Frankenstein o el moderno Prometeo

Por Mary Shelley

Este ebook presenta "Frankenstein", con un índice dinámico y detallado. Es una obra literaria de Mary Shelley, publicada en 1818. La novela narra la historia de Víctor Frankenstein, un joven suizo, estudiante de medicina en Ingolstadt, obsesionado por conocer "los secretos del cielo y la tierra". En su afán por desentrañar "la misteriosa alma del hombre", Víctor crea un cuerpo a partir de la unión de distintas partes de cadáveres diseccionados. El experimento concluye con éxito cuando Frankenstein, rodeado de sus instrumentos, infunde una chispa de vida al monstruoso cuerpo.

Mary Shelley (1797 - 1851), fue una narradora, dramaturga, ensayista, filósofa y biógrafa británica, reconocida sobre todo por ser la autora de la novela gótica Frankenstein o el Moderno Prometeo.

• Idioma: Español
• Editorial: e-artnow
• Fecha de lanzamiento: 31 jul 2013
• ISBN: 9788074842443

Mary Shelley

Mary Shelley (1797–1851) was the only daughter of the political philosopher William Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft, celebrated author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. At the age of sixteen, Shelley (then Mary Godwin) scandalized English society by eloping with the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was married. Best known for the genre-defining Frankenstein (1818), she was a prolific writer of fiction, travelogues, and biographies during her lifetime, and was instrumental in securing the literary reputation of Percy Shelley after his tragic death.

Vista previa del libro

WALTON

VOLUMEN I

PRÓLOGO

El suceso en el cual se fundamenta este relato imaginario ha sido considerado por el doctor Darwin y otros fisiólogos alemanes como no del todo imposible. En modo alguno quisiera que se suponga que otorgo el mínimo grado de credibilidad a semejantes fantasías; sin embargo, al tomarlo como base de una obra fruto de la imaginación, no considero haberme limitado simplemente a enlazar, unos con otros, una serie de terrores de índole sobrenatural. El hecho que hace despertar el interés por la historia está exento de las desventajas de un simple relato de fantasmas o encantamientos. Me vino sugerido por la novedad de las situaciones que desarrolla, y, por muy imposible que parezca como hecho físico, ofrece para la imaginación, a la hora de analizar las pasiones humanas, un punto de vista más comprensivo y autorizado que el que puede proporcionar el relato corriente de acontecimientos reales. Así pues, me he esforzado por mantener la veracidad de los elementales principios de la naturaleza humana, a la par que no he sentido escrúpulos a la hora de hacer innovaciones en cuanto a su combinación. La Ilíada, el poema trágico de Grecia; Shakespeare en La tempestad y El sueño de una noche de verano; y sobre todo Milton en El paraíso perdido se ajustan a esta regla. Así pues, el más humilde novelista que intente proporcionar o recibir algún deleite con sus esfuerzos puede, sin presunción, emplear en su narrativa una licencia, o, mejor dicho, una regla, de cuya adopción tantas exquisitas combinaciones de sentimientos humanos han dado como fruto los mejores ejemplos de poesía.

La circunstancia en la cual se basa mi relato me fue sugerida en una conversación trivial. Lo comencé en parte como diversión y en parte como pretexto para ejercitar cualquier recurso de mi mente que aún tuviera intacto. A medida que avanzaba la obra, otros motivos se fueron añadiendo a éstos. En modo alguno me siento indiferente ante cómo puedan afectar al lector los principios morales que existan en los sentimientos o caracteres que contiene la obra. Sin embargo, mi principal preocupación en este punto se ha centrado en la eliminación de los efectos enervantes de las novelas de hoy en día, y en exponer la bondad del amor familiar, así como la excelencia de la virtud universal. Las opiniones que lógicamente surgen del carácter y situación del héroe en modo alguno deben considerarse siempre como convicciones mías; ni se debe extraer de las páginas que siguen conclusión alguna que prejuicie ninguna doctrina filosófica del tipo que fuera.

Es además de gran interés para la autora el hecho de que esta historia se comenzara en la majestuosa región donde se desarrolla la obra principalmente, y rodeada de personas cuya ausencia no cesa de lamentar. Pasé el verano de 1816 en los alrededores de Ginebra. La temporada era fría y lluviosa, y por las noches nos agrupábamos en torno a la chimenea. Ocasionalmente nos divertíamos con historias alemanas de fantasmas, que casualmente caían en nuestras manos. Aquellas narraciones despertaron en nosotros un deseo juguetón de emularlos. Otros dos amigos (cualquier relato de la pluma de uno de ellos resultaría bastante más grato para el lector que nada de lo que yo jamás pueda aspirar a crear) y o nos comprometimos a escribir un cuento cada uno, basado en algún acontecimiento sobrenatural.

Sin embargo, el tiempo de repente mejoró, y mis dos amigos partieron de viaje hacia los Alpes donde olvidaron, en aquellos magníficos parajes, cualquier recuerdo de sus espectrales visiones. El relato que sigue es el único que se termino .

CARTA 1

A la señora SAVILLE, Inglaterra

San Petersburgo, 11 de diciembre de 17…

Te alegrarás de saber que ningún percance ha acompañado el comienzo de la empresa que tú contemplabas con tan malos presagios. Llegué aquí ayer, y mi primera obligación es tranquilizar a mi querida hermana sobre mi bienestar y comunicarle mi creciente confianza en el éxito de mi empresa.

