Frankenstein o el moderno Prometeo

Por Mary Shelley y Gabriela Damián Miravete

«Si no puedo inspirar amor, desencadenaré el miedo».
Robert Walton es un escritor fracasado que se propone explorar el Polo Norte con la esperanza de expandir el conocimiento científico. Durante el viaje, la tripulación rescata a un hombre casi congelado llamado Victor Frankenstein. Frankenstein ve en Walton la misma obsesión que lo ha destruido a él y le cuenta su historia, la de un joven estudiante de ciencias que crea un hombre artificial a partir de fragmentos de cadáveres.
Esta escalofriante narración gótica que comenzó cuando Mary Shelley tenía sólo dieciocho años de edad, ha pasado a ser la obra de terror más famosa del mundo y sigue siendo una exploración devastadora de los límites de la ambición humana.
«Frankenstein se convirtió en mi biblia porque lo que escribió Mary Shelley fue la quintaesencia de la sensación de aislamiento que tienes cuando eres joven. Es el libro adolescente por excelencia». Guillermo del Toro

• Idioma: Español
• Editorial: Océano Gran Travesía
• Fecha de lanzamiento: 20 jul 2023
• ISBN: 9786075576916

Mary Shelley

Mary Shelley (1797-1851) was an English novelist. Born the daughter of William Godwin, a novelist and anarchist philosopher, and Mary Wollstonecraft, a political philosopher and pioneering feminist, Shelley was raised and educated by Godwin following the death of Wollstonecraft shortly after her birth. In 1814, she began her relationship with Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, whom she would later marry following the death of his first wife, Harriet. In 1816, the Shelleys, joined by Mary’s stepsister Claire Clairmont, physician and writer John William Polidori, and poet Lord Byron, vacationed at the Villa Diodati near Geneva, Switzerland. They spent the unusually rainy summer writing and sharing stories and poems, and the event is now seen as a landmark moment in Romanticism. During their stay, Shelley composed her novel Frankenstein (1818), Byron continued his work on Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812-1818), and Polidori wrote “The Vampyre” (1819), now recognized as the first modern vampire story to be published in English. In 1818, the Shelleys traveled to Italy, where their two young children died and Mary gave birth to Percy Florence Shelley, the only one of her children to survive into adulthood. Following Percy Bysshe Shelley’s drowning death in 1822, Mary returned to England to raise her son and establish herself as a professional writer. Over the next several decades, she wrote the historical novel Valperga (1923), the dystopian novel The Last Man (1826), and numerous other works of fiction and nonfiction. Recognized as one of the core figures of English Romanticism, Shelley is remembered as a woman whose tragic life and determined individualism enabled her to produce essential works of literature which continue to inform, shape, and inspire the horror and science fiction genres to this day.

Vista previa del libro

CARTA 1

Para la Sra. Saville, Inglaterra

San Petersburgo, 11 de diciembre de 17**

Te alegrará saber que no ha ocurrido ningún desastre desde el inicio de este proyecto, del que siempre tuviste malos presentimientos. Llegué ayer; y mi primer deber es tranquilizar a mi hermana querida, asegurarle que estoy muy bien, cada vez más confiado en el éxito de esta misión.

Estoy ya muy al norte de Londres; y conforme camino por las calles de Petersburgo, siento una brisa boreal en las mejillas que alerta mis sentidos y me llena de dicha. ¿Conoces esa sensación? Esta brisa, que proviene de las regiones hacia las que me dirijo, es una muestra de esos climas helados. Inspirado por esta promesa del viento, mis ensueños se vuelven más vívidos y fervientes. Por más que intento convencerme de que el polo es la casa del hielo y la desolación, para mi imaginación es el reino de la belleza y el deleite. Ahí, Margaret, el sol siempre se ve, su brillante disco apenas se asoma a la orilla del horizonte, dándole un resplandor perpetuo. Ahí —con tu permiso, hermana, confiaré en los navegantes que me precedieron—, ahí no hay nieve ni escarcha y podríamos ser transportados a una tierra que supera en maravillas y belleza a cualquier lugar del mundo conocido hasta ahora. Tal vez sus paisajes y cualidades sean incomparables, como ocurre con los fenómenos de los cuerpos celestes en estas soledades aún no descubiertas. ¿Qué no podremos esperar de un territorio en el que siempre hay luz? Ahí descubriré el poder maravilloso que atrae a la aguja de la brújula, y podré comprobar mil observaciones celestes cuyas aparentes excentricidades sólo necesitaban este viaje para adquirir coherencia de ahora en adelante. Saciaré mi ardorosa curiosidad al ver una parte del mundo nunca antes visitada, cuando pise una tierra que nunca ha sido tocada por el ser humano. Éstos son mis motivos y son suficientes para vencer cualquier miedo al peligro o a la muerte, y para emprender este arduo viaje con la alegría que siente un niño al embarcarse en un botecito, con los amigos con quienes sale a jugar, en una aventura para descubrir el río de su pueblo. Pero, suponiendo que todas estas conjeturas sean falsas, tienes que reconocer el beneficio inestimable que le brindaré a toda la humanidad, incluida la última generación, al descubrir una ruta cerca del polo que permita un mejor acceso a esas regiones, que hoy requieren meses de viaje; o al descubrir el secreto del imán que, si acaso es posible, puede darse sólo a través de una expedición como la mía.

Estas reflexiones han dispersado la inquietud con que empecé a escribir esta carta, y siento que mi corazón se enciende con un entusiasmo que me eleva hasta el cielo, pues nada contribuye tanto a tranquilizar la mente como un propósito firme: un punto en donde el alma pueda fijar la mirada del intelecto. Éste ha sido mi sueño más querido desde hace mucho tiempo. He leído con fervor los informes de los diversos viajes que se han hecho con la idea de llegar al océano Pacífico Norte desde los mares que rodean el polo. Quizá recuerdes que la biblioteca del buen tío Thomas estaba compuesta por todos esos viajes de descubrimiento. Mi educación fue descuidada, pero siempre sentí pasión por la lectura. Esos volúmenes fueron materia de mi estudio día y noche, y mi familiaridad con ellos incrementó el rencor que sentí cuando, de niño, supe que la última voluntad de nuestro padre hizo que mi tío me prohibiera ser marino y abrazar la vida en altamar.

