Where chaos stops and more chaos ensues. Where Filia plays the electric keyboard.
Where anything goes.
-//o_O\\7 *Home of the Awful, Mediocre and Pathetic* -//u_u\\7
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Where chaos stops and more chaos ensues. Where Filia plays the electric keyboard. Where anything goes. -//o_O\\7 *Home of the Awful, Mediocre and Pathetic* -//u_u\\7 |
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Saturday, May 08, 2004 Book review! There isn't much point venturing a guess as to just what book it might be, though you can probably list several (hundreds) of what it definitely won't be, so allow me to introduce ... Frankenstein by Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley. Yep, it's that very same monster Frankenstein of movie fame, except that this time it's the original text, and the characters are presented with the author's original intentions. Just a note before I start blabbering ... as all intelligent book-readers should know, Frankenstein is the name of the scientist, Victor Frankenstein, and the fact is that the monster he created never really had a name, so for convenience's sake I'll refer to it as the monster, in the third person. Another interesting titbit would be the name of the author. Conveniently abbreviated to "Mary Shelley", she's related to several prominent figures that one ought to take care not to mistake with her. Her mother was Mary Wollstonecraft, the famous feminist activist of the late 18th century, well, feminist by modern definitions (and by mine, for sure) in a limited fashion because back then it was not so much a fight for equality or equity but for simply getting education and employment, which makes me give (a little) thanks for the age I live in. Her husband was Percy Bysse Shelley, that poet who wrote To a Skylark and, as the age-old joke goes, never got a reply. I don't know anything about him, largely because I ignore most poetry. Her father was, presumably, Mr. Godwin. As a result, due to the relative fame of her mother we can't call her Mary Wollstonecraft, and to call her Mary Shelley or Mary Godwin would be caving in to patriarchal dominance. So I'll call her Mary, and leave it at that. At least she isn't Mary Ann "Oying" Evans. The relative fame of Frankenstein's monster as a movie creation has largely misled the misinformed imbeciles of the world into bearing many misconceptions about it, that it is a hideous abomination of wanton destruction, or that it is a misguided and misunderstood innocent lost in the world of human prejudices. As it turns out, neither of these horribly skewed views are remotely close to the original monster as painted in the original novel. Perhaps a plot summary, without too much elaboration, would be necessary to dispel many of the myths the horror movies of Hollywood have put into our heads. Basically, Frankenstein's hubris and his fascination with the power of creation lead him to conjure up his own lifeform, a giant humanoid of knitted flesh and bone. However, upon the animation of his creation (which is never really explained in the novel, and no, it is not by electricity) he is overcome with horror and flees like the responsibility-fearing man he is. The monster itself is a creation from human bodies, and is wholly biological, without any bolts or joints or whatever. That's Hollywood. Though one would wonder why, if the monster was made from human bodies, it assumed a size larger than any human one. A major feature in the monster's expressions, and its ugliness, are its large bulbous yellow eyes. Where did Frankenstein get those from? Not from Silas Marner, he was born a century too late. Think of a homunculus, a flesh golem of some sort, except that it can grow and adapt. And it happens to be, inexplicably, male. Well, Frankenstein made it, so I guess he knows what gender it is, though until it was brought up in the novel I assumed it was some non-sexual construct of some sort. The monster is one that is sentient, very much intelligent, in fact, almost as much of a genius in discerning and concluding as its own creator (which is to say, able to reason, but not particularly smart in perceiving the consequences of its actions). However, like any newly-created child, it initially possesses but a blank of knowledge, it knows nothing of the world that it was born into. However, unlike a child, its mental capacities are very much advanced, within days it learns about its surroundings, about sustaining its own life, and eventually, about the existence of a human society which it finds itself utterly excluded from on the account of its ugliness. The charm in this novel, then, is an incredibly long extract in the middle of the novel where the monster speaks non-stop to Frankenstein for about five chapters. And, apparently, in concentric rings of story-telling, the monster's speech is heard by Frankenstein, who narrates it to the 'protagonist' (the person described as 'I', a similarly deluded character who is on a quest for the North Pole), who is, in turn, writing to his younger sister. That is some memory they have. Anyway, the point is that the charm is in watching this slow adaptation from an utterly confused, blundering ignoramus into a more sophisticated thinking, reasoning, and more importantly feeling creature. Through a rather convenient twist of the plot, the monster is able to spy on a family, living in a disused shack next to theirs, and from them learns about human interaction, about languages and culture, about aspirations and affections. The tragedy, then, is when the monster feels that he is capable of proving his worth as a no less capable member of human society, he is furiously rejected on the account of no less than his ugliness. Human prejudices, or simply human nature? This is the part of the novel which, I feel, incites the most thought and controversy. Were the townsfolk justified in rejecting the monster on account of his appearance? Should they have been more human, in extending a hand in aid to the creature despite its appearance? Or is it human to succumb to such prejudices, to take things at surface value and not to be more discerning than necessary? Should we be less human, then, like the monster who, despite its appearance, is far more capable, more intelligent, more unbiased, than all of humanity and, no less, its own creator. A frail balance between emotion and reason, two very important but inevitably conflicting aspects of humanity. Given my general distaste for human nature and all, it's fairly easy to see how I would interpret this one. Anyway, all that explanations past, the monster goes on a quest to find Frankenstein, not to find out more about its creation and its existence (the information having been conveniently left in a coat swiped by the monster before he left the laboratory, in another authorly twist