Me encuentro ya muy al norte de Londres, y andando por las calles de Petersburgo noto en las mejillas una fría brisa norteña que azuza mis nervios j me llena de alegría. ¿Entiendes este sentimiento? Esta brisa, que viene de aquellas regiones hacia las que yo me dirijo, me anticipa sus climas helados. Animado por este viento prometedor, mis esperanzas se hacen más fervientes y reales. Intento en vano convencerme de que el Polo es la morada del hielo y la desolación. Sigo imaginándomelo como la región de la hermosura y el deleite. Allí, Margaret, se ve siempre el sol, su amplio círculo rozando justo el horizonte y difundiendo un perpetuo resplandor. Allí pues con tu permiso, hermana mía, concederé un margen de confíanza a anteriores navegantes, allí, no existen ni la nieve ni el hielo y navegando por un mar sereno se puede arribar a una tierra que supera, en maravillas y hermosura, cualquier región descubierta hasta el momento en el mundo habitado. Puede que sus productos y paisaje no tengan precedente, como sin duda sucede con los fenómenos de los cuerpos celestes de esas soledades inexploradas. ¿Hay algo que pueda sorprender en un país donde la luz es eterna? Puede que allí encuentre la maravillosa fuerza que mueve la brújula; podría incluso llegar a comprobar mil observaciones celestes que requieren sólo este viaje para deshacer para siempre sus aparentes contradicciones. Saciaré mi ardiente curiosidad viendo una parte del mundo jamás hasta ahora visitada y pisaré una tierra donde nunca antes ha dejado su huella el hombre. Estos son mis señuelos, y son suficientes para vencer todo temor al peligro o a la muerte e inducirme a emprender este laborioso viaje con el placer que siente un niño cuando se embarca en un bote con sus compañeros de vacaciones para explorar su río natal. Pero, suponiendo que todas estas conjeturas fueran falsas, no puedes negar el inestimable bien que podré transmitir a toda la humanidad, hasta su última generación, al descubrir, cerca del Polo, una ruta hacia aquellos países a los que actualmente se tarda muchos meses en llegar; o al desvelar el secreto del imán, para lo cual, caso de que esto sea posible, sólo se necesita de una empresa como la mía.

Estos pensamientos han disipado la agitación con la que empecé mi carta y siento arder mi corazón con un entusiasmo que me transporta; nada hay que tranquilice tanto la mente como un propósito claro, una meta en la cual el alma pueda fiar su aliento intelectual. Esta expedición ha sido el sueño predilecto de mis años jóvenes. Apasionadamente he leído los relatos de los diversos viajes que se han hecho con el propósito de llegar al Océano Pacífico Norte a través de los mares que rodean el Polo. Quizá recuerdes que la totalidad de la biblioteca de nuestro buen tío Thomas se reducía a una historia de todos los viajes realizados con fines exploradores. Mi educación estuvo un poco descuidada, pero fui un lector empedernido. Estudiaba estos volúmenes día y noche y, al familiarizarme con ellos, aumentaba el pesar que sentí cuando, de niño, supe que la última voluntad de mi padre en su lecho de muerte prohibía a mi tío que me permitiera seguir la vida de marino.

Aquellas visiones se desvanecieron cuando entré en contacto por primera vez con aquellos poetas cuyos versos llenaron mi alma y la elevaron al cielo. Me convertí en poeta también y viví durante un año en un paraíso de mi propia creación; me imaginé que yo también podría obtener un lugar allí donde se veneran los nombres de Homero y Shakespeare. Tú estás bien al corriente de mi fracaso y de cuán amargo fue para mí este desengaño. Pero justo entonces heredé la fortuna de mi primo, y mis pensamientos retornaron a su antiguo cauce.

Han pasado seis años desde que decidí llevar a cabo la presente empresa. Incluso ahora puedo recordar el momento preciso en el que decidí dedicarme a esta gran labor. Empecé por acostumbrar mi cuerpo a la privación. Acompañé a los balleneros en varias expediciones al mar del Norte y voluntariamente sufrí frío, hambre, sed y sueño. A menudo trabajé más durante el día que cualquier marinero, mientras dedicaba las noches al estudio de las matemáticas, la teoría de la Medicina y aquellas ramas de las ciencias físicas que pensé serían de mayor utilidad práctica para un aventurero del mar. En dos ocasiones me enrolé como segundo de a bordo en un ballenero de Groenlandia y ambas veces salí con éxito. Debo reconocer que me sentí orgulloso cuando el capitán me ofreció el puesto de piloto en el barco y me pidió reiteradamente que me quedara ya que tanto apreciaba mis servicios.

Y ahora, querida Margaret, ¿no merezco llevar a cabo alguna gran empresa? Podía haber pasado mi vida rodeado de lujo y comodidad, pero he preferido la gloria a cualquiera de los placeres que me pudiera proporcionar la riqueza. ¡Si tan sólo una voz, alentadora me respondiera afirmativamente! Mi valor y mi resolución son firmes, pero mis esperanzas fluctúan y mi ánimo se deprime con frecuencia. Estoy a punto de emprender un largo y difícil viaje, cuyas vicisitudes exigirán de mí todo mi valor. Se me pide no sólo que levante el ánimo de otros, sino que conserve mi entereza cuando ellos flaqueen.

Esta es la época más favorable para viajar por Rusia. Vuelan sobre la nieve en sus trineos; el movimiento es agradable y, a mi modo de ver, mucho más cómodo que el de los coches de caballos ingleses. El frío no es extremado, si vas envuelto en pieles, atuendo que yo ya he adoptado. Hay una gran diferencia entre andar por la cubierta y permanecer sentado, inmóvil durante horas, sin hacer el ejercicio que impediría que la sangre se te hiele materialmente en las venas. ¡No tengo la intención de perder la vida en la ruta entre San Petersburgo y Arkángel.

Partiré hacia esta última ciudad dentro de dos o tres semanas, y pienso fletar allí un barco, cosa que me será fácil si le pago el seguro al dueño; también contrataré cuantos marineros considere precisos de entre los que están acostumbrados a ir en balleneros. No pienso navegar hasta el mes de Junio; y en cuanto a mi regreso, querida hermana, ¿cómo responder a esta pregunta? Si tengo éxito, pasarán muchos, muchos meses, incluso años, antes de que tú y yo nos volvamos a encontrar. Si fracaso, me verás o muy pronto, o nunca.

