Frankenstein: The 1818 Text

Author: Mary Shelley

Finished Reading: January 11, 2023

Number of Pages: 260

Although sad and gloomy, Frankenstein did an amazing job in romanticizing nature and hitting some key points in man's relationship with technology. Frankenstein's creation may have been made out to be a monster but he spoke some harsh truths here and there. In a sense, he was the Considering how this was written during the industrial revolution, it's no surprise Shelley was critical of human intervention in nature.

Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight afforded by these wonderful regions, seems still to have the power of elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence: he may suffer misery, and be overwhelmed by disappointments; yet, when he has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit that has a halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.

A brief tangent: the passion and persistence with which Victor studied is something I always will strive for. I think there is immense value in being able to sit down for hours at a time and do deep work. This might come natural if you're working on a project you're super inspired by yet What's more, the Victor made me super eager to visit Switzerland!

Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.

I couldn't help but think of Piranesi when reading this.

Nothing contributes so much to tranquillize the mind as a steady purpose,—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye.

A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and peaceful mind, and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to disturb his tranquillity.

Nothing is more painful to the human mind, than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows, and deprives the soul both of hope and fear.

The sight of the awful and majestic in nature had indeed always the effect of solemnizing my mind, and causing me to forget the passing cares of life.

How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!

For the guilty, there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxury there is otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief.