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To Glut the Maw of Death: On Reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein
First published in 1818
I have often wondered to what degree my childhood experiences with literature shaped my current relationship with reading and writing. Unlike many adults who enjoy reading, I did not engage in reading as a pleasure activity in my youth. In fact, I only came to literature as an extension of my rebellious teen years, through my unquenchable thirst for hallucinogenic drugs and my obsession with Jim Morrison (the lead singer of The Doors), who – despite what you may think about him – was a voracious reader and closet intellectual. I read Dante’s Inferno because Jim Morrison read it. Likewise with Aldous Huxley, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Nietzsche, Kerouac, etc. Were it not for drugs and Jim Morrison, I would never have gotten interested in literature. When I was a boy, I only read books I had to read for school — and even then, I did a pretty good job of not reading and pretending that I had. So while other kids were reading books like Frankenstein (for either an assignment or for fun), I was busy playing Atari or running around outside make-believing I was Indiana Jones, or, later, dropping tabs or snarfing shrooms till the trees began to speak.
I share this bit of bio for the purpose of illustrating how I come to literature in general – not as someone with a lifelong love of it – and specifically how it informs my reading of a text that I assume many people read in their youth. Only two short months away from turning 32, I have just now read Frankenstein for the first time.
Not only was this my first exposure to Mary Shelley’s novel, it was actually my first encounter with the story of Frankenstein: I’ve never seen any of the movies, cartoons, or any other versions. Thus, I was wholly unaware of even the basic storyline.
As a self-identifying aesthete (someone who tends to read for the pleasure of language, structure, and form, rather than plot, character, setting, or theme), I must confess that I typically find those latter elements irrelevant and even distracting – which, again, may have something to do with the development of my relationship to literature back in my formative years(?). But, and this is, for me, a huge but, I found myself extremely engaged in the plot and characters of this novel. It was a very strange (but pleasant) experience. Whereas I typically try to remain disinterested in the content of a novel, I continually felt a compulsion to scream at Dr. Frankenstein for being so cruel, and felt a sympathy (empathy?) with his creation. I began to question the merits of humanity in a conceptual manner I seldom attribute to the study of literature. It was weird, but cool.
Anyway, aside from my simple reader response to the text, I found much to consider. What follows are my notes on the text (scattered thoughts, reactions, questions, etc.) – with special attention paid to this idea of “the posthuman,” which occasions my reading of the book.
It seems that Dr. Frankenstein’s creation exhibits many of the characteristics and attributes one might identify as criteria for what constitutes a human: the use of tools, the use of grammar, the faculty of self-awareness, the display of emotions commonly attributed to humans, the awareness of right and wrong, the ability to discern beauty, rationalization, contemplation, and so on.
In fact, I’m having a hard time thinking of Dr. Frankenstein’s creation as anything other than human.
The cynical (and provocative) part of me wants to argue that Dr. Frankenstein’s creation is more human (whatever that means) than the “actual” humans – that the “actual” humans are the real monsters/demons. Where he shows kindness and compassion (helping to fetch wood for Felix, saving the little girl from drowning, etc) the actual humans are repeatedly cruel to him. If I am not mistaken, there is not a single instance in the entire novel of a human being showing kindness to Dr. Frankenstein’s creation. Not one person attempts to listen to him, understand him – but yet they should expect him to be something other than a murderous fiend?
Especially interesting is the fact that what seems to distinguish Dr. Frankenstein’s creation from the rest of humanity is the way he looks: that he’s ugly. But if being ugly were the criteria for making someone human or not, I’d venture to say there would be more non-humans than humans in the world.
This makes me also think about Judith Butler and the whole idea of bodies – deformed, disabled, etc. The body as performance. The “right” bodies and the “wrong” bodies. “Privileged” bodies and “subaltern” bodies.
Makes me also think about the distinctions previous generations made between civilized and savage, the exoticised Other and all that. The argument that there are people and then there are animals – Schopenhauer famously regarded women as less than human (as did a slew of idiots in our past) – wasn’t one of the main arguments for slavery this idea that Africans weren’t people, were less than human?
