“ 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.”
I want to love this book, but I just don’t. Frankenstein’s Monster is my favourite character – his tale is such a sad and lonely one, I cannot help but extend my heart out to him. If the tale was more from his perspective, I probably would have rated this book way, way higher. But it’s not…
We follow the tale predominately through Victor Frankenstein’s eyes – a man I can say I detest. He’s not evil or anything, he’s just bland. We see his thirst for knowledge and “science”, his cowardice, his “push everything under the rug and forget it ever happened” mentality… Frankensteins Monster’s path to becoming truly monstrous all starts out from Victor’s immediate fleeing and abandonment once his life goal of resurrection is complete, and he realises how foolhardy he has been.
Aside from my problems with Victor, I guess the reason I didn’t enjoy the book may have stemmed from it being so far removed from what I expected. And that is not the fault of the book – it is the original – but from how the story has been adapted to film and tv in its barest bones and then embellished virtually to something you almost wouldn’t relate to the book. The best representation I’ve seen would be from the TV series Penny Dreadful. There are no bolts, square heads, green skin, sluggishness, dim-wittedness etc. that has now been associated with The Monster.
This is my second attempt at reading Frankenstein, and I did enjoy it more the second time (probably with going back to my last point and knowing what I’m in for with the story), but I still didn’t love it…
Release Date: 2003 (first published 1818)
Publisher: Penguin Classics
Genre: Classics, Horror, Gothic
Page Count: 335
Rating: ★★☆☆☆
The Bookworm's Feast 
Leave a Reply