Las visiones se desvanecieron cuando por vez primera leí con detenimiento a esos poetas cuya expresión tan efusiva fascinó mi alma y la hizo volar. También me convertí en poeta, y por un año viví en un paraíso de mi propia creación; imaginé que también obtendría un nicho en el templo en el que los nombres de Homero y Shakespeare están consagrados. Tú ya sabes de qué manera fracasé y cuánto me dolió esa desilusión. Pero justo en ese momento heredé la fortuna de mi primo, y mis pensamientos volvieron a tomar la dirección que tenían antes.

Han pasado seis años desde que decidí hacer esto. Incluso ahora puedo recordar la hora en la que empecé a dedicarme a esta misión tan grande. Comencé por hacer que mi cuerpo se habituara a la adversidad. Acompañé a los cazadores de ballenas en varias expediciones al Mar del Norte; pasé frío, hambre, sed y sueño voluntariamente, con frecuencia trabajé más duro que los marineros durante el día y, por las noches, me dediqué al estudio de las matemáticas, la teoría de la medicina y esas ramas de la ciencia física de las que un aventurero naval podría sacar el mayor provecho. De hecho, en dos ocasiones me enrolé como suboficial en un ballenero de Groenlandia y lo hice bastante bien. Tengo que reconocer que me sentí muy orgulloso cuando mi capitán me ofreció ser el segundo de a bordo de la nave y me pidió que me quedara, pues consideraba valiosos mis servicios.

Y ahora, querida Margaret, ¿no merezco yo alcanzar una gran meta? Puede que mi vida haya transcurrido entre la comodidad y los lujos, pero he preferido la gloria a cada tentación que la riqueza haya puesto en mi camino. ¡Ay, ojalá alguna voz alentadora me dijera que sí! Mi valor y decisión son firmes, pero mis esperanzas fluctúan y mi ánimo disminuye con frecuencia. Estoy por emprender un viaje largo y difícil, cuyas emergencias requerirán toda mi fortaleza: estoy obligado no sólo a levantar el ánimo a otros, sino a sostener el mío cuando el suyo fluctúe.

Ésta es la temporada más favorable para viajar por Rusia. Sus habitantes casi vuelan sobre la nieve en sus trineos, y en mi opinión, esa forma de desplazarse es mucho más agradable que la de las diligencias inglesas. El frío no es excesivo si te envuelves con pieles; vestimenta que yo ya adopté, pues hay una gran diferencia entre caminar por cubierta y permanecer sentado e inmóvil por horas, corriendo el riesgo de que la sangre se te congele en las venas. No tengo ninguna intención de perder la vida en el recorrido entre San Petersburgo y Arcángel.

Me iré de esa ciudad en unos quince días o tres semanas; y mi intención es alquilar un barco ahí, algo que fácilmente se puede hacer pagándole un seguro al dueño y enrolando tantos marineros como sean necesarios que yo considere estén adaptados a la caza de ballenas. No pretendo navegar hasta el mes de junio; y ¿cuándo volveré? Ay, querida hermana, ¿cómo responder a esa pregunta? Si tengo éxito, muchos, muchos meses, quizás años, pasarán antes de que tú y yo nos encontremos. Si fracaso, te volveré a ver muy pronto, o nunca.

Adiós, mi querida, excelente Margaret. Que te lluevan bendiciones del cielo y que a mí me proteja, para que pueda demostrarte mi gratitud por todo tu cariño y amabilidad, ahora y siempre.

Tu hermano, que te quiere,

R. Walton.

CARTA 2

Para la Sra. Saville, Inglaterra

Arcángel, 28 de marzo, 17**

¡Qué lento es el paso del tiempo aquí, atrapado entre el hielo y la nieve! Aunque he dado un paso más para llevar a cabo la misión. Alquilé un barco, y estoy ocupado escogiendo a los tripulantes; aquellos que ya se comprometieron parecen ser hombres en los que se puede confiar y, ciertamente, son intrépidos y poseen valentía de sobra.

Pero tengo necesidad de una cosa que no he podido conseguir aún; y siento esa carencia como algo bastante malo. No tengo ningún amigo, Margaret: cuando esté radiante de entusiasmo debido al éxito, no habrá nadie con quien compartir esa alegría; y si me asalta la desilusión, nadie tratará de animarme. Es verdad que puedo fijar mis pensamientos en el papel, pero creo que es un medio muy pobre para comunicar los sentimientos. Deseo la compañía de alguien que me comprenda, en cuya mirada encuentre una respuesta a la mía. Acúsame de romántico si quieres, querida hermana, pero en verdad me resiento de no tener un amigo. No tengo a nadie cerca que sea sereno, pero valiente, que posea una mente cultivada y capaz, que tenga gustos parecidos a los míos, que apruebe o mejore mis planes. ¡Qué bien compensaría ese amigo los defectos de tu pobre hermano! Actúo de forma impulsiva y soy muy impaciente cuando se presentan dificultades. Pero creo que hay algo peor, y es el hecho de que soy autodidacta: durante los primeros catorce años de mi vida nadie puso orden en mi educación y no leí nada excepto los libros de viaje del tío Thomas. A esa edad conocí a los poetas más celebrados de nuestro país; pero sólo hasta que ya no pude obtener más beneficios de esto comprendí la importancia de familiarizarme con otras lenguas que no fueran la mía. Ahora tengo veintiocho años y soy, en realidad, más ignorante que un estudiante de quince. Es cierto que yo he pensado más y que mis ensueños son más extensos y magníficos, pero necesitan un sentido de proporción, como dicen los pintores, y me hace mucha falta un amigo lo suficientemente sensato como para no menospreciarme por romántico, y que me quiera lo suficiente como para ayudarme a ordenar mis pensamientos.

Bueno, éstas son quejas inútiles; seguramente no encontraré ningún amigo en el ancho mar, ni siquiera aquí, en Arcángel, entre marineros y pescadores. Y aun así, dentro de esos robustos pechos, deben latir algunos sentimientos ajenos a lo peor de la naturaleza humana. Mi lugarteniente, por ejemplo, es un hombre de un valor asombroso, con una gran iniciativa, que desea locamente la gloria o, para decirlo de una mejor manera, la superación. Es inglés y, a pesar de los prejuicios en torno a su nacionalidad y profesión, que no se han pulido con la educación, posee algunos de los dones humanos más nobles. Lo conocí a bordo de un ballenero. Al descubrir que en esta ciudad no tenía empleo, fácilmente lo comprometí para que me ayudara en la aventura.

