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Literary Essays on Gothic Horror, Ghost Stories & Weird Fiction

from  Mary  Shelley  to  M.  R.  James —

by M. Grant Kellermeyer

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8 Reasons Why Frankenstein Might be Even More Relevant in 2018 than it was in 1818 (Themes in Franke

When it was first published in 1818, Frankenstein was a caustic indictment of the Enlightenment by way of Romanticism. The intellectual movement in question (lasting from the mid 17th century to the end of the Napoleonic Wars) had privileged reason over empathy, thinking over feeling, and science over expression. While it was an extraordinary era which gave birth to countless advances in what we today call S.T.E.M. (science, technology, engineering, and math), it was a post-religion world seeking a new god in the Individual, and the global trauma that resulted from that sudden elevation of ambitious young mavericks would last for centuries. With the church made anachronistic by the Goddess of Reason, European males of independent means rejected the community-based collectivism of previous centuries in search of what was “right for themselves.”

No longer interested in how their actions affected others (and in the holy name of Science, many unethical behaviors could be excused) these young rebels went on to transform the world: agrarianism was replaced by modern capitalism (and with it the Industrial Revolution); the Kingdom of France was replaced by the short-lived First Republic (intended to be a uptopian society stripped of churchy artifice or elitist classes, it descended into a bloody horror-scape); communities previously organized around land and nature were suddenly uprooted as ambitious young men left the country to work in city factories -- leaving their villages to age and die.

Mary Shelley’s parents, husband, and friends were all very active in the Enlightenment, and as a watchful, intelligent young girl, she quickly sniffed out its hypocrisies and unintended effects. When she wrote Frankenstein it was partly a commentary on the world that Europe had recently murdered by creating a new, man-made society. It would be possible, of course, for such a book to become dated – anchored to its historical context. But it hasn’t. Frankenstein is as relevant today as it was in 1818 – in fact, it may be even more cutting it its criticisms of our current society: the way we treat each other, the world around us, and ourselves. Here are just eight of the powerful ways that Frankenstein plugs into the 21st century.


Frankenstein’s dejected Creature would likely fit right into our selfie society – which is perhaps another way of saying he would feel that he fit in at all. The Creature’s greatest despair comes from his uniqueness (being the first man made by man), and the way he fails to find a role in society. He tries to befriend some humans, saves the lives of others, and quietly hopes for acceptance and inclusion – ever to be disappointed. In our own culture we find that identity – especially for young people – is more critical than ever. People want to simultaneously fit in and stand out. This is all the harder when you are made unique from the beginning – by physical, emotional, social, cultural, or sexual differences – leaving you cut off from acceptance and the object of targeted attacks. The Creature is repeatedly physically assaulted for his looks (at one point driving a happy-go-lucky son of the Enlightenment, Felix, to a frenzied, psychotic attack), and kept on the run to escape derision. I need not go into much detail about the way internet bullying works today to draw the parallel.


Hand-in-glove with bullying and identity are issues of prejudice. Frankenstein has frequently been interpreted on stage with racial undertones, and for good reason. Everywhere the Creature goes he is rejected because of his appearance. Unlike the movie monsters whose mumblings and growls suggest animalistic stupor, Shelley’s Creature is intelligent, well-spoken, and articulate. This is not enough, however, to absolve him for the sin of his skin. Physically unique from those around him, he is reminded that he doesn’t fit in with acts of violence. Another contemporary parallel here is the reactionary treatment of refugees worldwide: like them, the Creature is homeless, helpless, and desperately in search of Home. He longs to have a wife and to live a quiet life of peace, but is forced to constantly move whenever he is discovered (and, naturally, chased out of town).


Mary Shelley seemed to see the Creature as the mutant hybrid of Man and Nature. Whereas the first man in Western folklore was made by the divine touch of the gods, a man created by man must be crafted with some power pirated from Heaven (implied to be lightning: Victor’s first great memory was of lightning devouring an oak, and whenever lightning is mentioned, it is a harbinger of the Creature). The Creature is at home in Nature: impervious to cold, he treats the Alps like a playground and the Pole like a skating rink. He maintains a vegetarian diet, and can live for weeks on a few berries and roots. Essentially, the Creature becomes a metaphor for the environment once mankind has harnessed and enslaved it. But Shelley warns us – while Nature can be temporarily enslaved, it will always become free eventually, and return to restore balance and order (usually through acts of punishing violence). Thus the Creature makes up for his own creation by killing off Victor’s family and himself.

While Shelley observed the pollution of mill towns in northern England, nothing could have prepared her for the devastation of the following 200 years. Today we are inundated with warnings of what will happen when nature over-corrects to restore the status quo to our glutted waters and poisoned air – if Mother Nature has any reaction even approaching the Creature’s, we had better prepare for a nightmare.


To have social privilege is not to be evil, but to use that privilege for selfish gain without using your abilities to help those left behind is to be part of a problem as old of humanity itself. Victor Frankenstein had all the privilege that a middle-class Swiss doctor could expect: college educated, independently wealthy, idly rich, and the son of a town magistrate to boot, he had all the power he could manage, but none of the responsibilities. When Justine – a woman and a minority Catholic – is accused of a murder he tacitly brought about, he lets her hang without a word in her defense, failing to use his influence to bring justice to the falsely accused. When his family comes to him for support during their sorrows, he uses the leverage of his occupation and wealth to abandon them for years -- leaving them to their grief because he can afford to.

Our society is constantly struggling over the meaning of privilege, but few can doubt that some groups in the 21st century feel as abandoned, betrayed, and left to swing as Justine and Victor’s family.