I guess that’s one spot where I’m stuck right now vis-à-vis the posthuman. If human is considered the teleological apex, then whatever is “other than human” would necessarily be worse than or less than – right? The notion that something other than human could be better than or more than human seems…I don’t know…hard to comprehend.
Of course, thinking of human as the apex of existence is only one (hierarchical) way of thinking. Perhaps this is one of the strengths created by the study of the posthuman – allowing us to consider nonhierarchical understandings of different species. ???
One of my favorite passages is this one where Dr. Frankenstein’s creation addresses him:
All men hate the wretched; how then must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends.
In terms of the structure of the novel – I noticed the movement as follows: the narrative begins in the epistolary form, moves to Dr. Frankenstein’s narrative, then to the narrative of Dr. Frankenstein’s creation, then back to Dr. Frankenstein, then back to the epistolary form. All of the narrators are men.
Also interesting to note the overwhelming absence of women in the novel. And the women that do appear are passive receptors of information (i.e. Walton’s sister), rather than active creators of it.
Love is portrayed in a strange manner. Romantic love is (almost) completely absent – even when Dr. Frankenstein marries Elizabeth it seems to be for pragmatic rather than romantic reasons. Love in this book seems conveyed most often between family members – be it Walton to his sister in the letters, between Dr. Frankenstein’s family, between the family Dr. Frankenstein’s creation observes, etc. And when the idea of romantic love comes up (when Dr. Frankenstein’s creation requests an Eve) that creation is violently destroyed — just as Dr. Frankenstein’s wife is destroyed on the night of their marriage. So the fact that familial love is foregrounded, adds to the sorrow of the tale because of the fact that Dr. Frankenstein’s creation has no family.
Which brings me to the most resounding sadness of the text, which hit me hardest at the end when Dr. Frankenstein’s creation says something about how he is even lower than the Devil because at least the devil had companions, whereas he was totally alone. The isolation of being the other. The solitude of being different. Coupled with the desire to communicate, the desire to connect, the desire to be like those with whom you are certainly akin, was heartbreaking. I hate to be a sap, but it was. It was heartbreaking.
Tags: frankenstein, mary shelley
And if you think that she wrote this novel barely out of her teens, having just fled England with her disgraced (adulterous) husband to find herself living with a group of male narcissistic poets far from any city or cosmopolitan influence, then the confusion and yearning, the angst of the creature seems to mirror what most made Mary Shelley human, or any of us, for that matter: the heart wants what it wants. It is not enough to survive, we feel the lack of warmth and connection that can light us up. The creature makes me cry with his loneliness and his understanding of his loneliness every time I read it.
I teach this novel every year to high school juniors, and invariably, despite the ossified language and the rarefied setting, there is a day when we don’t talk about the book. We talk about ourselves for a few minutes. That’s a genuine book.
And if you think that she wrote this novel barely out of her teens, having just fled England with her disgraced (adulterous) husband to find herself living with a group of male narcissistic poets far from any city or cosmopolitan influence, then the confusion and yearning, the angst of the creature seems to mirror what most made Mary Shelley human, or any of us, for that matter: the heart wants what it wants. It is not enough to survive, we feel the lack of warmth and connection that can light us up. The creature makes me cry with his loneliness and his understanding of his loneliness every time I read it.
I teach this novel every year to high school juniors, and invariably, despite the ossified language and the rarefied setting, there is a day when we don’t talk about the book. We talk about ourselves for a few minutes. That’s a genuine book.
Did you just explain who Jim Morrison is?
I feel so old.
Did you just explain who Jim Morrison is?
I feel so old.
Riffing off of discussions in a Gothic Lit course a few years back at Mills College: I read “Frankenstein” as Mary Shelley’s birth horror story (which back in her day was much less safe, outcomes could be horrific.)
Riffing off of discussions in a Gothic Lit course a few years back at Mills College: I read “Frankenstein” as Mary Shelley’s birth horror story (which back in her day was much less safe, outcomes could be horrific.)
Drugs have done some good things. Quoting Bill.
