Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein

One of the most iconic books to date.

💀 Frankenstein by Mary Shelley – Full Review
“I wanted love, but sure, pitchforks and screaming work too.”

It’s time to talk about one of the most misunderstood, misrepresented, and emotionally devastating classics in literature — Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.

Not the movie.
Not the green-skinned, bolt-headed groaner from Spirit Halloween.
We’re talking about the Frankenstein — the actual book.
And spoiler alert: it’s a tragedy first, horror second, and a slow-burn existential collapse always.

Probably too early to say this. Because this is a review and I would like you to stick around, but I just want to say this right off the bat. This book is amazing. It is an emotional Gothic story.
With the hot right term, it’s more of a tragedy. A gothic tragedy.

Mary Shelley’s Agony and Creation

Before diving into the novel itself, it’s important to remember the life behind the words. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein wasn’t born out of thin air — it came from a place of deep personal pain and loss. By the time she was a teenager, Mary had endured tragedy after tragedy: she lost her mother (the famous writer Mary Wollstonecraft) only days after her birth, suffered through the disapproval of society over her relationship with Percy Bysshe Shelley, and endured the heartbreak of losing children in infancy. These experiences of grief, alienation, and death haunted her, and they flow through every page of Frankenstein.

The famous story itself came about during a stormy summer in 1816, known as the “year without a summer,” when Mary and Percy stayed with Lord Byron in Geneva. Trapped indoors by unrelenting rain, the group challenged one another to come up with ghost stories. Out of that challenge — mixed with Mary’s grief, her interest in science, and her imagination — came the tale of Victor Frankenstein and his creation.

So when you read Frankenstein, you’re not just reading a gothic horror novel; you’re peering into Mary Shelley’s agony and resilience. The themes of life, death, abandonment, and responsibility weren’t just theoretical — they were born of her lived experience.

💔 The Tragedies Behind Mary Shelley

Before we dive into the novel itself, I think it’s important to pause and look at why Frankenstein even came to be — because this wasn’t just some random “what if I wrote a scary story” kind of deal. Mary Shelley’s entire life was steeped in tragedy, and you can feel every ounce of it bleeding through the pages of this book.

She was born into genius but also heartbreak. Her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft — one of the earliest feminist icons — died just ten days after giving birth to her. Imagine growing up with your mother’s brilliance hanging over you, but never being able to know her. Her father remarried, and Mary never really fit in with her stepmother, leaving her to feel like an outsider in her own home.

At sixteen, she ran off with Percy Bysshe Shelley — yes, that Shelley, the famous poet — who just so happened to already be married. That blew up into scandal and estrangement from her family. And life didn’t slow down. She gave birth to four children, but only one survived. The others all died in infancy or early childhood. That kind of loss doesn’t just hurt — it carves you out, leaves you hollow, and it never goes away.

Even in her marriage, she couldn’t find peace. Percy was brilliant but unfaithful, and Mary was often left isolated, nursing grief after grief. And then in 1822, Percy drowned in a boating accident at only 29, leaving Mary a widow at 24, raising their only surviving son. By then, she had already lost so many friends, seen so much talent and promise die young — including Byron not long after.

Mary herself spent much of her life in poor health, fighting depression, financial struggles, and carrying the crushing weight of memory. She died at 53 from a brain tumor. Not an old woman by any means, and certainly one who had endured more loss than most of us could imagine.

So when you read Frankenstein, you’re not just reading a gothic horror novel about a scientist and his monster. You’re reading the product of a woman who lived surrounded by death, grief, abandonment, and loss. It’s a book about what happens when life and death get twisted together — and whether you’re shaped more by nature or by nurture. It’s no wonder this story still cuts so deep over 200 years later.

And honestly, you don’t just write a story like this out of thin air. Nobody wakes up from a nap and says, “Hey, I think I’ll invent one of the greatest horror novels of all time.” No. This kind of story only comes from someone who lived through hell and carried those scars into her writing. That’s why it feels so raw, so timeless, and why Victor Frankenstein being a neglectful “parent” still hits as hard today as it did then.