Hasta la vista, mi querida y excelente Margaret. Que el cielo te envíe todas las bendiciones y a mí me proteja para que pueda atestiguarte una y otra vez mi gratitud por todo tu amor y tu bondad.

Tu afectuoso hermano,

ROBERT WALTON.

CARTA 2

A la señora SAVILLE, Inglaterra

Arkángel, 28 de marzo de 17…

¡Qué despacio pasa aquí el tiempo, rodeado como estoy de nieve y hielo! Sin embargo, he dado ya un segundo paso hacia la realización de mi empresa. He fletado un barco y estoy ocupado en reunir la tripulación; los que ya he contratado parecen hombres en quienes puedo confiar e indudablemente están dotados de invencible valor.

Tengo, empero, un deseo aún por satisfacer y este vacío me acucia ahora de manera terrible. No tengo amigo alguno, Margaret; cuando arda con el entusiasmo del éxito, no habrá nadie que comparta mi alegría; si soy víctima del desaliento, nadie se esforzará por disipar mi desánimo. Podré plasmar mis pensamientos en el papel, cierto, pero es un pobre medio para comunicar los sentimientos. Añoro la compañía de un hombre que pudiera compenetrarse conmigo, cuya mirada respondiera a la mía. Me puedes tachar de romántico, querida hermana, pero echo muy en falta a un amigo. No tengo a nadie cerca que sea tranquilo a la vez que valeroso, culto y capaz, cuyos gustos se parezcan a los míos, que pueda aprobar o corregir mis proyectos. ¡Qué bien enmendaría un amigo así los fallos de tu pobre hermano! Soy demasiado impulsivo en la ejecución y demasiado impaciente con los obstáculos. Pero aún me resulta más nocivo el hecho de haberme autoeducado. Durante los primeros catorce años de mi vida corrí por los campos como un salvaje, y no leí nada salvo los libros de viajes de nuestro tío Thomas. A esa edad empecé a familiarizarme con los renombrados poetas de nuestra patria. Pero no vi la necesidad de aprender otras lenguas que la mía hasta que no estaba en mi poder el sacar los máximos beneficios de esta convicción. Tengo ahora veintiocho años, y en realidad soy más inculto que muchos colegiales de quince. Es cierto que he reflexionado más, y que mis sueños son más ambiciosos y magníficos, pero carecen de equilibrio (como dicen los pintores). Me hace mucha falta un amigo que tuviera el suficiente sentido común como para no despreciarme por romántico y que me estimara lo bastante como para intentar ordenar mi mente.

Bien, son éstas lamentaciones vanas; sé que no encontraré amigo alguno en el vasto océano, ni siquiera aquí, en Arkángel, entre mercaderes y hombres de mar. Sin embargo, incluso en estos rudos corazones laten algunos sentimientos, extraños a la escoria de la naturaleza humana. Mi lugarteniente, por ejemplo, es un hombre de enorme valor e iniciativa, empecinado en su afán de gloria. Es inglés, y, aunque lleno de prejuicios nacionales y profesionales, jamás limados por la educación, retiene algunas de las más preciosas cualidades humanas. Lo conocí a bordo de un ballenero, y, al saber que se encontraba en esta ciudad sin trabajo, no tuve ninguna dificultad para persuadirlo de que me ayudara en mi aventura.

El capitán es una persona de excelente disposición y muy querido en el barco por su amabilidad y flexibilidad en la disciplina. Tanta es la bondad de su naturaleza, que no quiere calar (deporte favorito aquí) casi la única diversión, porque no soporta derramar sangre. Es además de una heroica generosidad. Hace algunos años se enamoró de una joven rusa de familia relativamente acomodada; tras hacerse con una considerable fortuna por la captura de navíos enemigos, el padre de la joven dio su consentimiento al matrimonio. Él vio a su prometida una vez antes de la ceremonia. Bañada en lágrimas, se le arrojó a los pies, y le suplicó la perdonara, a la vez que le confesaba su amor por otro hombre con el cual su padre nunca consentiría que se casara, ya que carecía de fortuna. Mi desprendido amigo tranquilizó a la suplicante muchacha y, en cuanto supo el nombre de su amado, abandonó al instante su galanteo. Había ya comprado con su dinero una granja, en la cual pensaba pasar el resto de su vida, pero se la cedió a su rival, junto con el resto de su fortuna, para que pudiera comprar algunas reses. El mismo solicitó del padre de la joven el consentimiento para la boda, mas el anciano se negó considerándose en deuda de honor con mi amigo, el cual, al ver al padre en actitud tan inflexible, abandonó el país para no regresar hasta saber que su antigua novia se había casado con el hombre a quien amaba. «¡Qué persona tan noble!», exclamarás sin duda, y así es, pero desgraciadamente ha pasado toda su vida a bordo de un barco y apenas tiene idea de algo que no sean las maromas y los obenques.

Mas no pienses que el que me queje un poco, o crea que quizá nunca llegue a conocer el consuelo para mi tristeza, signifique que titubeo en mi decisión. Esta es tan firme como el destino mismo, y mi viaje se ve retrasado tan sólo porque espero un tiempo favorable que me permita zarpar. El invierno ha sido tremendamente duro; pero la primavera promete ser buena e incluso parece que se adelantará, de modo que quizá pueda hacerme a la mar antes de lo previsto. No actuaré con precipitación; me conoces lo suficientemente bien como para fiarte de mi prudencia y moderación cuando tengo confiada la seguridad de otros.

No puedo describirte la emoción que tengo ante la proximidad del comienzo de mi empresa. Es imposible transmitirte una idea de la tremenda emoción, mezcla de agrado y de temor, con la cual me dispongo a partir. Marcho hacia lugares inexplorados, hacia «la región de la brumas la nieve», pero no mataré a ningún albatros, así que no temas por mi suerte.

¿Te encontraré de nuevo, tras cruzar inmensos mares y rodear los cabos de Africa o América?,No me atrevo a esperar tal éxito, y no obstante no puedo soportar la idea del fracaso.