Drugs have done some good things. Quoting Bill.
[…] HTML Giant – On Reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein […]
I finally tackled it sans Ken Russell last year, I’m the same age. Amazing book, sewn together from parts. I’ve talked to experts on MWS and people who’ve reconstructed the text page-by-page, seeking to find where it was Percy and where it was Mary, but it is no easy task, apparently. The great thing about the book is how it moved through renditions and editing after the mythic Diodati excursion. Whatever reading you want to apply will apply. Heartbreaking is right on the money though. MWS bound her text together, but with “help” or without seems dithering, now. The intentional fallacy goes soft: Mary Shelley compares well to the poet Elizabeth Smart. As for the post-human, I never thought of it as lesser. I read the book as an allegory of transcendence, and certainly the romantic (Romantic) aspects of it apply. Why would Shelley venerate marriage? It seems like the opposite of “souls merging” and what we might regard as the post-human (Goethe maps the way in “Elective Affinities”). Genesis Breyer P-Orridge’s concept of “pandrogyny” was helpful to my way thinking about it. I like to think that Victor used some lady parts.
I finally tackled it sans Ken Russell last year, I’m the same age. Amazing book, sewn together from parts. I’ve talked to experts on MWS and people who’ve reconstructed the text page-by-page, seeking to find where it was Percy and where it was Mary, but it is no easy task, apparently. The great thing about the book is how it moved through renditions and editing after the mythic Diodati excursion. Whatever reading you want to apply will apply. Heartbreaking is right on the money though. MWS bound her text together, but with “help” or without seems dithering, now. The intentional fallacy goes soft: Mary Shelley compares well to the poet Elizabeth Smart. As for the post-human, I never thought of it as lesser. I read the book as an allegory of transcendence, and certainly the romantic (Romantic) aspects of it apply. Why would Shelley venerate marriage? It seems like the opposite of “souls merging” and what we might regard as the post-human (Goethe maps the way in “Elective Affinities”). Genesis Breyer P-Orridge’s concept of “pandrogyny” was helpful to my way thinking about it. I like to think that Victor used some lady parts.
Um, this is gonna sound really jargony — I guess I’d wonder whether the “post-human” might be neither “better” nor “worse” than the “human,” but rather a concept that destabilizes or makes incoherent the very notion of “human,” destabilizes the self/other dichotomies you mention, perhaps centers us in the experience of the monster or “other,” and/or centers us in differentiation and exposes “normal” as a regulatory fiction, and also makes the boundaries of “human” malleable such that we can imagine new possibilities for social and individual transformation, to become something less limited than we have so far been.
I think Octavia Butler’s Xenogenesis trilogy might make an interesting addition to your studies.
…I remember reading some interesting stuff in HS AP English abt Frankenstein as a retelling of “Paradise Lost,” and how the monster is ultimately not Adam or Satan, but Eve, filthy, fallen, abhorred, etc. I think in my paper I tried to do some Queer shit linking Eve and Queer men as penetrated bodies and the monster as Queer or something… and I think I pulled in the film “Gods and Monsters” …it’s been a long time, I don’t remember the details.
Um, this is gonna sound really jargony — I guess I’d wonder whether the “post-human” might be neither “better” nor “worse” than the “human,” but rather a concept that destabilizes or makes incoherent the very notion of “human,” destabilizes the self/other dichotomies you mention, perhaps centers us in the experience of the monster or “other,” and/or centers us in differentiation and exposes “normal” as a regulatory fiction, and also makes the boundaries of “human” malleable such that we can imagine new possibilities for social and individual transformation, to become something less limited than we have so far been.
I think Octavia Butler’s Xenogenesis trilogy might make an interesting addition to your studies.