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🧬 Plot Rundown (No Spoilers)

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein or as its also called The Modern Prometheus is technically about the dangers of unchecked ambition and scientific overreach, the importance of nurturing and responsibility, the destructive nature of prejudice and social rejection, and the profound consequences of isolation.

At its heart, Frankenstein isn’t about mad science or monster mayhem. It’s about unchecked ambition, rejection, and the brutal cost of creating something — then refusing to take responsibility for it.

It opens with Captain Walton, a lonely Arctic explorer writing letters to his sister. On the ice, he finds a dying man: Victor Frankenstein. What follows is Victor’s confession, a nested story within a story, peeling back how one man’s obsession gave birth to both life… and ruin.

Victor, a gifted but emotionally stunted scientist, creates life from stitched-up corpses. And the moment that “life” opens its eyes? Victor runs. He ghosts the Creature. Just full-on abandonment on Day 1.

From there, the story spirals: one about a creator who refuses to own up, and a creature who just wanted kindness but was met with violence.

It’s not a monster story.
It’s a story about how monsters are made.

One of the most overlooked truths about Frankenstein is that it’s not just a gothic horror story — it’s a tragedy about parenthood and responsibility. Victor doesn’t just “build a monster”; he essentially gives birth. The long, painful labor of stitching body parts together, the anticipation of “the spark of life” — it all reads as a metaphor for creation and childbirth. But here’s the twist: instead of nurturing what he’s brought into the world, Victor recoils in disgust and abandons it. That single act of neglect becomes the seed of every horror that follows.

One of the most heartbreaking moments in the novel comes when the creature stumbles upon an old blind man named De Lacey. And here’s the kicker: because De Lacey cannot see, he treats the creature with kindness and respect. For the first time in his miserable existence, the monster feels what it’s like to be accepted without judgment. No screams, no pitchforks, no running in terror — just simple human compassion. It’s honestly gut-punching, because of course it can’t last. The second De Lacey’s family sees the creature, all hell breaks loose, and he’s chased away yet again. But for that brief moment, he had someone who looked past the horror of his face — and it makes his later rage feel ten times more tragic.

The Creature isn’t born evil — he learns cruelty after being rejected, scorned, and left to fend for himself. The novel almost whispers that the true monster isn’t the being stitched together in the lab — it’s the failure of love and responsibility. Mary Shelley forces us to ask: what happens when a parent abandons their child? When a creator disowns their creation? The horror of Frankenstein isn’t science gone wrong, but compassion withheld.

⚰️ The Cousin Conundrum: Elizabeth and Victor’s “Romance” 😬

One detail from Mary Shelley’s original novel that often makes modern readers squirm is the relationship between Victor Frankenstein and Elizabeth Lavenza. In the book, Elizabeth isn’t just his fiancée — she’s also his cousin. Victor grows up alongside her, describing her as both “my more than sister” and the woman he plans to marry. In today’s context, that’s… yikes. It’s a dynamic that feels deeply uncomfortable now, both morally and genetically, and it’s one of those literary reminders that social norms evolve a lot over centuries.

Back in the early 1800s, however, cousin marriages were actually commonplace and socially acceptable, especially among educated or upper-class families. Limited social circles, inheritance laws, and the importance of keeping wealth or property within a family often led to marriages between cousins. So while Shelley wasn’t writing something scandalous by the standards of her time, it absolutely lands that way for modern readers — a detail that adaptations wisely tend to quietly change.

It also adds an eerie subtext to Victor’s character: this insular, self-obsessed man literally turns inward even in love, unable to see beyond his own family or his own reflection. That claustrophobic choice mirrors his later act of creating life in isolation, without outside influence or moral guidance. So while it’s undeniably uncomfortable today, the cousin-marriage element actually fits the novel’s theme — a man trapped within his own world, playing God in every sense, even in his personal relationships.