El primer oficial es una persona de excelente disposición, y se hace notar en el barco por su gentileza y su actitud serena en torno a la disciplina. Esto, aunado a su bien conocida integridad y talante intrépido, me animaba mucho a convencerlo. Al pasar una juventud tan solitaria, con mis mejores años bajo la tutela femenina de tus cuidados, se han refinado tanto los cimientos de mi carácter que ya no puedo evitar sentir un profundo disgusto por la brutalidad que suele ejercerse a bordo de un barco: nunca he creído que sea necesaria, y cuando escuché de un marinero tan notable por su cordialidad como por el respeto y la obediencia que le profesaba su tripulación, me sentí particularmente afortunado de poder contar con sus servicios. Escuché de él primero, con cierto aire de romanticismo, por boca de una dama que le debe la felicidad de su vida. Ésta, brevemente, es su historia:

Hace algunos años, mi oficial estuvo enamorado de una joven rusa de moderada fortuna y, al haber amasado una suma considerable de dinero, el padre de la chica dio su consentimiento para la unión. Vio a su prometida sólo en una ocasión antes de casarse, pero estaba bañada en lágrimas. Ella, arrojándose a sus pies, le suplicó que la perdonara, pues amaba a otro que, como era pobre, jamás tendría el visto bueno de su padre. Mi generoso amigo la consoló y, después de que le informaran del nombre de su amado, abandonó instantáneamente sus pretensiones. Él ya había comprado una granja con su dinero que había diseñado para pasar el resto de su vida; pero se la cedió a su rival, junto con el resto de su dinero, para que pudiera comprar ganado; y luego le pidió al padre de la joven permiso para que ella se casara con su amado. Pero el viejo, obstinadamente, se negó, pues decía que ya había comprometido su honor con mi amigo quien, al ver la necedad del padre, se fue del país y no volvió hasta no escuchar que su antes prometida se había casado como ella lo deseaba. ¡Qué tipo tan noble!, dirás. Y lo es, pero también es silencioso y hay cierta especie de descuido ignorante en su trato que, mientras que hace aún más asombrosa su conducta, disminuye la simpatía que, de otra manera, podría inspirar.

No creas que, por quejarme un poco, o por buscar un consuelo a mis penas que quizá nunca llegue, estoy dudando de mi decisión. Ésta es tan firme como el destino, mi viaje sólo se ha retrasado hasta que el clima permita que nos embarquemos. El invierno ha sido terriblemente severo, pero la primavera promete ser mejor e, incluso, se considera que será excepcionalmente prematura, así que tal vez navegaré antes de lo esperado. No haré nada precipitadamente: me conoces lo suficiente como para que confíes en mi prudencia y consideración cuando la seguridad de otras personas depende de mí.

No puedo describirte las sensaciones que tengo respecto a la proximidad de mi viaje. Es imposible comunicarte la estremecedora sensación, mitad placentera y mitad temerosa, con que me preparo para partir. Iré a regiones inexploradas en la tierra de las brumas y las nieves, pero no mataré ningún albatros, así que no debes preocuparte por mi seguridad ni de que vuelva a ti tan agotado y desgraciado como el Viejo Marinero.* Te reirás de mi alusión, pero te confesaré un secreto. Con frecuencia atribuyo mi apego, mi apasionado entusiasmo hacia los misterios del océano, a esa producción de los poetas más modernos e imaginativos. Algo que no alcanzo a comprender opera en mi alma. Soy (demasiado) industrioso, un obrero que ejecuta con perseverancia su trabajo, pero además de esto, hay un amor por lo maravilloso, entrelazado en cada uno de mis proyectos, que me distancia de las trayectorias comunes de los hombres, incluso hasta las regiones silvestres que estoy por explorar.

Pero regreso a asuntos más importantes. ¿Te veré de nuevo, después de haber cruzado mares inmensos y dado la vuelta por el cabo más meridional de África o América? No me atrevo a esperar semejante victoria, aunque tampoco soporto pensar siquiera en la otra cara de la moneda. Escríbeme en cada oportunidad que tengas: quizá pueda recibir tus cartas cuando más necesite animarme. Te quiero muchísimo. Recuérdame con cariño si acaso nunca vuelves a saber de mí.

Con afecto, tu hermano,

R. Walton

* De La balada del viejo marinero, poema de Samuel Coleridge, amigo cercano de William Godwin durante la infancia de Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (1798). (N. de la T.)

CARTA 3

Para la Sra. Saville, Inglaterra

7 de julio de 17**

Mi querida hermana:

Te escribo unas cuantas líneas velozmente para decirte que estoy bien y que el viaje ha avanzado bastante. Esta carta llegará a Inglaterra a través de un marino mercante que va de regreso a casa desde Arcángel; mucho más afortunado que yo, que tal vez no podré ver mi tierra de nuevo sino hasta dentro de muchos años. Sea como sea, estoy de buen ánimo: mis hombres son valientes y resueltos; ya que ni siquiera los témpanos de hielo que pasan a nuestro lado continuamente, indicando los peligros que nos esperan en la región hacia la que nos dirigimos, parecen asustarlos. Ya hemos alcanzado una latitud muy elevada, pero estamos en pleno verano, y aunque no es tan cálido como en Inglaterra, los vientos del sur, que nos transportan con rapidez hacia esas costas que tanto deseo alcanzar, soplan con una cierta tibieza reparadora que no me esperaba.

Hasta ahora, no ha ocurrido ningún incidente que merezca figurar en una carta. Uno o dos vendavales, y la rotura de un mástil, son accidentes que navegantes experimentados apenas se acuerdan de registrar; y estaré muy satisfecho si no nos ocurre nada peor durante nuestro viaje.

Adiós, mi querida Margaret. Puedes estar segura de que, por mi propio bien, así como por el tuyo, no andaré buscando peligros innecesarios. Seré sensato, perseverante y prudente.

Saluda de mi parte a todos mis amigos en Inglaterra.

Con todo mi cariño,

R.W.

CARTA 4

Para la señora Saville, Inglaterra

5 de agosto, 17**

Nos ha ocurrido algo tan extraño que no puedo dejar de registrarlo aquí, aunque es muy probable que me veas antes de que estos papeles en que escribo lleguen hasta ti.

El pasado lunes (31 de julio) estábamos prácticamente rodeados de hielo, que cercó el barco por todas partes, dejando apenas el espacio libre en que flotaba sobre el mar. Nuestra situación era un tanto peligrosa, especialmente porque estábamos envueltos en una espesa niebla. Acordamos detenernos, esperando que tuviera lugar algún cambio en la atmósfera y el clima.