…I remember reading some interesting stuff in HS AP English abt Frankenstein as a retelling of “Paradise Lost,” and how the monster is ultimately not Adam or Satan, but Eve, filthy, fallen, abhorred, etc. I think in my paper I tried to do some Queer shit linking Eve and Queer men as penetrated bodies and the monster as Queer or something… and I think I pulled in the film “Gods and Monsters” …it’s been a long time, I don’t remember the details.
really interesting thoughts, tim, thank you
really interesting thoughts, tim, thank you
I’ve always loved and felt deeply connected to Frankenstein. In college, a good friend of mine and I were sometimes referred to as Byron (him) and Shelley (me). Then we went Greek and our nicknames became Captain Limpwrist and Shisha. Go figure. Anyway, Christopher Higgs is one of my favorites; posts like this, and of course BSC, are why. Thanks, CH.
I’ve always loved and felt deeply connected to Frankenstein. In college, a good friend of mine and I were sometimes referred to as Byron (him) and Shelley (me). Then we went Greek and our nicknames became Captain Limpwrist and Shisha. Go figure. Anyway, Christopher Higgs is one of my favorites; posts like this, and of course BSC, are why. Thanks, CH.
great post. form wise: i like frame narratives, that Shelley makes you focus inward (physically), even though the external framework (the letters) are more important than the object framed (the monster).
i’ve read this a bunch of times–twice in grad school, in fact. once for an undergrad class i audited with steve tomasula called from monsters to cyborgs. another with maud ellmann for women & lit.
great post. form wise: i like frame narratives, that Shelley makes you focus inward (physically), even though the external framework (the letters) are more important than the object framed (the monster).
i’ve read this a bunch of times–twice in grad school, in fact. once for an undergrad class i audited with steve tomasula called from monsters to cyborgs. another with maud ellmann for women & lit.
Hi Leslie. Yes, the fact that Mary Shelley was so young when she wrote this astounds me. I keep thinking…how come none of my freshman can write as eloquently? And the fact that it was the product of a challenge posited by Lord Byron – that each of the friends might write a ghost story – and the men failed and she succeed…it’s just a great literary achievement on so many levels.
Hi Leslie. Yes, the fact that Mary Shelley was so young when she wrote this astounds me. I keep thinking…how come none of my freshman can write as eloquently? And the fact that it was the product of a challenge posited by Lord Byron – that each of the friends might write a ghost story – and the men failed and she succeed…it’s just a great literary achievement on so many levels.
Yeah, Mike, I went back and forth on whether or not I needed to add that, and the sad truth is that I mentioned Jim Morrison to some of my freshman last semester and only about three out of twenty-five knew the name!
Yeah, Mike, I went back and forth on whether or not I needed to add that, and the sad truth is that I mentioned Jim Morrison to some of my freshman last semester and only about three out of twenty-five knew the name!
Hi Mimi. Yeah, I’ve heard that claim: that Dr. F’s creation is analogous to Shelley’s aborted child. Have also heard the claim that Dr. F is an analogue for Percy, being that he abandoned his children to run away with Mary. I typically don’t go in for biographical readings of texts, but there are people who would fight to the death to defend such a position. I just don’t know.
Hi Mimi. Yeah, I’ve heard that claim: that Dr. F’s creation is analogous to Shelley’s aborted child. Have also heard the claim that Dr. F is an analogue for Percy, being that he abandoned his children to run away with Mary. I typically don’t go in for biographical readings of texts, but there are people who would fight to the death to defend such a position. I just don’t know.
Agreed.
Agreed.
Hi JW, thanks for your thoughts. In terms of your last statement, yes! I thought it was particularly interesting when Dr. F tells us that ‘the dissecting room and the slaughterhouse furnished many of my materials” – no reason to think he avoided lady parts. I’m going to seek out the Goethe you mention – I’m unfamiliar with it – thanks!
Hi JW, thanks for your thoughts. In terms of your last statement, yes! I thought it was particularly interesting when Dr. F tells us that ‘the dissecting room and the slaughterhouse furnished many of my materials” – no reason to think he avoided lady parts. I’m going to seek out the Goethe you mention – I’m unfamiliar with it – thanks!
Wait, are you saying you were in a sorority??
Wait, are you saying you were in a sorority??