The Creature’s Blank Innocence

What makes the Creature’s existence even more unsettling is that, despite being stitched together from countless corpses, he carries no memories of the people whose bodies make him up. He isn’t a mosaic of lives past — he’s a blank slate, forced to learn speech, morality, and even loneliness as if he were a newborn. That contrast is haunting: his form is death itself, but his mind is innocence. And yet society recoils from him instantly, judging only the grotesque shell. It makes his tragedy sharper, because he wasn’t just “made” — he was abandoned with no past, no guidance, and no place in the world. This story is the ultimate tale of loneliness.

One of my favorite lines from the creature has got to be this one that he say is to his creator “I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed”

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🔭 The Monster: Book vs. Film

📖 In the book, the Creature is:

8 feet tall
Pale milky eyes.
Yellow-skinned with muscles and veins showing through
Long black hair and watery, glowing eyes
Black lips
Haunted by the knowledge that he was never wanted

And here’s the kicker — he’s articulate, philosophical, sympathetic. He reads Paradise Lost for fun and quotes it to Victor like, “You cast me out like Satan, huh? Cool. Totally not traumatic.”

🎥 In pop culture (hello, Karloff 1931):

Flat-top head
Green skin
Bolts in the neck
Groans like a hungover zombie
Reduced from tragic literary icon to Scooby-Doo-level brute

Iconic? Sure. Accurate? Not even close.
The creature isn’t scary because he’s evil — he’s scary because he’s intelligent, emotional, and hurting.

To this day, there still hasn’t been a faithful, terrifying, and emotional adaptation of the real story. And frankly? That’s the real horror here.

📍 The Real Birthplace of the Creature vs. Hollywood’s Laboratory Fantasy

In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Victor doesn’t bring his creation to life in a thunder-struck castle tower surrounded by flickering machinery — that’s pure Hollywood invention. In the actual novel, the “workshop of filthy creation,” as Victor calls it, is a cramped apartment room in Ingolstadt, Germany. It’s described with damp, oppressive imagery — candlelight, scattered instruments, and a feeling of isolation rather than spectacle. There’s no lightning storm, no grand machinery, just a man alone with his obsession and the horror of what he’s done.

Yet for decades, film adaptations have replaced that suffocating, domestic horror with gothic spectacle — giant labs, sparking coils, and elevated towers where science meets the heavens. The change makes sense cinematically: the visual drama of a tower and lightning bolts gives audiences a literal jolt. But it also shifts the story’s meaning. Shelley’s scene is intimate and grotesque — the birth of the Creature feels like a violation of nature behind closed doors. Hollywood’s version turns it into a show.

In short, Shelley gave us a scientist haunted by his creation in a dim room; Hollywood gave us a mad genius summoning life from the sky.

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👥 Character Breakdown

Victor Frankenstein
The real monster.
He creates life, instantly regrets it, and proceeds to emotionally implode for the rest of the book. Brilliant, yes. But also the human embodiment of “This is fine” while the lab burns behind him. Cowardly, selfish, and haunted — not a villain by design, but a walking cautionary tale.

Victor’s Neglect Comes Back to Haunt Him

Victor out here living his life after leaving his creation, and surprise surprise, his creation came back to bite him in his ass. That’s the brutal truth of Frankenstein. Victor wanted the glory of playing God, but none of the responsibility. He thought he could just run away, bury himself in family, school, and love, and pretend it never happened. But neglect doesn’t just disappear—it lingers, it grows, and eventually it knocks on your door. The Creature is literally the physical embodiment of Victor’s guilt and irresponsibility, returning to punish him for his arrogance. Every death, every tragedy, is basically karma whispering, “You thought you could leave and forget this? No. This is yours.”

The Creature (a.k.a. Not Frankenstein)
Let’s be clear: He isn’t the monster — he’s what happens when you build something with care, then throw it away like garbage.
He starts curious, kind, and hopeful… until humanity treats him like a walking plague. And when even his creator disowns him, that’s when the tragedy sets in. He’s not evil — just heartbroken.

Robert Walton
The guy writing letters while sailing into frostbite territory. He’s basically what Victor could’ve been if he just listened to people. He’s our window into the story and the only guy with enough sense to go, “Yeah maybe ambition isn’t worth dying cold and alone.”

