I would like to start with a small complaint. Just a small one.
This is the third time I am reading Frankenstein for a class. First, it was AP Literature. Then, last year, it was English 325. Now it’s risen from the dead, yet again. And all along the way, my battered copy of the novel has picked up annotations, highlighter marks, and an increasing degree of grudging respect. I will freely admit that part of that respect is founded on the marvel that anyone, even a literary character, can gnash their teeth so often. More importantly, I’ve become comfortably acquainted with the solidness of the novel.
Shelley knits the prose together in a well-crafted, coherent storyline. I won’t say that I loved the novel when I first read it. I won’t say that I love it now. There is too much doom and gloom saturating the characters for me to feel that way. Wretched souls gnashing their teeth on every other page – no, thank you. It’s the way she frames the story that I find fascinating. The letters and Walton are truly what convinced me to stay in the story when I first began reading it. Though Shelley can’t have imagined the film and popular culture fame her story would one day gain, her unexpected entry into the story seems to be what saves it. When I first read the novel, I came in expecting a monster named Frankenstein and a mad scientist who created him. Needless to say, I had some poor, vague, preconceived notions about the plot, and figured I already knew the general story. The seemingly incongruent Arctic adventure and ship captain clued me in that perhaps that wasn’t the case. However, I am left wondering, still… Shelley didn’t know how mangled her plot would become by the layman, so she can’t have intended to preempt people writing off her plot as something they already know about. So why did she start with Walton?