Alrededor de las dos, la niebla se disipó y contemplamos que delante de nosotros había vastas e irregulares superficies de hielo que parecían extenderse sin fin en todas direcciones. Algunos de mis camaradas se quejaron y mi mente se puso alerta, empezando a generar pensamientos ansiosos, cuando una extraña visión nos distrajo. Percibimos, a menos de un kilómetro de distancia de nosotros, un carruaje bajo, atado a un trineo movilizado por perros, que se dirigía hacia el norte. Un ser que tenía la silueta de un hombre, pero, aparentemente, de gigantesca estatura, iba sentado en el trineo y guiaba a los perros. Observamos el veloz progreso del pasajero con nuestros catalejos hasta que se perdió en la lejanía irregular del hielo.

Esta aparición despertó en nosotros un asombro sin precedentes. Creíamos estar a muchos kilómetros de tierra firme, y así era, pero esta presencia sugería que no estábamos, en realidad, tan lejos como pensábamos. Como nos encontrábamos atrapados por el hielo, era imposible seguirle los pasos a aquella figura que tanto había llamado nuestra atención.

Alrededor de dos horas después escuchamos que había mar de fondo y, antes de que cayera la noche, el hielo se quebró y liberó nuestro barco. Nosotros, sin embargo, nos quedamos a la espera hasta la mañana, temiendo encontrarnos en la oscuridad con esas grandes masas sueltas de hielo que flotan después de quebrarse. Aproveché ese tiempo para descansar unas horas.

En la mañana, tan pronto como hubo luz, fui a cubierta y encontré a todos los marineros apiñados en un extremo del barco, hablando, aparentemente, con alguien que estaba en el mar. Era, de hecho, un trineo como el que habíamos visto antes, que sobre un témpano de hielo había flotado hacia nosotros durante la noche. Sólo un perro quedaba vivo, pero había una persona en él, a la que los marineros intentaban convencer de que subiera al barco. Éste no era, como el otro parecía ser, un habitante salvaje de una isla ignota, sino un europeo. Cuando me presenté en cubierta, mi oficial le dijo:

—Aquí está nuestro capitán, y él no dejará que usted muera en mar abierto.

Al verme, el desconocido se dirigió a mí en inglés, aunque con acento extranjero.

—Antes de que suba a bordo de su barco —dijo—, ¿tendría usted la amabilidad de informarme hacia dónde va?

Ya te imaginarás mi estupefacción al escuchar aquella pregunta dirigida a mí formulada por un hombre que estaba en el umbral de la muerte y para quien yo habría supuesto que mi barco sería un recurso que no habría cambiado ni por toda la riqueza del mundo. De todas maneras, respondí que íbamos en una expedición hacia el Polo Norte.

Al escuchar esto, pareció sentirse satisfecho y consintió subir a bordo. ¡Dios mío! Margaret, si hubieras visto al hombre que de este modo aceptó resguardarse, tu pasmo no habría tenido límites. Sus extremidades estaban casi congeladas, y su cuerpo terriblemente estragado por la fatiga y el sufrimiento. Nunca había visto a un hombre en un estado tan miserable. Tratamos de llevarlo al camarote, pero tan pronto como dejó de respirar aire puro, se desmayó. Acordamos llevarlo de regreso a cubierta, y reanimarlo con una friega de brandy y obligándolo a beber un poco. En cuanto comenzó a mostrar señales de vida, lo envolvimos en mantas y lo dejamos cerca de los fogones de la cocina. Poco a poco se recuperó y comió una sopa que lo recompuso maravillosamente.

Así transcurrieron dos días antes de que pudiera hablar, y con frecuencia temí que todo lo que había padecido hubiera afectado su entendimiento. Cuando en buena medida ya se había recuperado, lo instalé en mi camarote y lo atendí tanto como mis deberes me lo permitieron. Nunca había conocido a una persona tan interesante; sus ojos, en general, tienen una expresión agreste, casi demencial, pero hay momentos en los que, si alguien es amable con él o lo atiende con algo sin importancia, su semblante entero se enciende como si un rayo de benevolencia y dulzura lo iluminara de un modo que yo jamás había visto. Pero, por lo general, permanece melancólico y desesperado, y a veces le rechinan los dientes, agobiado por el peso de las penas que lo afligen.

Cuando mi invitado se recuperó un poco, tuve grandes problemas para mantenerlo alejado de los hombres, que querían hacerle mil preguntas; pero no permití que lo incomodaran con su curiosidad ociosa, en ese estado en el que su cuerpo y su mente necesitaban reposo absoluto para recuperarse. Sin embargo, en una ocasión, el lugarteniente le preguntó por qué había llegado tan lejos en un vehículo tan extraño.

Enseguida su rostro expresó un profundo dolor y respondió:

—Para buscar a alguien que huye de mí.

—¿Y el hombre a quien persigue viaja de la misma manera?

—Sí.

—Entonces creo que lo he visto, pues el día anterior al que lo recogimos a usted vimos algunos perros remolcar un trineo por el hielo, con un hombre en él.

Esto llamó su atención y preguntó un montón de cuestiones respecto a la ruta que había tomado ese demonio, como él lo llamó. Poco después, cuando estaba a solas conmigo, me dijo:

—Sin duda he suscitado su curiosidad, así como la de esta buena gente, pero es usted demasiado considerado como para hacerme preguntas.

—Desde luego; habría sido muy impertinente y descortés de mi parte molestarlo siendo inquisitivo.

—Aun así, usted me rescató de una situación extraña y peligrosa: con su benevolencia me ha devuelto a la vida.

Poco después de esto me preguntó si yo creía que, al resquebrajarse el hielo, el otro trineo habría sido destruido. Respondí que no podría asegurarlo con certeza, porque el hielo no se quebró sino hasta casi la medianoche y el viajero pudo haber llegado antes a un lugar más seguro. Y eso tampoco podría saberlo.

A partir de entonces, el desconocido en cuestión renovó su ánimo. Estaba ansioso por subir a cubierta para vigilar si aparecía el otro trineo; pero lo convencí de que se quedara en el camarote, pues aún se encontraba muy débil para soportar las inclemencias atmosféricas. Prometí que alguien estaría vigilando y que le avisaría inmediatamente si había alguna novedad.

