Frankenstein (illustrated), by Mary Shelley
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Frankenstein (illustrated), by Mary Shelley
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FRANKENSTEIN is widely regarded as a landmark work of romantic and gothic literature. “Mary Shelley’s first novel has been hailed as a masterpiece.” (The Guardian: The 100 Best Novels). “The book blew me away. Here is a creator, Victor Frankenstein, scared of his own creation and unable to take responsibility for it.” (The Independent: Book of a Lifetime) This illustrated edition of Mary Shelley’s classic novel includes: - the preface by Percy Bysshe Shelley - the introduction by Mary Shelley - the complete text from the 1831 edition - an illustrated history of the story’s creation - the cover design features the original frontispiece from the 1831 edition (by Theodor von Holst) READERS’ REVIEWS “The work impresses us with a high idea of the author’s original genius and happy power of expression.” – Walter Scott “Not what I expected. It was better.” “Having only seen the films, I never realised how touching and extraordinarily sad this story really is.” “A gem. One of my all-time favourite stories.” “This book was so hard to put down. Kept me gripped.” “An excellent novel. Filled with suspense and tension.” THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY The writing of Frankenstein was influenced by two volcanic eruptions, one in Indonesia and one in the author’s private life. When she was nearly 17 years old, Mary Godwin fell in love with one of her father’s political followers, the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was nearly 22 years old and already married. Despite the disapproval of her father – the political philosopher William Godwin – Mary and Percy eloped to France. In the summer of 1816 Mary and Percy visited Lord Byron at the Villa Diodati near Lake Geneva. They had planned numerous outdoor activities but the days were cold and dreary. Unknown to them, a volcano in Indonesia, Mount Tambora, had erupted with drastic effects on the global climate. The year 1816 was known as the “Year Without a Summer”. “It proved a wet, ungenial summer,” wrote Mary, “and incessant rain often confined us for days to the house.” Mary and her group of friends amused themselves by reading ghost stories in a book called Fantasmagoriana. Lord Byron suggested that they should “each write a ghost story”. At first Mary was embarrassed that she couldn’t think of anything to write. Then one night Mary went to bed after midnight but was unable to sleep. During this “waking dream” she devised the plot of Frankenstein. Mary later described that summer in Switzerland as the moment “when I first stepped out from childhood into life”. She conceived ‘Frankenstein’ as a short story but, encouraged by Percy Shelley, expanded it into a novel. Mary’s novel, though not her relationship with Percy Shelley, earned her father’s approval. He later wrote to her: “[Frankenstein] is the most wonderful work to have been written at twenty years of age that I have ever heard of. You are now five and twenty. And, most fortunately, you have pursued a course of reading, and cultivated your mind in a manner the most admirably adapted to make you a great and successful author.” Percy drowned in 1822, less than a month before his 30th birthday, when his sailing boat sank during a storm on the Gulf of Spezia. In 1826 Mary received a marriage proposal from an American actor, John Howard Payne, but she refused him, saying that after being married to one genius, she could only marry another.
Frankenstein (illustrated), by Mary Shelley - Amazon Sales Rank: #362431 in eBooks
- Published on: 2015-05-15
- Released on: 2015-05-15
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Frankenstein (illustrated), by Mary Shelley Review Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is one of the masterpieces of nineteenth-century Gothicism. While stay-ing in the Swiss Alps in 1816 with her lover Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, and others, Mary, then eighteen, began to concoct the story of Dr. Victor Frankenstein and the monster he brings to life by electricity. Written in a time of great personal tragedy, it is a subversive and morbid story warning against the dehumanization of art and the corrupting influence of science. Packed with allusions and literary references, it is also one of the best thrillers ever written. Frankenstein; Or, the Modern Prometheus was an instant bestseller on publication in 1818. The prototype of the science fiction novel, it has spawned countless imitations and adaptations but retains its original power.This Modern Library edition includes a new Introduction by Wendy Steiner, the chair of the English department at the University of Pennsylvania and author of The Scandal of Pleasure. Mary Shelley was born Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin in 1797 in London. She eloped to France with Shelley, whom she married in 1816. After Frankenstein, she wrote several novels, including Valperga and Falkner, and edited editions of the poetry of Shelley, who had died in 1822. Mary Shelley died in London in 1851.