Elizabeth Lavenza
Victor’s cousin-fiancée (yes, it was 1818). She’s loving, patient, and doomed. Victor treats her like a side quest, even though she’s the only good thing in his life. She represents the normal life Victor could’ve had — before he threw it away for science clout.

Henry Clerval
Victor’s bestie. He’s joyful, idealistic, and charming — the literal human opposite of Victor’s doom spiral. And he pays for it. Dearly.

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✅ Pros

Poetic and rich writing that still hits today
The Creature is one of literature’s most layered characters
Tragedy and philosophy disguised as horror
Timeless commentary on responsibility, abandonment, and playing god
Still more relevant than half the modern dystopias out there

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❌ Cons

If you want fast-paced horror… this is not your book
Victor spends a lot of time whining in the woods
Elizabeth could’ve been way more than a tragic fiancée prop
Still waiting on Hollywood to do this justice — Netflix, you listening?

Final Thoughts:

Mary Shelly is Frankenstein, isn’t about?
An actual literal monster that’s created. It’s about a being that was created. What not because he was asked to, in fact, he had no. He had no saying in that he didn’t want it to be made. He and when he was made, he was abandoned by his creator basically like a hopeless child.
He had no guidance. He only learned hate because everyone he interacted with hated him and was scared of him. It’s a story about nature versus nurture. At the core of the book.

Victor frankenstein is the ultimate deadbeat dad. He basically gave birth to the creature and said nah, I don’t want it. And that’s kind of what the story boils down to. It’s it’s basically mary shelley, asking what chance does a being have if it’s been created. And tossed away, given no chance, huh? Like I said hes the ultimate deadbeat dad, hes like one those guys who had a 1 night stance with a girl and the girl accidentally gave birth to a kid, and the guy said ehhh I dont want this.

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⭐ Final Rating
10/10
A gothic masterpiece that people still get wrong.
It’s raw, devastating, and painfully human. And it’s not about Frankenstein’s monster… it’s about the monster named Frankenstein.

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⚠️ Spoilers Ahead — Y’all Been Warned ⚠️

This is where the heartbreak really kicks in.

After being chased out of every village and rejected by everyone he meets, the Creature begs Victor for just one thing — a companion. Someone who won’t scream at his face.

Victor almost agrees… then rips up the half-built bride. Why? Because, quote: “What if they have kids?”
…Sir, YOU MADE HIM. NOW YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT THE ETHICS?

And that’s it. That’s the tipping point.

The Creature, already on edge, goes full vengeance mode. He promises to destroy everything Victor loves.
He starts with Henry. Then, on Victor and Elizabeth’s wedding night — the final blow. He kills Elizabeth. The one pure, good thing left in Victor’s world.

Did I also forget to mention Victor’s maid Justine, yeah get ready folks this ones depressing. Justine Moritz is falsely accused of murdering Victor’s younger brother, William, after a locket belonging to him is found in her pocket—planted there by the Creature. Despite her innocence, she’s convicted and executed by hanging. It’s devastating because she’s pure, kind, and loyal, yet dies for Victor’s mistake, while he stays silent and lets her take the blame.

Victor completely unravels. He hunts the Creature to the ends of the Earth, driven by obsession and guilt. And where does he end up? On a slab of ice in the Arctic. Dying alone. Regret echoing in his last breath.

Then the Creature shows up.

Not to gloat. Not to kill anyone else.
He cries over Victor’s body.
He weeps for his creator — the man who ruined him.

And then… he vanishes.
He says he’ll build a funeral pyre and burn himself alive. Because there’s nothing left for him.
No hope. No future.
Just cold. The sad irony is by the end of the book the creature ends up showing more human emotions and care then Victor ever did. This truly is a depressing book, but its why the book resonates with so many people like me to this day, at its core its a story about neglect and abandonment.

The Creature as a Newborn Mind in a Hostile World

One of the most important ways to understand Frankenstein’s Creature is to strip away the “monster” label and recognize him for what he really is: a newborn in a full-grown body. He comes into the world with no language, no guidance, and no context—only raw sensation. Like an infant, his brain is a blank slate, soaking up everything around him. The tragedy is that the only lessons he receives are rejection, violence, and disgust.

