Japanse New-Girl Monkey Network
Frankenstein, Gothic, Feminine
Since recovering from my childhood fears of scary movies (which I usually refused to watch, covering my eyes with both hands until the screaming bits stopped), I've become a much greater fan of the horror genre in both film and literature. I've got Oxford collections of classic Gothic tales and ghost stories. I've read Dracula at least two or three times, have dabbled in more modern horror authors like Clive Barker, etc. So when I was shuffling through some of Mr Wiggins' books for something new to read this week, I picked up a paperback with three Gothic novels in it. When I looked at the contents and found that the last story was Mary Shelley's Frankenstein it sort of surprised me that I hadn't read such an influential classic. I'd known a fair amount about the story, known more about it's ripples in popular culture, even read a feminist novel that fictitiously related the story from the point of view of Elizabeth, Frankenstein's childhood friend and fiancee, The Memoirs of Elizabeth Frankenstein. I'd just never tackled the original work.
So this week I had plunged into the story and emerged today mulling over the tale, which I enjoyed pretty well. I found myself trying to imagine how something could be so evil in appearance that one couldn't sympathize with it or pause and listen to its (quite coherent, quite reasonable) story (as happened repeatedly with Frankenstein's creation). I tried picturing something so scary that I'd just instantly run away from it. Most of these visions involved a person with a threatening weapon of some sort. I couldn't come up with something that was simply ugly and horrifying on its own merits, without making a specific threatening gesture of some kind. I kept coming to the conclusion that, rather than finding nothing to relate to with the creature, the characters that encountered him instead could relate on some (perhaps subconscious) level but were horrified by that relation. He was described as appearing inhuman, but his internal emotions were clearly intended to be human.
Although the theme of science outgrowing wisdom is commonly discussed for this story, it seemed to me that there were other symbols being thrown around-- that the monster (as in all monster stories) was representing other dark parts of humanity-- loneliness, self-loathing, knowingly choosing evil over good (as the creature admitted he had done when he failed to find anyone to be his friend). I saw in the greater story the pattern of what happens, not only when we take knowledge (for its own sake) too far, but also what happens when we turn away from our dark sides. Victor Frankenstein, terrified by what he created, turned and fled from the creature when it first came to life, which sparked the series of rejections that encouraged the creature's turn to evil. After the creature had murdered his younger brother, framed a friend of his family for the murder, killed his best friend, and then his newly-wed wife, Victor decided to destroy the monster, but couldn't. In the end, his hate for his "dark half" brought about his own destruction. He never truly faced the monster and dealt with the consequences of having created him. Thus the consequences multiplied and resulted in the deaths of loved ones and the gruelling journey to the north pole after his creation gone wrong, ending even in a failure to destroy the creature.
I also noted that, despite having been written by a woman (and maybe I'm just overly influenced by The Memoirs of Elizabeth Frankenstein), the story had a very masculine point of view. I tried imagining how the story would have gone differently if Victor Frankenstein had been Victoria, or if the creature had been created female, or both. What motivations would be different? Would people be more sympathetic to a horrifyingly ugly 8 ft tall female creature? Would a woman who created a monster necessarily be more nurturing or feel more responsible toward her creation? (Of the last two, I think not, but it's still an interesting idea to explore). I'm intrigued by Victor's love of domesticity. He's almost sort of a mama's boy. He just wants to hang around his wonderful family, get married to Elizabeth, and be idyllically happy in the Swiss Alps (not that this doesn't sound so bad!). He considers his lust for learning a madness. Obviously his conclusion is that the pleasures of domestic life are the most superior. This seems strikingly feminine (at least, "feminine" in an 18th century sort of way) in a story that's otherwise filled with expeditions to the North Pole, male science professors in universities, powerful and superhumanly strong male monsters, and women in passive, secondary roles. I think I'd like to explore these ideas more in writing, but I'm not sure yet how it'll come out.
{ link me }As Promised, Pix
Here are some shots of my new digs (thumbnails are links to larger pictures which open in a new window). Enjoy.
 |  |
The street where I live. | This is the front door. Come inside! |
 |  |
I haven't exactly unpacked, yet. | The teeny tiny bathroom. |
 |  |
The kitchen (now with a fridge!) | Out the back in the courtyard. |