Éste es mi recuento hasta el día de hoy respecto a tan extraño incidente. La salud del desconocido ha mejorado gradualmente, pero está muy silencioso y se inquieta cuando alguien que no sea yo entra al camarote. Aun así, sus modales son tan amables y refinados que a los marineros les preocupa su bienestar, aunque hayan tenido muy poca comunicación con él. De mi parte, estoy empezando a quererlo como a un hermano, y su constante, profundo dolor me llena de simpatía y compasión hacia él. Tuvo que haber sido una criatura muy noble en sus mejores días, ya que incluso ahora, en la desdicha, resulta tan encantador y cordial.

En una de mis cartas, mi querida Margaret, te dije que no encontraría a ningún amigo en este vasto océano; y sin embargo he hallado a un hombre al que, antes de que su espíritu se hubiera roto a causa de la miseria, me habría hecho muy feliz tener como hermano del alma.

Continuaré mi diario sobre los asuntos de este desconocido a intervalos, si es que tengo algo nuevo que contar.

13 de agosto de 17**

El afecto que siento por mi invitado aumenta cada día. Despierta tanto mi admiración como mi piedad a tal grado que me asombra. ¿Cómo atestiguar que alguien tan noble esté hecho trizas por la desgracia sin sentir un espantoso dolor? Es tan amable, además de sabio, y tiene una mente tan cultivada. Cuando habla, lo hace con fluidez y elocuencia incomparables, aunque escoge sus palabras con delicadeza y cuidado.

Ahora ya se encuentra bastante recuperado de su enfermedad y

Comentarios para Frankenstein o el moderno Prometeo

[farrhon · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Terrific fresh a marvel

[griffin_reads · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

There is a lot of commentary that can be had about the situation Frankenstein was put into and what the meaning of life is. I personally felt that what came out of the story and what can come from it was better than the delivery.

[jonbrammer-788089 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Mary Shelley's greatest work is deeply influenced by the ideas of her age, and its conception was imbued with the companionship of Percy Shelley and Lord Byron in the appropriately Romantic environs of the Swiss Alps. In Harold Bloom's postscript, he identifies Frankenstein's demonic creation as the only true character in the novel; the creature is a Romantic wanderer, cursed by his sensitivity to music, natural beauty, and human emotions to live in isolated despair. He is too human; while Victor is defined by his unthinking ambition and his desire for creation (much like the abstracted God figure in Milton), the soul of the poet belongs to the being he brings to life and then shuns. Bloom also discusses Frankenstein in terms of the double or doppelganger, a motif in much of 19th Century Romantic and Gothic literature. The reflection or doubling of the scientist (or natural philosopher) and the poet is really one of the central problems that arises from the Romantic response to the Enlightenment. Where does our creative soul fit into this new world of rational understanding? Can our humanity be analyzed and defined away by Darwin and Freud?

[leslie398 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Quite different from the classic movie... The monster is actually fairly articulate and, despite his horrible deeds, a tragic figure (IMO more so than Dr. Frankenstein).

[romonko · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

In all my life, I have never had the urge to read Mary Shelley's masterpiece until I received a copy as a gift recently. I have read a lot of classics in my life, but I have never been a fan of the "horror" genre. Well, this book was a surprise--wonderful language, well-drawn characters, a deep study into the human psyche with just the right amount of tension. After finishing the book I couldn't help but think that Hollywood did us no favours with their numerous adaptations of this story. It certainly formulated a preconceived notion in my head, and made me decide to give the book a pass. According to my research, Mary Shelley created this story on a rainy afternoon in 1816 while she was in Geneva with her husband, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and their friend, Lord Byron. How is that for a pedigree? This book is a horror story, but it is so much more. It is study in human nature, and an examination of the dangers and occurrences that can occur when a person's ambitions and preconceived notions, ruled by an imagination that has been allowed to go its own way from childhood. It examines social and human morals, especially as they were in the early 19th century. It is also a tragedy as we watch a man descent into obsession and insanity. There is a reason why this book has stood the test of time, and why it has survived numerous reincarnations as a film and television series. The underlying message is still valid today. Unbridled obsession, tragedy, romance, grief and narcissism are all emotions that we still see everywhere today. The difference today is that all these emotions and actions are out in the open and are discussed freely on television, in the news media and on social media. I think the real horror behind this "horror" story is that it forces the reader to examine their own motivations and aspirations, and maybe begin to understand how these can be interpreted. perceived and judged by others. I am sure we all know of people in the world today and in history who definitely have a "God" complex, and we can see the harm that it has caused and still continues to cause in our world. .

[james_knupp · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

The novel that (in the minds of many) started the genre of science fiction. This original portrayal of Frankenstein's monster is much more interesting than our modern depiction of the slow, unintelligent beast. The story does hold up really well despite being 200 years old, but if you're not already a fan of 19th century prose, it's not the easiest read.

[martialalex92 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Things I learned

1. Nothing like the Mel Brooks movie
2. Viktor Frankenstein was a weepy little bitch
3. Interesting when viewed as one of the first horror novels, yet the monster was more human than expected

[lpg3d · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

I went into this book expecting villagers with pitchforks and torches. It's not like that at all. To me, it's a very philosophical book about what it means to be human. In some ways, the monster was more human than Victor Frankenstein.

I highly recommend this Barnes and Noble edition since the end notes add immeasurably to the enjoyment of reading this book. The forward by Mary Shelley is also very worthwhile.

[debbie13410 · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

Egad this is terrible. This is nothing like any of the movies. In fact the creation of the monster is only 2 pages. The rest is filled with a selfish whiny fool brooding over his big mistake and the terrible life he has caused himself. I made myself finish it.