Continúa aprovechando toda oportunidad de escribirme; puede que reciba tus cartas (si bien hay pocas esperanzas) cuando más las necesite para animarme. Te quiero mucho. Recuérdame con afecto si no vuelves a saber de mí.

Tu afectuoso hermano,

ROBERT WALTON

CARTA 3

A la señora SAVILLE, Inglaterra

7 de julio de 17…

Mi querida hermana:

Te escribo con premura unas líneas para decirte que estoy bien y que mi viaje está muy avanzado. Te llegará esta carta por un buque mercante que regresa a casa desde Ankángel; es más afortunado que yo, que puede que no vea mi patria en muchos años. Sin embargo, estoy animado; mis hombres son valerosos y parecen tener una firme voluntad. No les desaniman ni siquiera las capas de hielo que constantemente flotan a nuestro lado, presagio de los peligros que alberga la región hacia la cual nos dirigimos. Ya hemos alcanzado una latitud muy alta, pero estamos en pleno verano, y, aunque la temperatura es menos alta que en Inglaterra, los vientos del sur, que nos empujan velozmente hacia las costas que ansío ver, traen consigo un alentador grado de calor que no había esperado.

Hasta el momento no nos ha acaecido ningún incidente que merezca la pena contar. Un par de ventiscas fuertes y la ruptura de un mástil son accidentes que navegantes avezados apenas si recordarían. Yo me encontraré satisfecho si nada peor nos acontece durante el viaje.

Adiós, querida Margaret. Estáte tranquila, pues tanto por mi bien como por el tuyo no afrontaré peligros innecesariamente. Permaneceré sereno, perseverante y prudente.

Mis saludos a mis amigos ingleses.

Tuyo afectísimo,

ROBERT WALTON

CARTA 4

A la señora SAV1LLE, Inglaterra

5 de agosto de 17…

Nos ha ocurrido un accidente tan extraño, que no puedo dejar de anotarlo, si bien es muy probable que me veas antes de que estos papeles lleguen a tus manos.

El lunes pasado (31 de julio) nos hallábamos rodeados por el hielo, que cercaba el barco por todos los lados, dejándonos apenas el agua precisa para continuar a flote. Nuestra situación era algo peligrosa, sobre todo porque nos envolvía una espesa niebla. Decidimos, por tanto, permanecer al pairo con la esperanza de que adviniera algún cambio en la atmósfera y el tiempo. Hacia las dos de la tarde, la niebla levantó y observamos, extendiéndose en todas direcciones, inmensas e irregulares capas de hielo que parecían no tener fin. Algunas de mis compañeros lanzaron un gemido, y yo mismo empezaba a intranquilizarme, cuando de pronto una insólita imagen acaparó nuestra atención y distrajo nuestros pensamientos de la situación en la que nos encontrábamos. Como a media milla y en dirección al norte vimos un vehículo de poca altura, sujeto a un trineo y tirado por perros. Un ser de apariencia humana, pero de gigantesca estatura, iba sentado en el trineo y dirigía los perros. Observamos con el catalejo el rápido avance del viajero hasta que se perdió entre los lejanos montículos de hielo.

Esta visión provocó nuestro total asombro. Nos creíamos a muchas millas de cualquier tierra, pero esta aparición parecía demostrar que en realidad no nos encontrábamos tan lejos como suponíamos. Pero, cercados como estábamos por el hielo, era imposible seguir el rastro de aquel hombre al que habíamos observado con la mayor atención.

Unas dos horas después de esto oímos el bramido del mar y antes del anochecer el hielo rompió, liberando nuestro navío. Sin embargo, permanecimos allí hasta la mañana siguiente, temerosos de encontrarnos con esos grandes témpanos sueltos que flotan tras haberse roto el hielo. Aproveché ese tiempo para descansar unas horas.

Por la mañana, en cuanto hubo amanecido, salí a cubierta y me encontré a toda la tripulación hacinada a un lado del navío, aparentemente conversando con alguien fuera del

Comentarios para Frankenstein o el moderno Prometeo

[benkaboo-51322 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Summary: Driven guy takes things a bit too far and ends up creating something that destroys everything:

Things I liked.

Introducing the main protaganist through the eyes of a secondary category. This reminded me a bit of Gatsby and Nick.

Good questions/ideas: The 'Other', obsession, what is human etc. Good fodder for thinking/rethinking about what you believe.

Things I thought could be improved:

Main character is pretty whiney, and doesn't really take a lot of responsbility for his actions. It makes him hard to relate to a bit unlikeable. Given most of the story is told through his eyes that's a problem. I'd probably recommend giving him a bit more self-awareness at the end, preserving his stupidity in the main story, to increase the sense of empathy and connection with his tale.

Some of the plotting is a bit far fetched and obviously contrived to drive the story. In particular I remember when he decides to reveal his secret to Elizabeth but only 'after' their fateful wedding day. If he was going to be truthful with her wouldn't he/she do it immediately. .

Highlight:

Probably when the 'other' spoke for the first time. Hollywood had taught me to expect one thing. I was pretty taken aback and appreciated the variation.

Lessons Learned:

Chill out in life or you might find the object of your obsession ends up wrecking all the good things you have in your life.

[nodosaurus · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

The story is well-known, but differs from the movies. The story is mostly about Dr. Frankenstein’s reaction to his creation, it is verbose but well-written.The first parts of the book seemed long and slow, it gets bogged down in long Victorian dialogs. I almost gave up on it. But once the monster is created, the story improved dramatically.It is all about the relationship between the monster and Dr. Frankenstein. It is a love-hate relationship on part of the monster, and repulsion from Dr. Frankenstein. This gave me some problems as Frankenstein started as a scientist with a purely rational approach to the work. Once the monster is created he became immediately repulsed without getting to know or understand the monster, he is completely driven and consumed by his emotions. It felt out of character given the first part of the book.Unlike the movies, the monster is very intelligent and capable. He learns to survive on his own, then teaches himself language. Driven by the cruelty of man, his one goal is to find love. I found the monster much more interesting than Frankenstein. He eloquently tells his tale and wins he heart of the reader, but not of Frankenstein who continues his revulsion to the monster.It is an interesting read. Like many books of the day, in my opinion, it would do well with an update to the characters and dialog. But it is worth the read.