About the Author Maurice Hindle edited Frankenstein and Dracula for Penguin Classics and teaches at the Open University.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One
I am by birth a Genevese; and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics; and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.
As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a merchant, who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a proud and unbending disposition, and could not bear to live in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts, therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship, and was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin the world again through his credit and assistance.
Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself; and it was ten months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street, near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes; but it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a merchant's house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for reflection; and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.
His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness; but she saw with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing, and that there was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind of an uncommon mould; and her courage rose to support her in her adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw; and by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to support life.
Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving her an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her; and she knelt by Beaufort's coffin, weeping bitterly, when my father entered the chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who committed herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend, he conducted her to Geneva, and placed her under the protection of a relation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.
There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted affection. There was a sense of justice in my father's upright mind, which rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love strongly. Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the late discovered unworthiness of one beloved, and so was disposed to set a greater value on tried worth. There was a show of gratitude and worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the doating fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her virtues, and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace to his behaviour to her. Everything was made to yield to her wishes and her convenience. He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is sheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind, and to surround her with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and benevolent mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. During the two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after their union they sought the pleasant climate of italy, and the change of scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders, as a restorative for her weakened frame.
From Italy they visted Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born in Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained for several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother's tender caresses, and my father's smile of benevolent pleasure while regarding me, are my first recollections. I was their plaything and their idol, and something better—their child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on them by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in their hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled their duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed towards the being to which they had given life, added to the active spirit of tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined that while during every hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience, of charity, and of self control, I was so guided by a silken cord that all seemed but one train of enjoyment to me.
For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a daughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five years old, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they passed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent disposition often made them enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my mother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a passion—remembering what she had suffered, and how she had been relieved—for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the afflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale attracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the number of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in its worst shape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother, accompanied by me, visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife, hard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to five hungry babes. Among these there was one which attracted my mother far above all the rest. She appeared of a different stock. The four others were dark eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin, and very fair. Her hair was the brightest living gold, and, despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of her face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness, that none could behold her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent, and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features.
The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She was not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a German, and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with these good people to nurse: they were better off then. They had not been long married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their charge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory of Italy—one among the schiavi ognor frementi, who exerted himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its weakness. Whether he had died, or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria, was not known. His property was confiscated, his child became an orphan and a beggar. She continued with her foster parents, and bloomed in their rude abode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.
When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of our villa a child fairer than pictured cherub—a creature who seemed to shed radiance from her looks, and whose form and motions were lighter than the chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his permission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their charge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed a blessing to them; but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want, when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They consulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza became the inmate of my parents' house—my more than sister the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and my pleasures.
Every one loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my pride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to my home, my mother had said playfully—"I have a pretty present for my Victor—to-morrow he shall have it." And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally, and looked upon Elizabeth as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on her, I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only.
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8 of 8 people found the following review helpful. Frankenstein By Jolene S. Arrant Victor Frankenstein is driven by his hunger for scientific knowledge and accomplishment. What he can not know is that one day, after he creates a living, breathing being, he will regret his scientific pursuits. This created being is hideous and rejected by all who meet him, including his creator. Rejection leads the creature to become a monster filled with despair and rage. In a futile attempt to pacify the creature, Victor agrees to create a female companion, but finds that he is unable to finish the task. At Victor's refusal to create the companion, the monster is filled with hatred and commits additional murders. The only recourse for Victor is to pursue his creation and destroy it.This is not a book I would have chosen to read on my own. It was required reading for my current British Literature class and I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. Mary Shelley used three characters to narrate during the story: Captain Walton, Victor Frankenstein and the creature. I thought the chapters narrated by the monster were particularly interesting. They developed the character of the monster beyond just a hideous, killing machine. It gave insight was to why the monster behaved in the way he did. I suspect that Mary Shelley may have been making a statement about children. The creature craved love, affection and acceptance, just as all children do. Yet, when rejected and deprived of natural affection, the creature became a monster filled with pain and anger.Mary Shelley was the daughter of writer Mary Wollstonecraft and the wife of poet Percy Shelley. I especially liked how Mary Shelley used some of her husband's poetry in the narrative of the story. The story behind the creation of this book is also unique. Mary and Percy were part of a small group which agreed that they would each write a ghost story. After being unable to think of a plot, Mary Shelley conceived the concept of Frankenstein during a resting period when she was neither conscious nor completely asleep.This particular edition included an Introduction, Further Reading, Notes on the text, the Author's Introduction, a Preface by Percy Shelley and appendixes featuring works by others that were part of the group that committed to writing ghost stories.