[lorisbook · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Last month, I posted that I had purchased another copy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. I was recently asked about the book so I have posted some of my impressions here.Mary Shelley (then Mary Godwin) wrote Frankenstein in 1816 after being creeped out by a dream. Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus tells the story of Victor Frankenstein, a young scientist who creates a horrendous monster during a scientific experiment.My estimate is I saw the movie 50 years after it was first released in 1931. I saw the movie prior to reading the book and was initially, confused as to who was Frankenstein. I thought the actor Boris Karloff was when in fact he was Dr. Frankenstein's creation."A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe they're being to me. I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible) renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption."Shelley used 3 narrators' perspectives in Frankenstein. Most people will tell you that it's created this way so one might understand the complexities of time and the structure of the novel. I believe Mary may have used 3 perspectives because she was in competition with Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, and physician John Polidori to see who could create the best horror story. And Mary likely imagined each of them narrating different scenes as a way to boost her own creativity.Regardless, Mary really rocked it at 18 - not only in giving us an alarming horror story but in making us think in terms of questioning our perspective and recognizing the flaws of humanity. Victor Frankenstein repeatedly left no room for doubt that tragic events would happen by saying, “Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction.” Using references to destiny, and omens of terrible destruction, lead us all to grab onto our Eyeore brain and we begin to believe that Frankenstein is destined for a hapless fate. Frankenstein might have us all believing that each species of an organism does not and cannot change. As if no alternative were ever possible. However, he could have thought, "What is my ultimate goal? How can I change so I am encouraged to experience life's possibilities?" Yes! Frankenstein could have manned up and changed his perspective and chosen a different path! Instead, he gives his creation life which wreaks havoc. As the memory of past misfortunes pressed upon me, I began to reflect upon their cause—the monster whom I had created, the miserable daemon whom I had sent abroad into the world.One parallel between Victor and the monster is that they become recluses/ social outcasts. And Frankenstein eventually recognizes his world is decaying and him along with it. Like the archangel who aspired to omnipotence, I am chained in an eternal hell.In closing, Mary lost a child in 1815 amongst controversy of that time involving living bodies versus inorganic ( dead) bodies. The following year she wrote this gothic horror story (science fiction) which was published in 3 parts in 1818.It's important to note that, Frankenstein may have recalled his mother Caroline's words on her deathbed “Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavor to resign myself cheerfully to death, and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.” In Frankenstein's final words, Yet why do I say this? I have myself been blasted in these hopes, yet another may succeed Frankenstein realizes someone will succeed at what he has failed. Perhaps Frankenstein, himself, will be awakened in another world.

[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.

[michael_lilly-1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Ground breaking, but the style is tedious. Too much angst -- over and over.

[christilee394 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

“I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”― Mary Shelley, FrankensteinAfter reading Frankenstein, I HAD to read it again. Even after that, I skimmed through it because I knew I could catch more, and I didn't want to miss anything. After revisiting this Gothic, romantic classic, I zealously attacked the internet to read essays, class studies, theses… basically, anything that could take me farther in. I knew there was more I could catch; the sense of abandonment, ego, temper with new technology, obsession, revenge, sympathy, the duality of mankind (aka: good vs evil), the list can go on and on.“I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel...”― Mary Shelley, FrankensteinThere isn’t really anything I can say that hasn’t already been said about this classic. Two take aways I delighted in are, first, Mary Shelley’s vivid, poetic, stately language that shows the intensity of the emotions. Secondly, in society, unfortunately, looks do matter. Just because one can, doesn't mean one should. Respect and take responsibilities of new technologies and as a creator, whether parental or of inventions, one must take on the responsibility of their creation.This book managed to stay with me days, nights and weeks after reading. Wanting to discuss its contents with anyone that would participate. For myself, that is the mark of a GREAT read, one where long after the last page is read, my mind is unsettled and wants to devour more!“There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.”― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

[yarb_1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

A few themes I especially enjoyed this time:1. Imagination and the Arctic. On the first page, Walton enthuses about the imagined North polar utopia beyond the region of ice: "there snow and frost are banished; and, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in beauty every region hitherto discovered"; "I shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world never before visited"; "I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight." It's the perfect analogue of Victor's besetting ambition, and the first letter ends with Walton's remarks on the joys of sled travel, contrasting abruptly with the succeeding (indelible) image of the Monster driving his sled North. The polar regions are ready-made blank canvases for the imagination — c.f. Arthur Gordon Pym or The Thing, just for a start. Places of disorientation where compasses go haywire and horizons dissolve.2. The young Shelley's sublimity. She's at pains here to play up Victor's annoying rationality, his anti-Romantic habit of analysis. This is in contrast to Elizabeth who is a pure poet. "While my companion [Elizabeth] contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the magnificent appearances of things," Victor tells us, "I delighted in investigating their causes. The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine." Victor's tale is cautionary against the literal and rational. "Darkness had no effect upon my fancy" he reminisces — bad child, not frightened of bugaboos. Partly this is the fault of his permissive parents and liberal upbringing, his parents, "possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence," allow his unnatural childhood proclivities free rein; partly it's just the way he is. If we concentrated more on "simple pleasures", even the history of the New World would be less sad: "If the study to which you apply yourself has a tendency to weaken your affections, and to destroy your taste for those simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that study is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human mind. If this rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit whatsoever to interfere with the tranquillity of his domestic affections, Greece had not been enslaved; Cæsar would have spared his country; America would have been discovered more gradually; and the empires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed." Wow!3. The horror. Amidst this novel's thematic smorgasbord, I think maybe we forget how disturbing it is. Shelley turns a couple of immaculate phrases in the service of the Weird — how about "who shall conceive the horrors of my secret toil as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps of the grave or tortured the living animal to animate the lifeless clay?" Bone-chilling! The way the Alpine lightning portends the Monster's reappearence in Victor's life! Or the image of the Monster lifting the curtain of Frankenstein's bed and peering in soon after having been animated! Unforgettable images. At the same time, isn't it the Monster's ugliness that's really the root of all his problems? If he weren't so misshapen and repulsive, he'd presumably be pitied and have no trouble fitting in what with his native intelligence, empathy, fidelity and good-heartedness. It's always his disfigurement that wrecks things for him. So, and not to deny the smorgasbord, isn't this at heart a simple tragedy about narrow-mindedness, petty cruelty, mistrust of the deformed or Other? Shut up, of course it isn't just that!I had completely forgotten about the Irish interlude. Like Dracula, this novel is front-loaded: the Monster's tale which occupies the central section is kinda slow and soppy. But it works. Easily one of my favorite novels and hard to think of a more influential one, or rather, one with a bigger influence beyond literature.

[ekerstein-986148 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Impressed and fascinated by this book. I would give it 5 stars although I found it overwrought at times.

It's an allegorical tale. There's much more here beyond the popular idea of a monster conceived by lightning. The birth of the monster actually only takes up one paragraph.

There's a biblical analogy to be made. Except this Adam has no Eve. A child reckoning with his maker. Reckoning with God for his imperfect form. Tormenting his maker until they both share each other's miseries.

[charon07 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

I never tire of the story of meeting one's maker, whatever form it should come in. This is a classic treatment of that theme.