[kamgeb · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I read it because my son was reading it for high school English. It was much better than I remembered it. It really isn't a horror story as much as a story about how people judge things and make assumptions about things.

[lydia1879 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

So this book is brilliant, but I loathe one of the characters.

It's a gothic story with beautiful prose and wonderful metaphors and these short, sharp lines that take my breath away.

Sometimes, it's a little wordy, a little too fancy, a little too lengthy. I feel as if that's Percy Shelley's influence creeping in through her prose - would that I could read her work unedited.

The premise for the story is fantastic.

... and then we get to one of the characters. Victor Frankenstein.

Victor, Victor, Victor.

If anything prevented me from reading this book in one sitting, it was him. As a literary device - he's perfect. His flaws illustrate the creature's compassion and ask us what it means to be human.

But I don't like him. He's a hypocritical coward and his passages are basically just 18th century man-splaining. If anything will prevent me from returning to or recommending this book, it's Victor Frankenstein.

Am I supposed to be this abhorred by him, and react this way? Probably.

... but I wish I read more from the creature's perspective. I think I would've loved this story a whole lot more if I had.

[morgandax · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

I hate to say it, but I didn't enjoy the writing style. I wasn't expecting the 'letter' format (where the story is told via a series of letters sent between various characters) so that threw me off from the beginning, and while eventually I was able to get into it and get past that annoyance, I found the story lagged a bit because of it. It's a product of its time.

This is a classic that anyone remotely into horror should probably try to read, the story is excellent, but unfortunately, at least for me, the writing hasn't aged well.

[breic-1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I loved the over-the-top writing style and plotting. Parts of the story are just skeletons—the creation of the monster, especially—but on the other hand it never gets bogged down. The stakes are large ("I shuddered to think that future ages might curse me as their pest, whose selfishness had not hesitated to buy its own peace at the price, perhaps, of the existence of the whole human race"), the themes and the tragedy enormous. There could have been more depth, but there are still multiple levels of complication, and it is also just a fun story. > I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was very different, when the masters of the science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand: but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the enquirer seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in science was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth> Such were the professor's words—rather let me say such the words of fate, enounced to destroy me. As he went on, I felt as if my soul were grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were touched which formed the mechanism of my being: chord after chord was sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception, one purpose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein—more, far more, will I achieve: treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.> None but those who have experienced them can conceive of the enticements of science. In other studies you go as far as others have gone before you, and there is nothing more to know; but in a scientific pursuit there is continual food for discovery and wonder.> After days and nights of incredible labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of generation and life; nay, more, I became myself capable of bestowing animation upon lifeless matter.> Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.> "Hateful day when I received life!" I exclaimed in agony. "Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and abhorred."> We may not part until you have promised to comply with my requisition. I am alone, and miserable; man will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species, and have the same defects. This being you must create.> You would not call it murder, if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts, and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man, when he contemns me?> Sometimes, indeed, I felt a wish for happiness; and thought, with melancholy delight, of my beloved cousin; or longed, with a devouring maladie du pays, to see once more the blue lake and rapid Rhône, that had been so dear to me in early childhood: but my general state of feeling was a torpor, in which a prison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene in nature; and these fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of anguish and despair. At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the existence I loathed; and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance to restrain me from committing some dreadful act of violence.> Yet when she died!—nay, then I was not miserable. I had cast off all feeling, subdued all anguish, to riot in the excess of my despair. Evil thenceforth became my good. Urged thus far, I had no choice but to adapt my nature to an element which I had willingly chosen. The completion of my demoniacal design became an insatiable passion. And now it is ended; there is my last victim! … Yet I seek not a fellow-feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I ever find. When I first sought it, it was the love of virtue, the feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now, that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am content to suffer alone, while my sufferings shall endure: when I die, I am well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory … For while I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires. They were forever ardent and craving; still I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all human kind sinned against me? … I shall quit your vessel on the ice-raft which brought me thither, and shall seek the most northern extremity of the globe; I shall collect my funeral pile, and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch, who would create such another as I have been … Some years ago, when the images which this world affords first opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer, and heard the rustling of the leaves and the warbling of the birds, and these were all to me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by crimes, and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death? … Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to thine; for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my wounds until death shall close them forever.

[eyejaybee · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

It is difficult to view a book as famous as Frankenstein other than through the prism of its cinematic legacy. The images conjured simply by mention of that name are almost inescapable. That is a shame because it is a marvellous book that has been poorly served by most of the screen adaptations it has spawned.Not least among the many amazing aspects of the book is the fact that Mary Shelley was just eighteen when she started to write it. Her prose has an assurance and cadence of a master rather than a mere neophyte.Frankenstein appeared very early on in the history of the novel as a prominent literary form, and it displays many traits that were common in the early nineteenth century. The first few chapters take the form of letters from Robert Walton, an English traveller who is not without his own psychological baggage, to his sister. These detail his attempts to hire a crew in the wilds of Northern Russia with a view to sailing in search of the North Pole. Having penetrated far into the pack ice of the Arctic Circle Walton encounters a wild, dishevelled man who has an amazing tale to tell. This is, of course, Victor Frankenstein. The tale is indeed disturbing but engrossing.On screen, one of the key scenes is that in which Frankenstein's creation finally comes to life (usually with the help of a stereotypically contorted servant by the name of Igor), after lengthy scenes in which Frankenstein trawled through graveyards looking for suitable parts. In the book, this scene is condensed into a handful of paragraphs, without any lurid descriptions or prurient indulgence. Construction of the creature has been an academic quest, an exercise in scientific endeavour, conducted in a private laboratory rather than the gothic attics that so frequently occur in films. Even the moment at which the creature comes to life is described with delicious understatement. 'It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.'Frankenstein's joy in his success is short lived, turning immediately to despair and self-loathing, fleeing from the sight of his awful creation. The remainder of the book is a beautifully woven tale of despair and tragedy, that remains remarkably fresh and accessible.