Tim! Yes, yes, I’m massively intrigued by what you’ve said about the posthuman centering us in the experience of difference, offering us the position from which to consider new possibilities for transformation. It’s a way into the experience of “the other” that doesn’t seem exploitative because it is “a space of difference” rather than “a space that is different.” If that makes any sense. Almost, maybe, like a neutral position from which to experience otherness, given that attributes or characteristics we might assign it are already always outside pre-established representational codes. hmmm. I’m gonna think on this. Also interesting to consider Dr. F’s creation as Eve. Awesome thoughts. Thanks!
ps – thanks for the tip on the Octavia Butler trilogy. Putting it on the list.
Tim! Yes, yes, I’m massively intrigued by what you’ve said about the posthuman centering us in the experience of difference, offering us the position from which to consider new possibilities for transformation. It’s a way into the experience of “the other” that doesn’t seem exploitative because it is “a space of difference” rather than “a space that is different.” If that makes any sense. Almost, maybe, like a neutral position from which to experience otherness, given that attributes or characteristics we might assign it are already always outside pre-established representational codes. hmmm. I’m gonna think on this. Also interesting to consider Dr. F’s creation as Eve. Awesome thoughts. Thanks!
ps – thanks for the tip on the Octavia Butler trilogy. Putting it on the list.
As they say down here in the south: bless yer heart, Molly. You’ve made me blush.
good god. 12% morrison-recognition?? does the name “elvis” ring a bell for them? do they know that “the beatles: rock band” is based on a real rock band?
As they say down here in the south: bless yer heart, Molly. You’ve made me blush.
good god. 12% morrison-recognition?? does the name “elvis” ring a bell for them? do they know that “the beatles: rock band” is based on a real rock band?
Thanks, Lily.
I agree, the framing of the novel is super interesting — especially thinking about it in terms of the evolution of the novel as a form. Also, there are a few instances of this strange meta-narrative in which the narrator acknowledges the reader, even thought the narration is being mediated and so should not be addressing the reader but should instead be addressing the listener. (I’m thinking of this one instance when Dr. F addresses the reader instead of addressing Walton.)
Thanks, Lily.
I agree, the framing of the novel is super interesting — especially thinking about it in terms of the evolution of the novel as a form. Also, there are a few instances of this strange meta-narrative in which the narrator acknowledges the reader, even thought the narration is being mediated and so should not be addressing the reader but should instead be addressing the listener. (I’m thinking of this one instance when Dr. F addresses the reader instead of addressing Walton.)
Yes, Gods and Monsters! Also, watch the Bride of Frankenstein–and all James Whale’s films. Besides being wickedly, wickedly funny, he managed to make put gay atheist characters front and center and Hollywood never even noticed. God, I love him.
Yes, Gods and Monsters! Also, watch the Bride of Frankenstein–and all James Whale’s films. Besides being wickedly, wickedly funny, he managed to make put gay atheist characters front and center and Hollywood never even noticed. God, I love him.
Great post. I didn’t read Frankenstein until I was 23, even after having researched gothic lit for part of my undergrad thesis. Once I read it, I was blown away, and kicking myself for not reading it earlier.
Tim’s recommendation of Octavia Butler’s Xenogenesis series is a good one. I’ve only read the first book, Dawn, but it brought up a lot of similar questions as Shelley’s novel. The science fiction and gothic genres mesh so well together.
Great post. I didn’t read Frankenstein until I was 23, even after having researched gothic lit for part of my undergrad thesis. Once I read it, I was blown away, and kicking myself for not reading it earlier.
Tim’s recommendation of Octavia Butler’s Xenogenesis series is a good one. I’ve only read the first book, Dawn, but it brought up a lot of similar questions as Shelley’s novel. The science fiction and gothic genres mesh so well together.
Hi! I hear what you’re saying.
Each reader brings his own perspective (or biography, if you will) to the reading of a text, just as a writer “is” their biography when they write.
And, you did open this post with “I have often wondered to what degree my childhood experiences with literature shaped my current relationship with reading and writing.” and “I share this bit of bio for the purpose of illustrating….. and specifically how it informs my reading of a text……..”
