A version of this article appeared in Knights of the Dinner Table #168 (October, 2010).
From 2006 through 2012 I was the "Off the Shelf" columnist for Knights of the Dinner Table, a magazine and comic book devoted to tabletop fantasy role paying games. I reviewed classic and modern fantasy, horror, and science fiction novels. Every October I tried to review a work of classic horror in honor of Halloween. I am trying to continue that tradition with my blog. You can find previous Halloween Reviews here.
The witch is on the broomstick and a chill is in the air as haunted old Halloween arrives. This year I review Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.
Mary Shelley was a remarkable woman from a remarkable family; her father was a famous philosopher, her mother a famous feminist, her husband the renowned poet Percy Bysshe Shelley. Her early life was remarkable for the early 19th century, ‘radical’ even by today’s standards and colored by a remarkable amount of grief. Aside from the creation of his monster, she in fact led a far more fascinating and interesting life than her novel’s protagonist. But a full accounting of her life would require a thick biography.
The story of the genesis of Frankenstein is well known. In 1816 she and Percy visited Lord Byron at a villa near Lake Geneva, Switzerland. To pass the rainy days, Byron suggested they write ghost stories themselves, and from that summer came the story that she later worked into the novel: Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus.
The plot of the novel is well know: Frankenstein, a Byronic figure, becomes infatuated with creating life through electricity and his obsessive studies and experiments allow him to eventually give life to a creature he has constructed from cadavers. His reaction is not what he expects:
It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.
How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.
Frankenstein violently rejects his creature and abandons it, returning to his home and trying to resume his life as though his demented escapade had never occurred. But of course one’s mistakes cannot be so easily buried or forgotten and tragedy stalks Frankenstein’s loved ones until finally he and the creature race to a final confrontation in the far north. The novel is narrated by the device of a framing tale to the captain of an arctic exploration vessel as Frankenstein recovers from exposure.
Frankentsein is a major influence for gamers, directly inspiring villains in various horror settings like TSR’s Ravenloft. Frankenstein himself serves as an excellent model for either PC protagonist or NPC antagonist, indeed stripped of his scientific trappings he makes an excellent wizard. The Creature is equally fascinating, and gamemasters who study how he plots his actions and justifies his actions can model truly tragic and emotionally painful foes for their players on him. Of course, for those gaming in a ‘Steam-punk’ setting the novel is practically required reading.
But Shelley’s novel is more than that, it is a rich, full-bodied gothic experience that induces in the willing reader a deep despair. Her prose is as carefully crafted as any other from that most literary period, and just as passionate as anything written by Byron or Shelley themselves.
When the moon is full and you wish to delve into the soul of horror and despair, leave the urban vampire tales alone and revisit Frankenstein. It will be time well spent.
All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.