I first read this years ago, and my recent re-reading offered me a different perspective. I was formerly eager to find heroes and villains, and who can help but feel sorry for the poor creature, abandoned by his maker and rejected by human society? Who can help but find fault with Herr Frankenstein for his fickleness, instantly despising the creature he worked so long and so obsessively to bring into being?

Now I find the moral dilemmas less clear-cut. Still, a fascinating study about one's moral responsibilities to others, whether creator or created or just cousin on the family tree.

[jsabrina-219220 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

"Frankenstein" the book is very different from the impressions of the story I'd gained from movie images. "Baron Von Frankenstein" is not a nobleman, nor a mature or near-elderly man. He's a very bright college kid who gets obsessed with the idea of understanding the secret of the life force. There is no castle, no giant lab, no lightning storm. . . just a rented room in a student boarding house. In fact, Shelley's Frankenstein is adamant about sharing nothing about how he creates his monster, lest others share his sad fate.

The "monster" is the true hero of the book -- an ugly creature abandoned by his creator in the moment of his uncanny 'birth.' Although at first animal-like, he gradually grows into the sensibilities of a man, with an instinct to do good. But his sincere efforts to be good, and to win his way into community, are rebuffed at every turn, and these disappointments hurt him to the point of furious revenge.

Victor Frankenstein spends most of the book wallowing in guilt and depression, unable to either see the capacity for virtue in his creation or provide it with the means to have a peaceful existence. The monster, his twisted mirror, is a wretch battling desperately for companionship, love, knowledge, and justice.

This is definitely a novel written in another time. The story is revealed through the letters of an ambitious sea captain who stumbles into the final chapter of the larger story. Everything is related as memory, and there are far too many pages of Frankenstein moaning about his unhappiness. It's not an adventure story or a horror story or an action-adventure. Instead, it's a moral tale played out in fantastical circumstances, leaving the reader to judge who, in the end, is the true monster.

[librolindsay · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I admit that I approached Frankenstein with a little apprehension. I have the unfortunate and somewhat unfounded tendency to assign most books (esp. British Lit) written before, say, 1850 or so with an assumption that they will be stuffy, slooooow-going, and filled with archaic language. How wrong I was! Even through an English degree, this book somehow eluded me. I'm really glad to have finally read it, and I think I might consider it to be one of the most engaging and provocative of the "classics" I've yet read.
My familiarity with Frankenstein, or Frankenstein's monster I should say, was restricted mostly to Halloween images. I haven't seen the classic film (which I am now more enticed to view), so my idea of Frankenstein was of a somewhat beastly but overall gentle oversized man with lots of stithces. This book, as I thankfully found, paints a much more vivid and complex picture, and I found myself constantly going back and forth in sympathizing with Victor and the monster. I ultimately side with the monster, but the book confronts very complex sociological issues of creation, parenting, and responsibility that necessitates a lot of reader involvement to really understand the characters and issues. Despite that I could guess just about every major event and that some of the language was a little dated (of course is was written in 1818), the story still hooked me along to the very end, creating an avid curiosity in the plight of every character. No longer will what I once viewed as "stodgy" classic literature deter me!

[sarahlh-41506 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I can't believe it took me this long to read this!

(It's more of a 3.5 than a 4 but sshhhh, don't tell Mrs. Wollstonecraft.)

It kept me riveted, but god, I can't imagine having to sit in a boat on a choppy sea and listen to Dr. Frankenstein alternate between an elaborate recollection of his ENTIRE LIFE and violently crying for what was probably at least an hour, if not more, of his life.

[eurohackie · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A lonely English sea captain sets sail for the North Pole from his base in Russia. As he grows closer to his destination, his crew rescues an emaciated form from the icy waters. Their mysterious guest slowly recovers his strength, then relates (to the captain, at least) an incredible story: he is chasing a monster - a demon - of his own creation, with a mixture of fear, vengeance, and determination.I was surprised to find a frame story; though why, I'm not sure - quite a few novels from this time period are constructed thus. There is a hint of Dracula as well, with the epistolary style of this frame. But of course the meat of the work is in the 23 chapters between these letters, one in which Victor Frankenstein confronts quite a few existential questions around the idea of what it means to play god.This is quite a compelling tale, not the least reason being that its written in such a manner as to suggest that Frankenstein is insane, and has been for most of his adult life. The fact that he falls into illness the very same night that he gives his horrible creation life, and continues to have these spells of illness any time he has a 'confrontation' with the creature, gives pay to that idea. The fact that he, alone, is aware of the creature's existence and is the only one who ever speaks with him is another reason for thinking thus. I spent most of the book trying to decide if this was some sort of phantom delusion or if his personality had somehow split into two conscious entities. Either way, the idea that he was blaming himself for his monster's crimes from the start, and pursuing him to the literal ends of the earth, makes the idea of him literally chasing himself into craziness all the more likely.I'm no great critic of literature, so I suppose no matter how you interpret it, there are still lots of thought-provoking ideas and questions here. What does it mean to create another sentient being? Do you have a charge to care for it? Can you really close Pandora's box after opening it? What does it mean to be an outcast on the basis of qualities you can't control? Does a complete absence of love or support lead to a life of evil and vengeance? There's certainly lots to chew on.I never read this book when I was a kid, and have grown up with the popular culture ideas of Frankenstein('s monster). I'm not sure I would have truly appreciated it without a bit of life experience behind me, so I'm glad I'm reading it for the first time as an adult.

[fence_2 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Just as with Dracula most of us are familiar with the story of Frankenstein and his creation, even if popular culture often refers to the monster by that name. It probably suffers a little because so many of us think we know the story, why should we read something that we already know about. But it is worth a read.

Framed by the letters of an Arctic explorer to his sister, the main body of the novel is made up of Frankenstein relating his past to Capt. Walton. Frankenstein urges Walton to listen to him, and to learn from his mistakes, to not let his passion take over his life. It may be the end of him, as Frankenstein’s has destroyed his. He tells of his childhood in Geneva, of growing up a happy child, of heading off to college in Germany where his ambition first surfaces. He believes he knows how to create life. And so, of course, he sets his mind to doing just that, only for this passion and enthusiasm to ruin his life.

I had read Frankenstein as a teenager, but I’ll admit to remembering very little of it, and reading it this time around I just couldn’t get over how selfish the good doctor is.

I know, it is a first person story, so obviously we are going to get his point of view, his thoughts and emotions. But he never even tries to put anyone else first. At more than one point in the story he mentions that another character is sad, or tormented, but each time he follows up by saying that if only this character knew how bad he himself were feeling they would be put to shame. No one could possibly *feel* as much as Frankenstein.

