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A review by will___to___flower
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
5.0
“The fallen Angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.”
Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus is one of those books that you’re presuppositions of fantastically campy horror tropes of the movie—during the former half of the 20th century—clouds your ability to want to pick up the book. Is the book really this campy, surreally stupid? And that answer is no; it is a mature, dark, and profoundly spectacular work of preliminary science-fiction.
Shelley was a seamstress of words, sewing her prose like a master artisan in a local bazaar teaming with life. She flexes her ability to throw such beautifully coherent language at us without confusing or stumbling our way through the entire book. She offers such a whimsically beautiful take on the state of nature and being that it perfectly captures what English Romanticism was about: nature.
Shelley asks philosophical questions that still need answering today; questions of what makes a man? What qualifies as God? etc., etc. are beautiful and clearly displayed in spades shown in the magnificence and eloquence of Shelley’s writing. She is one of the best English writers to bless us in the entire corpus of literature, and her work need not be overshadowed by its immensity of impact on literature later. Do not skip!
Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus is one of those books that you’re presuppositions of fantastically campy horror tropes of the movie—during the former half of the 20th century—clouds your ability to want to pick up the book. Is the book really this campy, surreally stupid? And that answer is no; it is a mature, dark, and profoundly spectacular work of preliminary science-fiction.
Shelley was a seamstress of words, sewing her prose like a master artisan in a local bazaar teaming with life. She flexes her ability to throw such beautifully coherent language at us without confusing or stumbling our way through the entire book. She offers such a whimsically beautiful take on the state of nature and being that it perfectly captures what English Romanticism was about: nature.
Shelley asks philosophical questions that still need answering today; questions of what makes a man? What qualifies as God? etc., etc. are beautiful and clearly displayed in spades shown in the magnificence and eloquence of Shelley’s writing. She is one of the best English writers to bless us in the entire corpus of literature, and her work need not be overshadowed by its immensity of impact on literature later. Do not skip!