[wethewatched · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

They cry a lot in this book. Tears are gushed and shed. The characters weep, sometimes alone and sometimes together.

What is the source of all this misery? A lonely monster--and the miserable man who created him. The concept, which has been retold countless times in films, on TV and other media, still holds up. However, the style of writing will likely feel dated to the modern reader. Shelley can be a little over the top in conveying the misery of Frankenstein (that's the scientist, not the monster). As alluded to in my opening, there are so many sentences in this novel about crying, I began to chuckle with amusement--probably not the reaction that an author of horror seeks.

In addition, while Shelly writes gripping conflicts and arguments, the novel slows down considerably in lengthy passages where Frankenstein reflects on the loveliness of nature or dwells on the terrible situation of which the reader knows plenty already.

So is it scary? Well, I can see how it would be to readers at the time of its writing, but for those who enjoy scary movies and Stephen King stories, it might seem a bit tame.

Yes, it's a classic that will continue to be retold for many years to come. And for those interested in the history of the horror genre, it's certainly worth a read. However, if what you're really after is escapist chills and thrills, you might be better off watching The Walking Dead.

[thetruebookaddict · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

I can't believe I waited so long to read this book. I've read Dracula three times. I recently watched the film, Mary Shelley. I immediately picked this up to read. While somewhat more wordy than Dracula, in my opinion (I enjoy Dracula's epistolary format), I liked its insight and observations on mankind. How we so often have difficulty looking beyond the physical appearance to what the person is like inside. How we judge and underestimate on appearances alone. I would even go so far to say that Shelley's "monster" was symbolic of women and how they were treated in her time. Judged by gender/outward appearance; believed not capable of anything beyond typical womanly tasks. Certainly not capable of writing a novel such as Frankenstein!

I will definitely reread at some point. I bet there is a great audio version available.

[ltmanning · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

Two stars for the fact that this author was a product of her time. Long, long, long book. Interesting use of first person...with three different narrators.Actually like the old movie version better.But that's just me.I actually feel sorry for the kids who have to read this as a school assignment. I would have died. Or read the SparkNotes instead.

[jcgirl-1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Brilliant and timeless for generations.

[thedivineoomba · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

This book is considered the first Science Fiction Novel by many people. And, while it has many Science Fiction trademarks (new technology, etc), its more a story about the horrors of creating life. There is a reason its alternate title is "The Modern Prometheus".First off - Frankenstein is not a story about monster creating evil scientists with hunchbacked assistants or pitchfork carrying peasants. That is all in movies, and unfortunately, its what most people think of when they think Frankenstein.Yes, there is a scientist. But he doesn't have an assistant, or a castle, or even strange looking machinery. The book doesn't say exactly how Victor Frankenstein created his monster, or even what the monster looked like, except that it is gruesome, grotesque, and scary. This book is really about justice. The monster is angry at being left alone in the world by his creator, unable to be part of human society due to his extreme stature and ugliness. The monster ruins Frankenstein's perfect life, by taking away all that is important to him. This is story about cause and effect, about responsibility to one's creations - even if it was created in a fit of hubris, and the result is so horrifying that the creator runs away.Highly recommended for everyone, although I did read this a long time ago as a teenager - and the message was lost on me.

[kakadoo202 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

never saw any movie and never knew really the story, just had this idea about the monster Frankenstein. Turns out that the monster has no name and the creator is called Frankenstein. Very surprising book. Story very different than expected. Good and quick read.

[narshkite · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

So much more compelling and complex than I expected! This is a well crafted horror novel, but it is also a commentary on the effects of violence and ad hoc "progress." The themes of scientific progression for its own sake, alienation, what we would now call PTSD are still as bracingly relevant today.

[fuzzi_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

An engrossing tale of passion, ambition, and desire, and what they do to a person, and those they hold most dear.

[bearlyr · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

What doesn't this true classic horror story have? We have the requisite mad scientist, grave robbers, stolen body parts, a creature made of mix and match human parts, scientific experiments, and of course it's a love story as well. What a great book! If you're one of the few who have not yet read this tale... what are you waiting for?

[engpunk77 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Quality!

At one time this was my favorite classic novel--I've read it 4 times for 4 different classes and it's amazing how many different interpretations are out there regarding the nature of the monster! One professor believed he didn't exist at all--a figment of Victor's imagination or a manifestation of his oedipus complex. The fact that the men at the end witness the existence of the monster is an example of group hysteria. That's my favorite thesis and I wish I could remember the name of my professor that suggested it to give her credit!
A chilling and complex tale that examines the relationship between man and his creator, feelings of isolation and rejection, and monstrosity. A psychological thriller as much as a horror story. Recommended to lit majors especially!
By the way, this isn't my copy but one from a library book sale. Mine is so full of notes you can barely read the text anymore...

[louis.arata · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

It took reading it several times before I came to appreciate how marvelous the story is. The language initially seemed ponderous, but the more familiar it becomes, the easier it is to enjoy. There are so many different ways to look at the story: themes of creation, the Creator vs the Creation, the concept of beauty, a sense of loneliness, a sense of personal identity. How we define ourselves, how we are viewed by others. It's also interesting to read it through the lens that Mary Shelley may have seen herself as the Creature, given how she was raised by her politically radical parents. Definitely worth reading.