of fate. Call that genius, as Mr. Purvis would? I call it cheating.), but to demand a task of him. At that point in time, Frankenstein is in emotional turmoil due to the successive deaths of a younger brother and a friend, apparently on the charge of the child's murder. The murders, apparently, have been caused inadvertantly, in an impulse of emotion, by the monster, and Frankenstein, having spotted traces of the monster near the murder scene, has already suspected this. Anyway, the monster, now aware of the depths of human relationships and the angst that comes of the exclusion from them, demands that Frankenstein build him a counterpart such that the monster would not lack companionship. The Bride of Frankenstein, if you will, and that is when I realised the monster, like any male creature, has those same crazed urges of any male. Spot on, Mary! If your mother was a feminist activist (and presumably, you are a girl ...) you wouldn't miss such things! This is where the plot, and the emotions of it, begin to warp. The monster threatens retaliation if his demand is not fulfilled, as, already living in a hell on earth, the monster promises to extend this hell to his creator so that he will be able to understand its torment. Somewhat short-sighted, in immediately resorting to violence, but is the monster justified in making this threat? Is it human to claim vengeance, if you will, on being brought into the world against nature, and against our own wills. Technically, however, we humans could claim the same against our parents ... hmm ... Again, blurring the distinctions between human and creation, Frankenstein embarks on the quest of creating a counterpart for his monster, but, when he espies the not particularly stealthy monster watching him in his grisly contruction, he is seized by a fit of rage and conscience and destroys the half-complete monster. Human to give in to the anguish of need, or human to respect the sanctity of life? Seeing its hopes destroyed, the monster goes on a series of murders to make Frankenstein's life a living hell as his friends and family are one by one taken away from him, and he is forced to deal with the repercussions of their murders, such as being falsely accused of his study mate's murder (as his friend earlier was, and executed for it), and the incredulous looks and rejection he receives in attempting to explain his creation of a monster as a cause of all the tragedy ... repercussions which, ironically, he could have avoided, if only he had initially been willing to take responsibility for his creation, to look after it and meet its best interests as any good creator should. Anyway, the story ends with Frankenstein falling into delirium, with his family gone, now on a crazed rage to pursue the monster to the ends of the earth and destroy it. However, his mission remains incomplete as he is eluded by the monster for a final time in the Arctic wastes, and is found by the 'protagonist', where he relates his story. Beyond the conflict inherent in human nature I have already elaborated upon earlier, another point of contention would be the tenuous relationship between creator and creation, master and slave, where, as the plot develops, they invariably grow similar until all distinctions are blurred, least of all expressed in Frankenstein's final chase for his monster, expending his health in a mad quest for a quarry he cannot catch. Frankenstein is also subtitled The Modern Prometheus, Prometheus referring to the titan who bestows flame upon humans, and in the process, bestows both life (in the sense of the fire's warmth) and strength (in the ability to use fire). Frankenstein has re-enacted this by creating a monster which turns out to be stronger than himself, as the introduction postulates, a scientific extension of what has long been a cornerstone of mythology ... and its implications of actually existing beyond myth. The parallels between Frankenstein and his monster can similarly be extended to many aspects of life, for example the relation between man and ... and man's preferred heavenly deity, or, more relevantly, the relation between parents and children. Bestow life upon a new generation only to have them exceed ourselves? For another science-fiction analogy of this, read The Food of the Gods by H.G. Wells. My suggestion, however, is that we institutionalise cloning, and cut our creations off from ourselves, our creations then having companions of their own, unlike Frankenstein's monster who was lost in a world which rejected him. The problems in this novel (So, I nitpick. What's new?) include, as I already explained, the inexplicable twists in the plot that grant undue amounts of information to the protagonist, to Frankenstein, or his monster, far too convenient a means for my liking. Another issue that irks me is the somewhat limited depth of contemplation by both Frankenstein and his monster. Is violence and revenge the only solution upon not achieving one's desires? Are we so bound by pride and hubris that we are unwilling to take responsibility for our actions, to confess, and to face ridicule? Or perhaps in this caricature, Mary explains the sad truth that yes, the choices of humans are limited by nothing more than their passions. There are some incredibly smart lines in the book as well, the first I really liked being when Frankenstein refuses to speak with the monster, and says something along the lines of "I never wish to see you again". Upon which the monster claps its hand over Frankenstein's eyes, and the conversation resumes (amidst much groaning from the reader). Wow. I wrote a lot. And I feel like a university professor lecturing her students ... hmm ...! So perhaps I might have a future in literature after all, as long as no one sees through my rampant blabbering and attempts to inundate my victims with verbosity rather than viscosity. Anyway, this book has been somewhat of an emotional journey, by attempting to reason through and account for the various emotions expressed by both Frankenstein and his monster, one is pressured to assess the 'optimal' way to lead a life, and inevitably, to apply it to one's own. And, if absolutely nothing else, it allows you to understand the story of the real Frankenstein, and his monster, and laugh in the face of those idiotic movie buffs who claim to know all about such horror staples. A definite recommendation. Pick Mary's book off the library shelf, and feel enlightened today! And make sure it's the right Mary. Remember, I wouldn't recommend books that I don't even read in the first place. posted by Charlotte | 4:56 pm Disclaimer : The Slayers and Filia Ul Copt and all images thereof are the property of Hajime Kanzaka and Rui Araizumi. I don't own any of them, although if I had a choice I would want Filia ... ~//n_n\\7 |
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