Imagine a child whose very first experiences are not comfort or protection, but fear and hatred. That kind of conditioning wires the mind to assume that cruelty is the natural state of the world. For the Creature, every sneer, every scream, every thrown stone became a permanent impression. So instead of developing trust or hope, he learned suspicion, bitterness, and rage.

This is why his loneliness cuts so deeply. He isn’t evil by birth—he is desperate for even a single guide, a caretaker who might have shown him the beauty of life instead of its cruelty. Without that compass, his immense intelligence was poisoned by despair. When society slammed every door in his face, it left him with only one conclusion: that life itself had no place for him except through vengeance.

In this sense, the Creature is less a gothic monster and more a case study in what happens when nurture completely fails. He needed what every newborn needs—patience, compassion, and someone to teach him how to be human. He never got that, and the cost was catastrophic.

Victor Frankenstein: The Man Who Never Owns His Mistakes

What makes Victor such a frustrating and tragic character is that he never truly takes accountability for his actions. From the very moment the Creature opens his eyes, Victor recoils in horror and runs away. He doesn’t pause to consider his role as a creator, mentor, or even a moral guide—he just abandons the being he made. That initial refusal sets the tone for the rest of the novel.

Victor convinces himself that the Creature is inherently evil, ignoring that its violence stems directly from his neglect. When William, Henry, and Elizabeth die, Victor grieves but never admits: I caused this because I shirked responsibility. Instead, he shifts blame entirely onto the Creature, as if the tragedy were random cruelty dropped into his life, not the direct consequence of his own arrogance.

Why doesn’t he take accountability? Because it would mean admitting his own hubris—that he tampered with life itself without foresight or compassion. Victor is so obsessed with being a tragic hero, the noble hunter of a fiend, that he clings to self-righteousness to the bitter end. Owning the truth—that his ambition and neglect birthed this misery—would shatter the image he holds of himself.

That’s why Victor is ultimately the more monstrous figure than the Creature. The Creature knows he has become corrupt and even mourns it. Victor, on the other hand, dies without ever admitting fault. His legacy isn’t scientific brilliance—it’s a cautionary tale about unchecked ambition and the danger of refusing to grow.

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The Creature’s Self-Awareness vs. Victor’s Denial

The contrast between Victor and his creation couldn’t be sharper. The Creature, abandoned and mistreated, still longs for love, guidance, and connection. When he pleads with Victor for a companion, it isn’t about conquest or destruction—it’s about desperately holding on to the last thread of his humanity. He understands the darkness growing inside him and even warns Victor: If you do not grant me this kindness, I will become the monster you already believe me to be. That’s self-awareness.

Victor, however, never reaches that level of honesty. Even as the bodies pile up, he insists that the Creature is nothing but evil, refusing to acknowledge the role his own neglect played in shaping that outcome. The Creature recognizes his sins and weeps over them at the end of the book; Victor dies still clutching his righteousness.

This imbalance is what makes Frankenstein more than a simple monster tale. It’s not about a beast who became evil—it’s about a man who refused to own his mistakes, and a creation who, despite all his suffering, had more humanity than his maker.

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🧨 Other Things to Mention

Elizabeth’s death isn’t just shocking — it’s cruelly symbolic. Victor swore to protect her, but his choices literally invite the tragedy into their honeymoon.
Walton serves as the only character who actually listens and backs away from doom. A rare win.
The Creature’s line about being “born benevolent” but made a monster? Hits harder than most modern scripts.

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🗳️ Final Thoughts

Frankenstein isn’t a scary story.
It’s a sad one.
It’s about what happens when you make something and refuse to care for it. When you abandon something simply because it didn’t meet your expectations.

The real horror isn’t the Creature.

It’s that he was never given a chance.

Let me know if you’d like to post this now, bundle it with your future Frankenstein adaptation reviews, or save it for Halloween season — honestly, this thing is timeless.