With regard to MWS and Frankenstein, I don’t believe that hers was a deliberate intent to write something (auto)biographical. However, when challenged (yes, by Lord Byron!) to write a ghost story, I imagine that she could have “looked inside” or “looked back”. (And where is one’s “history”, if not “inside”?)
In any case, I’m not one to “fight to the death”, let alone fight at all, about a position.
Elsewhere in this comment thread folks mention “the heart wants what it wants”,
“connection that can light us up”, “the opposite of “souls merging” “.
What greater expression of the longing to merge with a beloved than sexual intercourse (and here my definition is broad) and orgasm (electricity! lifegiving! animating!) And a child, an offspring, is the ultimate “outcome” and “evidence” of this nature-merge. (Literally, on a biochemical level, it is a merging.) Which only a woman can bring to fruition. (My biography is coloring my “reading”, here. I’m a biologist by training.)
(Interesting that someone brought up Elizabeth Smart. I consider “By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept” pure expression (eloquent, and “embarrassing”, almost, in its nakedness, honesty and “desperation”) of the longing to merge. And didn’t she have like, what, five children by George Barker?)
The woman has to get through the pregnancy and delivery. Horrors!
There is the horror of giving birth to a “less-than-perfect” child. (does it even “look” human?)
Then begins the continual letting go (an unmerging, dare I say, of mother and child) as the child grows up and makes a life of his own. There can be nothing more frightening to a mother than watching a child go out into the world ill-prepared, to watch them stumble, err, (kill an innocent child! my god!), be misunderstood, unloved, reviled, shunned; to see one’s child suffer loneliness and the longing to merge go unfulfilled.
Motherhood is a horror story. Life is a horror story.
Hi! I hear what you’re saying.
Each reader brings his own perspective (or biography, if you will) to the reading of a text, just as a writer “is” their biography when they write.
And, you did open this post with “I have often wondered to what degree my childhood experiences with literature shaped my current relationship with reading and writing.” and “I share this bit of bio for the purpose of illustrating….. and specifically how it informs my reading of a text……..”
With regard to MWS and Frankenstein, I don’t believe that hers was a deliberate intent to write something (auto)biographical. However, when challenged (yes, by Lord Byron!) to write a ghost story, I imagine that she could have “looked inside” or “looked back”. (And where is one’s “history”, if not “inside”?)
In any case, I’m not one to “fight to the death”, let alone fight at all, about a position.
Elsewhere in this comment thread folks mention “the heart wants what it wants”,
“connection that can light us up”, “the opposite of “souls merging” “.
What greater expression of the longing to merge with a beloved than sexual intercourse (and here my definition is broad) and orgasm (electricity! lifegiving! animating!) And a child, an offspring, is the ultimate “outcome” and “evidence” of this nature-merge. (Literally, on a biochemical level, it is a merging.) Which only a woman can bring to fruition. (My biography is coloring my “reading”, here. I’m a biologist by training.)
(Interesting that someone brought up Elizabeth Smart. I consider “By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept” pure expression (eloquent, and “embarrassing”, almost, in its nakedness, honesty and “desperation”) of the longing to merge. And didn’t she have like, what, five children by George Barker?)
The woman has to get through the pregnancy and delivery. Horrors!
There is the horror of giving birth to a “less-than-perfect” child. (does it even “look” human?)
Then begins the continual letting go (an unmerging, dare I say, of mother and child) as the child grows up and makes a life of his own. There can be nothing more frightening to a mother than watching a child go out into the world ill-prepared, to watch them stumble, err, (kill an innocent child! my god!), be misunderstood, unloved, reviled, shunned; to see one’s child suffer loneliness and the longing to merge go unfulfilled.
Motherhood is a horror story. Life is a horror story.
It’s true. I even sang songs and wore gloves and nylons like a lady. Would go back and do it in a heartbeat, all over again, too. Some fun, fun times.
Aw, honey.
It’s true. I even sang songs and wore gloves and nylons like a lady. Would go back and do it in a heartbeat, all over again, too. Some fun, fun times.
Aw, honey.
Enjoyed the hell out of this.
Enjoyed the hell out of this.