[iansales_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

All these years and unbelievably I’d never actually read Frankenstein. I thought I knew the story, of course – who doesn’t? But that was from the films, and all they’ve done is lifted the central premise of Shelley’s novel and built their own interpretations of it out of that. I read Brian Aldiss’s Frankenstein Unbound many years ago, and from that I was aware part of Frankenstein took place at the North Pole. But there was plenty – the bulk of the book, in fact – I knew little or nothing about. Like the fact it’s structured as a series of nested first-person narratives, opening with letters from an arctic explorer who rescues a man from the ice. That man proves to be Victor Frankenstein who, once recovered, proceeds to tell his story – how he worked himself into a breakdown at university, building a creature from parts (none of which are named, nor their origin specified), and which promptly escapes. And then Frankenstein completely forgets about his eight-foot-tall monster for a year, and is only reminded of it when his youngest sister is murdered and a beloved family servant is accused of the murder. He then meets the monster, which tells its story… the murder was an accident, but it feels Frankenstein owes it and must make it a mate. So Frankenstein heads off to London, and then north to the Orkneys, but after making a start on a female monster, he suffers a change of heart… so the monster murders his best friend and Frankenstein is arrested for it… Frankenstein is a lot richer a story than film adaptations have led me to believe, but it’s also – and likely this is a product of the time – less rigourous than expected. The entire Frankenstein narrative, we are supposed to believe, is being told to Walton, and yet reads like, well, like a novel. The same is true of the monster’s narrative, especially the part when he spies on the cottagers (not what you are thinking: it is from spying on a family in a cottage he learns to speak French, and to read and write it). Not to mention actual correspondence from Elizabeth, Frankenstein’s childhood sweetheart, embedded in Frankenstein’s narrative. The prose reads somewhat overwrought to modern eyes, everything dialled up to eleven – Frankenstein doesn’t have friends, he has soulmates he loves deeply. The lack of narrative rigour also takes some getting used to. But the hardest part is untangling all the subsequent versions of the story knocking about in your head in order to fit in the original source text.

[bookson23rd · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

Oh what wretched mortal agony it was to try to read this agonizingly wretched book!

[fyrefly98 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Summary: Victor Frankenstein, the son of a wealthy Geneva family, was encouraged in his pursuit of the study of the natural sciences, and from his reading gleans the idea of creating life from non-life. So he builds a creature from human body parts, and animates it, and is then struck by the horror of what he's done, during which time the monster escapes. It soon learns that it is monstrous, and by hiding in a shed near a house with a family, learns language. It vows vengeance on Frankenstein, for creating it and abandoning it, and proceeds to kill those that Frankenstein loves, and to destroy his every chance for happiness.Review: This was a really fascinating read, and made for a surprisingly intense discussion at book club. I'd grown up with the pop-culture monster image in my head, and I knew enough to know that Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster (although does his behavior make him the one that's truly monstrous? Discuss.), but I'd never before read the actual book. I was surprised how much of it doesn't match the Hollywood version, and by how much of it's from the monster's point of view - he's very articulate, which surprised me.The prose was really pretty dense - no point in saying once what you can say three times with a bunch of adjectives, I guess - and there was a lot of wailing and (metaphorical) gnashing of teeth and rending of garments, which got a little bit (a lot, actually) tiring. But I liked that it could be read on a number of levels - as a horror story, as a story about scientific ethics, as a story about the human condition and what it really means to be human, so that was all great. I also entertained myself as I was listening by seeing how far I could carry my theory that Frankenstein himself actually was murdering all those people - several times throughout the novel he goes into fits and has a fever from which he doesn't recover for several weeks, and when he does, someone else close to him is dead. It doesn't quite hold up throughout the entire story, but I thought it made an interesting possibility. 3.5 out of 5 stars.Recommendation: I didn't love it, but it's absolutely worth reading, both to get the real scoop on the mad-scientist cliche, and to provide lots of really interesting possibilities for debate with others.

[amartino1208 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A scientist creates a creature who then terrorizes the nearby town. The monster learns about the town and the people in it to where he can understand and communicate. This teaches kids no matter ones appearance, we should learn to accept them for who they are and not judge them by what they look like.

[kr_patterson · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

While the story had some flaws in my opinion, which I won't enumerate here, I really liked the story overall. I found it very interesting to get the "real" story of Frankenstein after having grown up with a certain image of him from the media, TV, and movies. I was surprised that I had no idea what the story was really like. The only thing my notion of it and the actual book had in common was the fact that Frankenstein created a monster. (Did I miss the lightning bolt?) He didn't even look the same! I was excited at the premise, but then would find the story lacking at times, and was frustrated as I felt great potential for it to have been better. I got the feeling that the author was trying to create some degree of sympathy for the monster, and for most of the book I did not feel it. In fact, I thought he whined a bit too much. But at the end... well, I loved how it ended. I did feel sympathy. He was the monster I wanted him to be. Fun to read right before Halloween.

[coach_of_alva · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

I first read this tale when I was too young to get it. I hadn't read other novels from that time period and I only knew the story from the Universal and Hammer films. I am a big boy now, and on my second reading , I found it is an excellent novel of ideas, with a good horror plot to maintain interest. I am also more accepting of what novels of the time period were like.So, have I become an expert in early nineteenth century literature? No, but I've read early Dickens, Charles Brocken Brown, and the opening pages of Ann Radcliffe's The mysteries of Udolpho, and from this little learning, I've learned that the audience of the time loved melodramatic plots, long flowery expositive speeches and detailed descriptions of landscapes they could neither see or imagine. They also liked their characters larger than life and full of emotion. They must have reveled in Frankenstein's secret shame and guilt and in the monster's suffering and rage.For myself, I love graphic novels and B-horror movies and am no stickler for realism. I wouldn't have finished or liked the book if I hadn't emphasized with the inner turmoil of man and monster: the man unable to love something hideous or to warn his loved ones of the danger; the monster who couldn't get anyone to love or accept or even thank him, reduced to hiding in cellars and roaming in wildernesses and living in caves. I've read a lot of Shakespeare this year and apparently reading so many great theatrical speeches has made me tolerant of the speeches of lesser writers. As for the picaresque details, I like them when they are well done and found Shelley's descriptions of the Swiss lakes and mountains and other backgrounds added much to the atmosphere. I only became irritated with her travelogues when she had Victor and his friend travel through England and she began extolling the beauties of her country instead hastening Frankenstein on to the creation of the bride. As for the horror, the monster kills the scientist's loved ones. What kind of brat was I to want more?As for Ms. Shelley's ideas, I could enjoy the characters and storylines they generated without agreeing completely with them. I was raised as a fundamentalist Lutheran, and made aware of what I owed my creator and savior. Even after years of near apostasy, I was found Frankenstein's admission that a creator owed something to his creation to be daring and thrilling and borderline blasphemous. I didn't buy the monster's insistence that he was born good, that he didn't want to commit his terrible crimes, that he didn't enjoy committing them (he claimed to have cried while strangling Victor's friend Henry), and that he committed them only because Victor - and society - had been mean to him.