And never once does he take responsibility for his own actions. He created the “monster” and promptly abandons him, yet, while he acknowledges guilt (although that may just be him putting himself at the centre of the entire world) he later says that he is blameless. Blameless!

Despite Frankenstein’s flaws this is a great read. Or possibly because of his annoyances, they certainly make him more of a character, its just a pity that there is no one else in the novel to balance him out. Yes, the monster gets to tell his tale, and you can’t help but pity him, despite his actions, but he isn’t enough to truly balance out Viktor’s influence.

[booklove2 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

First, this book shoulda coulda been called 'Frankenstein's Creature' or 'Frankenstein's Monster' to prevent the endless confusion about the name on the cover.  Also, it just sounds better.  Most Frankenstein projects seem to focus on the creation of the creature, but in the narrative itself, it is mostly bypassed, which as I reader, I'm not sure if that's a positive or negative.  This book has many more layers than any iteration of the story that I've seen before.  BUT since the book is so short, possibly those layers shouldn't even be there.  For example, the cottagers history seems extra and takes focus away from Frankenstein and his monster.  But I love the first part, sailors on a ship surrounded by ice seeing one sled go by, then the next day, seeing the other sled go by.  Then the ice breaks apart.   So mysterious and haunting.  But reading this now, since the story is so embedded in everything, 200 years later, readers know who is on those sleds!  The story is short and sometimes scattered, with the narrator somehow mostly needlessly bookending Frankenstein's story and then the monster's story.   Most of the book I was wondering if Frankenstein had been imagining the monster, as most other characters don't see the monster at all.  But I was proved wrong on that theory.  I'm glad to have this foundational classic under my reading belt.

[david_masumba · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

This is a gramatically powerful book that is set in Geneva and has a very dark romance about it. It does enlighten you to the sadness of the view of outsiders.

[jzacsh-533759 · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

I loved the story, I just hated the book. Ok, let me rephrase. I loved the plot, the overall concept, the characters, the sub-stories that take place. They were all fun. I hated how long it was. It could have been written in ½ or less of the length seen here. So much of the book is just the main character talking about his inner feelings repeatedly and with only the slightest variation.

If it weren't for that (feeling it was dragged out), I'd give it 3-4 stars. Not 5 stars, because I found the main character unbelievably helpless and lacking in any planning capability. I don't just mean in the obvious reaction to Frankenstein about taking responsibility for your creations, but the fact that he's told repeatedly what his adversary's actions will be. Instead, Frankenstein plans zilch and then is devastated when his adversary follows through exactly as promised. Come on.

Of course, I think some of these things are just the book being from 1818, so I'm guessing if I'd have read it then, I'd have enjoyed it 5-stars much.

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

I know this is classic, but it is also boring. Frankenstein, the doctor, is whiny and single-minded. He's the villain of the book from my perspective. The monster at least exhibits some personal growth and emotional depth, but he's absent from much of the book. I was just reading words on a page much of the time without engagement and only made it through thanks to it being a buddy read.

[ragwaine · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

It took me 50 years, but I finally got around to reading this classic. It was totally different than what I expected, which was something more like the movie, which I watched in its entirety for the first time after I finished and have to say that I liked the movie better than the book. I can imagine Shelley turning in her grave when the movie came out since the monster in the book was very articulate and it had so much more meaning. I love flowery writing, but wow she could go on and the self-hate of both Frankenstein and the monster got really repetitive and boring; it was like hearing someone whine about self-made stress over and over again.

[mbmackay · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

In 2015 The Guardian published a list of the 100 best novels published in English, listed in chronological order of publication. Under Covid inspired lockdown/social distancing, I have taken up the challenge.Everyone knows "Frankenstein" but I was under the mistaken impression that the name referred to the created monster, while I now know it to be the name of the creator. The "monster" doesn't seem to have a name.Mary Shelley published the book at 21 years of age. It is an amazing feat. While it is a little patchy, and the tone inconsistent, the book is a great read, and is famous and remembered for good reason.

[booktsunami · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Somehow, over all the years I have managed to escape reading Frankenstein. Of course I knew the general idea...mancreates monster but I was unaware of the moral complications introduced into the plot.Yes, it's a horror story originally developed as a "ghost story" by Mary Shelley, laid up in Geneva with husband and Lord Byron as the next door neighbour. (As an aside, I have a feeling that I've seen Byron's name carved into the dungeon wall in the Chilon Castle at Montreux on Lake Geneva). Ah yes...I just checked up on it and that's correct but he wrote a poem about a prisoner in the dungeons here...and signed his name.I felt I know the area around Geneva that Mary was writing about ...and the lake etc because I've spent a bit of time in Geneva and grown to like it. Also I've travelled across the border to Chamonix ...another site where Frankenstein met up with his monster creation.Mary has actually written quite a thriller. It did keep me on the edge of my seat wondering about what twist the plot would take. And I must admit I had some sympathy for the monster created by Victor Frankenstein who was abandoned at birth by his creator. He really wanted to be good ...and had some good natural instincts but was abandoned by his dad/creator and never given any decent sort of upbringing. Maybe he might have turned into a good citizen if Victor had "done the right thing" as a creator/dad.I found myself questioning the possibility of the monster being to lie secluded so close to the family of Felix without being discovered....then realised I was questioning this trivial aspect of the tale without really questioning how Victor in a few short years had acquired sufficient knowledge to create a living being. Actually, not a bad story ....hope that it doesn't give me nightmares. I give it four stars.

[bell7_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A man traveling to the North Pole by boat recounts in letters to his sister how he came across one Victor Frankenstein, a young man who told him a wild story of creating life - only to be horrified by his creation.Frankenstein is one of those books whose images from the movies have probably impacted our our pop culture-driven perception of what they are about more than the original subject matter. That being the case, I was frequently surprised by the text itself and exactly how things played out. Despite relaying the story to a sympathetic listener, Frankenstein comes across as really weak and cowardly in his inaction though much of the story. This reader's sympathy was much more with the creature who did not ask to be made and was given a miserable existence of being feared and hated wherever he went. The flowery language of its time took some getting used to, and I certainly gave my brain a bit of a workout trying to wrap my mind around some of the long and involved sentences. An engaging read that, at just over 200 pages, isn't too daunting of a classic to try.

[beauxarts79 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

The seedbed for all our contemporary posthumanism, but I could have done with a happier ending.