Es extremadamente bella y a la vez terrible la manera en que la autora nos acerca ambas historias, ya que logra conmovernos en ambos casos, a punto tal que no sabemos cómo lectores a quién apoyar. Mary was – what? – eighteen years old when she went on this famous holiday to Lake Geneva with Percy Bysshe Shelley and Byron and Byron's physician. She was calling herself ‘Mrs Shelley’, though they had not yet married – Percy was still married to someone else.

In 1813 Mary met Percy Bysshe Shelley. He was only twenty-one but was already unhappily married. He was destined to be one of the geniuses of English poetry. The two fell in love and eloped, despite Mary's age. Her father, William Godwin, disowned her, but still she and Shelley were married in 1816. They settled in Italy but tragedy seemed to follow them. Only one of their four children lived very long and then, in 1822, when he was just thirty, Shelley was drowned. Mary lived for another thirty years but she lost the promise that she had shown in the company of her brilliant husband and his friends, such as the poet Lord Byron. The single book that we remember her for belonged to her happy time in Italy. La escena nos lleva directamente al momento en el que Víctor Frankenstein, en esa tormentosa noche demencial, casi de la misma manera que en el cuento “El sueño” que la autora escribiera dos años antes, exclama que si criatura está viva: "Era ya la una de la noche. Una lluvia lúgubre golpeaba los cristales y la vela estaba a punto de apagarse cuando, iluminado por el resplandor de la luz casi consumida, vi que el ojo amarillento y mortecino de la criatura se abría; respiró con dificultad y agitó sus miembros con un movimiento convulso."So this guy goes on and on in these letters to his sister about how he wishes on every star that he could find a BFF at sea. After a few ( too many) letters, they pull a half-frozen Frankensicle out of the water. La genesi è aneddoto piuttosto noto: Mary è convinta da sua sorella Claire (Clairmont: stessa madre ma padre differente), che all’epoca era l’amate di Lord Byron, a seguirla a Ginevra dove affittano Villa Diodati. La comitiva è composta da Mary e Shelley, Claire e Byron, il medico e scrittore John Polidori. Tempo piovoso, fu l’anno definito “senza estate”, gli amici leggono molto, soprattutto storie tedesche di fantasmi e il Paradiso Perduto di John Milton. Alla fine (solo tre giorni), Mary produce il Frankenstein, Byron frammenti di un romanzo, e Polidori Il Vampiro, il primo vampiro moderno.

Ante esta señal, ella pidió que lo envolvieran en hojas de sus propios poemas, lo pusieran en un estuche y lo colocaran en su ataúd cuando ella misma falleciera y de esta manera, cuando esto sucedió, la enterraron junto con el corazón de su amado. Los relatos de Byron, “El entierro”, y de Percy Shelley “Los asesinos”, están inacabados y por ende, es imposible saber cuál podría haber sido su final. Tropes show how literature is conceptualized and created and which mixture of elements makes works and genres unique: The terrible and unfortunate story of Dr. Frankenstein and his Creation. Two immortal characters that transcended literature. Dr. Frankenstein was more than a scientist; and his Creation more than a monster. Both characters immersed in an unwinnable fight against adversity and misery, fighting each other, and against themselves. Each one with the disadvantages proper of their nature. Each one a person, and a monster. Both tragically linked because of one defining moment of pain; the pain of losing love, and the pain of never knowing it. A story that makes you think, and suffer, for both of them.Now the question here proposed by Shelley is, who is the ‘true’ monster? The man who reached for the profane and abandoned it into a life of torment turning toward evil, or the misunderstood being thrust into the world already considered an abomination and becoming ‘ malicious because I am miserable.’ Its ethical quandaries like this that make this a fantastic classroom choice or one to toss and turn with for days. The National Theater had an excellent stage adaptation where the two leads, Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller, alternated roles as Frankenstein and Frankenstein’s monster to further interrogate this question. Though perhaps the creation says it best: ‘ Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder; and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man!’ Why did I persist, you may ask? Well, at the point where the pain became mind numbing, I decided to channel my inner John McCain and just survive the torture. Figured it would make me a better, stronger reader. Might even make me enjoy a re-read of Breaking Dawn....(well, no it wouldn't, but you get the idea).

Frankenstein is also considered an early example of the modern Horror genre. However, the general impression is not exactly a feeling of terror. Rather a romantic and quite often bombastic expression of strong emotions: despair, anguish, despondency, melancholy, misery, wretchedness, affliction, etc., are words that come repeatedly under Mary Shelley’s pen. This accumulation of epithets might feel quaint and a little schmaltzy to a modern reader. Cuando uno cree que es terrible lo que lee acerca de lo que sufre Víctor Frankenstein, se queda sin palabras al enterarse de las miserias e injusticias que la criatura debe sobrellevar para no sucumbir. Fantásticos los personajes secundarios, tanto la familia de Víctor como la familia con la que aprende su criatura o el capitán del barco. Some would say, that the monster is a product of a society that refuses to accept someone who is different. Or maybe that Victor Frankenstein was the real monster for not realizing that he had a duty to parent and care for his creation? Perhaps it is meant to point out our obsession with perfection, and our willingness to disregard people who don't meet the standards of beauty as non-human? The only problem with that theory is that NONE of the male characters in this book sounded remotely male.Besides faith, there is an open question about identity, soul, consciousness, and especially death. Something so deeply build into our fragile flesh systems that it freaks us out each time we are confronted with it. Thinking about the implications is what Frankenstein is about, mixed with Let's turn now to Frankenstein’s monster. Left to his own devices, this giant manufactured from death finds he is met with fear and misunderstanding at every turn. While he seems to only have pure intentions at first, he is pushed into solitude and begins to lash out, especially at his creator (definitely some religious symbolism there). While he may be manmade, he is also very human all the way down to emotions and existential crises of selfhood: Due to the efforts of a few Kool-ade drinking trolls who have gotten their big girl/big boy panties in a wad over an almost 200 year old book and can't comment nicely on my review, I am suspending all future comments.