[lycomayflower · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Way creepier than the bolts-in-the-neck monster movies would lead you to believe (with all apologies to Boris Karloff), Frankenstein is really a study of the responsibilities of a creator/father to his creation/child and of the repercussions of failing in those responsibilities. The horror here stems from the obsessive interplay between Frankenstein and his "monster": each feels he must destroy the other. In the end, the book becomes both a sort of twisted Lazarus story and an inversion of Job, where here the creator suffers continued torments and losses at the hands of the created. Drags a touch in places, but in many ways a thrilling and compelling read.

[atimco-1 · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

I'm glad I finally picked this up. For the uninitiated like myself, here's a tip: the monster's name isn't Frankenstein. Shocking, I know. Victor Frankenstein is the scientist; the monster is never given a proper name.This is verrrrry nineteenth-century Romantic, dramatic and melancholy and doomed destiny, played out over beautiful scenery without and horrible scenery within. Murder is done; a small child is the first victim. The reader can sense from the first that there will be no happy ending here.The main points of the plot are well known: Frankenstein creates a monster and then refuses to fulfill the monster's needs, and the monster takes a terrible revenge. It's fascinating how the monster is presented throughout as the more reasonable of the two. When he and Frankenstein finally meet, he keeps his temper and speaks calmly when Frankenstein is overcome with passion. The monster seems extremely literate, beyond what his his paltry education could have taught him.If Frankenstein and his monster are a picture of God and His creatures, it's breathtakingly insolent. And this is precisely what Mary Shelley intended, as she apparently called her monster "Adam." But despite all the supposed culpability of Frankenstein for the monster's crimes, consider... when the monster succeeds in destroying his creator, he realizes he has destroyed all his own chances for happiness. Instead of freeing him, his evil deeds have sealed his separation from humanity, and he cannot live with the desolation he has made. He has killed his god, and disappears into the darkness to kill himself.What really struck me as I read is how Shelley is able to create compassion in the reader for her monster. During the monster's narration, I kept thinking of people who are outcasts from society as a result of some mental (or criminal) "deformity." The monster's desire to be part of the human family is not so very different from theirs. And yet he commits horrible acts that irrevocably alienate him from human beings. He is his own destruction. But is it his fault? Or Frankenstein's?I suppose a modern reader, in relentless pursuit of Relevance and Chilling Statements on the Dangers of Scientific Arrogance in the classics, could wrestle some warnings or licenses out of the text for whatever his particular stance happens to be on the ethical issues we face in the scientific world today. I was all ready to do this myself, but I didn't find anything particularly pointed in this direction. The scientific issues are nothing compared to the theological—because everything, even science, is theological in that it reflects a worldview in which God figures... or He doesn't. The author of Frankenstein is an atheist who, not content with denying God's existence, also wants to smear His (non-existent) character. How can you hate someone you don't believe exists? And yet it's not that simple either, because Frankenstein isn't wholly bad... just human.I read this in one sitting. It's fairly short, but even so it could have been shorter. Mary Shelley should have kept it a short story instead of expanding it to a novel on her husband Percy Bysshe Shelley's advice. While I'm glad to have read this, there isn't really much that would ever make me return. It's supposed to be horror, but the descriptions of the horrific parts didn't haunt me. Stylistically, it's all right; there are a few memorable phrases here and there, but even at a mere two hundred pages it feels somewhat overdrawn, overdone. As a story, once you've read it, well, you've read it.

[thelorelei_1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" rightly has a place in the pantheon of classic literature. Equally horrifying and profoundly saddening, the story of Victor Frankenstein and the creature whom he abandons has stood (and will continue to stand) as a grim indictment of society's creation of its own monsters. "Frankenstein" is a wonderful, strange, and thought-provoking read.

[moriquen · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

must say that this book can really still stand its ground as a classic. Todays horror stories focus too much on blood and gore, the classical ones are far more subtle. The horror lies in what mankind can put himself through. The prison he builds for himself.

[jackichan_1 · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

Horrendous writing, fascinating story. Reading Frankenstein is like being forced to sit through a lecture after being deprived of sleep for three days. The entire thing, first page to last is about feelings... It's about what a person thinks. The story is completely secondary. Not worth the read.

[pool_boy · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Another reviewer commented '...This is verrrrry nineteenth-century Romantic, dramatic and melancholy and doomed destiny, played out over beautiful scenery without and horrible scenery within....' And I agree.While I am glad to have finally read the book, and actually got over the Romantic/Gothic whatever style of the writing (so much so that I could probably read other books from this era), I found it a real chore to finish. I just did not care what happened to anybody -- I never felt hope for Frankenstein, the creature, or the friends and family. Perhaps I am jaded, but it was not a riveting or compelling story to me. The one thing I did enjoy about the book was that it was absolutely nothing like all of the silly movies, pulp fiction rip offs or comics of this original story. And the story, despite my not really liking the whole package that much, was quite original. I really liked the fact that the creature was intelligent and could speak (shockingly well).Ah well, on to new stories.