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful. Classic. Great Book - NOT A COMIC BOOK By Bradley Bevers I recently read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde for the first time, then realized I had never read Frankenstein either. I bought it awhile ago and finally got around to reading it. Its a deserved classic, and there are some great things about this book and some disappointing things, all unexpected.Some of things I was surprised by include the story itself. Very involved in literary history, quotes many authors. Frankenstein's monster is a sympathetic creation in a lot of ways. By the end of part 2, where the monster tells his own story, you start to feel sorry for him. Great story that casts light on sin, humanity, religion, and what life is. It is not a book that will really scare you, but it will make you think.Some things I was disappointed in include the coincidences that occur. A story written like this today would never work . . . but it was fine for its era. The monster finding Victor's home based on some loose directions overheard from a French family is at best a stretch. The book drags in a few places as well for modern readers, but you are rewarded for pushing through it.All in all, a well deserved classic that is a worthy read. The fact that Mary Shelley wrote this at 19 is astounding and humbling. Note that this is NOT a comic book. It has an illustrated cover, no graphics inside. Another review made it sound like it was a comic book.Highly Recommended.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. A man made of the dead By E. A Solinas Everyone has heard of Frankenstein's monster... or at least the Hollywood version, with green skin, boxy head and bolts in his neck.But the original creature is quite different in Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein," which starts off rather slow but builds into a tragic, darkly hypnotic tale about tampering in God's domain, and the terrible consequences that come from it. Also: if you create a new creature out of dead body parts, don't disown him or he'll kill your family.During a trip across the Arctic, a ship picks up a starved, half-frozen man named Victor Frankenstein. As he recovers, Frankenstein tells them his life story -- especially about how he became fascinated with science, and developed a process to reanimate dead tissue. Eventually he constructs a new creature out of dead body parts, and brings him to life.But while the creature is intelligent and articulate, he's also hideously ugly. Horrified that he's not beautiful, Frankenstein flees... and has a nervous breakdown. Wimp.But months later, the murder of his little brother brings Victor back to his home, where he figures out that the creature was involved. And to his horror, the creature now wants a mate. But the loathing between them -- caused by Frankenstein's disgust and the creature's increasing bitterness -- leads to even more tragedy..."Frankenstein" is one of those rare novels that is almost beyond classification -- it's gothic horror, it's sci-fi, it's a tragedy about scientific ambition that goes where it shouldn't go. Mary Shelley was only eighteen years old when she began writing this book, but she interwove religion, science and a fiercely intelligent knowledge of human nature into it.Her writing is a bit stuffy at times ("All praises bestowed on her I received as made to a possession of my own"), but that's because it was written in the early 1800s. Despite this, Shelley's writing skills shine in the more horrific moments of the story ("I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs"), and she imbues it with a sense of painful, grimy suspense.But the complicated characters of Victor and the creature are what really make the story work. Victor is actually a pretty horrible person -- while he's a tragic figure whose unnatural ambitions end up destroying his wife, brother and father, he's also incredibly cruel and callous to the creature because... he's ugly.The creature, on the other hand, instantly gets our sympathy. He's intelligent and childlike at first, but his ugliness causes everyone to immediately hate and fear him. When him becomes embittered and eventually murderous, you still feel sorry for him.Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" is one of those few, rare horror books -- it adds a little more of that scientific gothic atmosphere to a classic tale of horror, slime and sorrow.
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Frankenstein (illustrated), by Mary Shelley
Frankenstein (illustrated), by Mary Shelley
