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A review by sjgrodsky
In Search of Mary Shelley: The Girl Who Wrote Frankenstein by Fiona Sampson
5.0
Did Mary ever regret eloping with Percy Shelley? Did she understand, finally, that the story he told her, when she was a free-thinking 16 year old (“my wife doesn’t understand me”) was the story he would tell his many lovers when she, not Harriet, was the wife?
We don’t ever get a definitive answer to these questions, but Fiona Sampson, a poet and intellectual herself, led this reader to a conclusion that rings true: Mary wanted a creative and intellectual life. She got that from Shelley, along with the other shit that she somehow accepted.
Not the choice I would have made. But I wasn’t the daughter of two free thinkers, I didn’t have a brutal cold father, I didn’t grow up in a house dominated by an unsentimental stepmother, and I didn’t write a brilliant novel when I was just 18 years old.
Maybe those of us who read and enjoy the products of creative imaginations should just be grateful that there are people out there who can write the poetry and prose we so enjoy. And maybe we should refrain from criticizing their actions and life choices, even if we would have made “smarter choices.”
As Anna Revesz (my long-departed friend) would say “Love the art, not the artist.”
We don’t ever get a definitive answer to these questions, but Fiona Sampson, a poet and intellectual herself, led this reader to a conclusion that rings true: Mary wanted a creative and intellectual life. She got that from Shelley, along with the other shit that she somehow accepted.
Not the choice I would have made. But I wasn’t the daughter of two free thinkers, I didn’t have a brutal cold father, I didn’t grow up in a house dominated by an unsentimental stepmother, and I didn’t write a brilliant novel when I was just 18 years old.
Maybe those of us who read and enjoy the products of creative imaginations should just be grateful that there are people out there who can write the poetry and prose we so enjoy. And maybe we should refrain from criticizing their actions and life choices, even if we would have made “smarter choices.”
As Anna Revesz (my long-departed friend) would say “Love the art, not the artist.”