel as bad as this, there must be a profound hidden meaning.' But what would I know?
You know, Sara, for all of two minutes you had me thinking that 'Bertha' must be an American colloquialism unknown to me. Got it now. Nice one. It is funny.
Oh, i didn't take you as being sharp.
And i'd say your theory of the reason for Frankenstein's success could very well be true.
Sara, that is very funny :)
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