Frankenstein (Annotated Keynote Classics)

By Mary Shelley and Michelle M. White

A young idealistic student neglects his family and friends for an obsessive quest to harness the power of life itself. Victor Frankenstein's desperate struggle to escape the unintended consequences of his success comes to take over his life. Mary Shelley's novel is more than the horror story o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Keynote Classics
• Release date: Sep 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781949611298

Mary Shelley

Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin was born in 1797, the daughter of two of the leading radical writers of the age. Her mother died just days after her birth and she was educated at home by her father and encouraged in literary pursuits. She eloped with and subsequently married the Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, but their life together was full of hardship. The couple were ruined by disapproving parents and Mary lost three of her four children. Although its subject matter was extremely dark, her first novel Frankenstein (1818) was an instant sensation. Subsequent works such as Mathilda (1819), Valperga (1823) and The Last Man (1826) were less successful but are now finally receiving the critical acclaim that they deserve.

Book preview

Frankenstein_(Annotated_Keynote_Classics)_Ecover.jpg

Also available from

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

The Awakening by Kate Chopin

The Call of the Wild by Jack London

Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen

The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane

The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

For a complete list of titles and where to purchase them see

KeynoteClassics.com

FRANKENSTEIN

or The Modern Prometheus

MARY

Wollstonecraft (Godwin)

SHELLEY

With Annotations by

Michelle M. White

Table of Contents

Introductory Key to Frankenstein

FRANKENSTEIN

or The Modern Prometheus

Changes from the 1818 Edition

Topics for Discussion or Essays

Major Works of Mary Shelley

Bibliography

Introductory Key to

Frankenstein

or The Modern Prometheus

If you’re expecting the Frankenstein you’ve heard about or seen in the movies, you will be surprised by this book. You may also be surprised to know that this perennial favorite was written over two hundred years ago by a pregnant, unmarried, teenage runaway. Despite her youth, Mary Shelley had already experienced a lot of heartbreak and disappointment in her life. She was determined and well educated, and during difficult times she often turned to writing for solace. She drew on her literary upbringing and pondered deep philosophical questions while pouring her torment onto the page. Having some background about Mary Shelley’s life and experiences in the early nineteenth century in western Europe will reveal interesting connections between her life and the novel. On the surface, you will find an entertaining and suspenseful Gothic thriller, but with a little insight, you should be able to read more deeply and discover some intriguing layers of meaning. This introductory key will provide some clues about themes and symbols to watch for so that you can understand and discuss or write more perceptively about the text.

Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin was born in London in 1797, and it seemed from the start that she was destined to a writing life. Her parents were both famous, radical, free-thinkers, who rejected eighteenth century social standards and believed in free love. When her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, became pregnant with her, she already had a three-year-old daughter from a previous relationship. Mary’s father, William Godwin, was a journalist and philosopher who promoted radical ideas about social freedom, atheism, and anarchy. An Enquiry Concerning Political Justice is one of his most famous works. Mary Wollstonecraft, also a successful writer, is one of the earliest feminists and wrote A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, in which she argued strongly for the fair and equal education of girls. Tragically, she never had the chance to educate her own daughters because only ten days after little Mary was born, she died of complications from the birth.

Godwin later married another single mother and found himself with a family of five children, none of whom had the same two parents. Mary and her half-sister Fanny felt unfairly treated by their domineering step-mother in this blended family. Godwin and his wife, Mary Jane, shared the belief that giving children a strong educational foundation of reason and morality would lead to liberty and justice in the world. They were pioneers in juvenile literature, and they raised their children in and around their publishing house and bookstore, M.J. Godwin & Co., with close ties to the literary community. Mary grew up studying the classics and political philosophy and developed a love for Gothic literature. At the age of sixteen, she met the handsome, free-spirited Romantic poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley, a young protégé of her father. They fell in love despite the fact that Percy had a wife, Harriet, a daughter, and another child on the way. Because of her father’s belief in free love, the young couple expected his blessing when they ran away to Europe together, taking Mary’s younger step-sister, Claire, with them. Godwin, however, did not accept this scandalous choice and cut off all communication with his daughter.

Over the next two years, Mary, Percy, and Claire went on the adventure of their lifetimes, experiencing both the profound joy of freedom and the tragedy of loss. Percy’s wealthy father, a baron, had disinherited him when he married Harriet, but Percy was well-known enough to borrow money to fund their travels in France, Italy, and Switzerland. One of their close friends was the notoriously flamboyant poet, Lord Byron. Byron and Percy would often take off on long trips and leave Mary and Claire alone with little money to scrape by. The unpredictable Percy was at times wild and romantic and at times dark and brooding. Mary’s enchantment with this adventure abroad was short lived. Without the option of birth control, pregnancy and childbirth soon became central to her life. When Mary was only eighteen, her first daughter, Clara, was born prematurely and tragically died a month later. However, a second child was born soon after. She him named William after her father, possibly in an attempt to appease him, as they were still estranged. During this year of free love, Claire also became pregnant after an affair with Lord Byron.

It was while visiting with Lord Byron at his villa on the shores of Lake Geneva, Switzerland, that inspiration for Frankenstein first took hold in Mary’s imagination. The group of friends, including Mary, Claire, Percy, Byron, and Byron’s friend, Dr. John Polidori, were holed up indoors, riding out a stretch of stormy summer weather. They passed the time with deep discussions about things like religion and philosophy. They talked about new scientific discoveries, like dynamism, which was exhibited in a popular traveling show in which scientists applied electric shocks to corpses, making them jump and twitch for horrified audiences. The creative group of young artists also read ghost stories aloud, trying to outdo one another with frightening tales. It was here, in this dark villa, where the seeds of Frankenstein’s monster were sown. You will read all about this fateful night in the introduction that Mary wrote for the 1831 edition of the novel.

Mary wrote her masterpiece over the course of the following year while struggling through overwhelming sorrow and difficulty. She took on the responsibility of supporting Claire and her child when Lord Byron rejected them. She received word that her sister, Fanny, had committed suicide, and shortly after that, Percy’s deserted wife, Harriet, who was pregnant again, had also killed herself. Percy tried to get custody of his two children with Harriet, but despite the fact that he and Mary got married to give legitimacy to their home, his notoriously disreputable lifestyle caused the court to rule that the children remain with Harriet’s family. Soon after, Mary became pregnant for a third time. Given the loss of her first child, the fact that William was only a year old and not in good health, and the high risk involved in pregnancy and childbirth in the nineteenth century, this was a very worrisome time for Mary. One silver lining was that, since Percy and Mary had gotten married, Mary’s father finally accepted her back into his life. By the end of this eventful year Mary’s third child, Clara Evernia, was born, and her first novel, Frankenstein, was completed. Before it was finally published, Mary and Percy compiled their diaries and together wrote History of a Six Weeks Tour about their journey through France, Switzerland, Germany, and Holland. Strong and determined young Mary managed all of this in a span of just a few months while caring for her newborn and toddler.

Frankenstein was first rejected by two publishers but was finally published in 1818 by Lakington, Allen & Co. in London. They stipulated that the author would remain anonymous, and Percy was to write the preface. It was thought that no one would buy such a dark novel knowing it was written by a woman, and being associated with the well-known name of Percy Bysshe Shelley would increase sales. In fact, many speculated that the novel was actually written by Percy. At first, it was met with a mixed reception. Critics denounced it because they found it lacking a moral lesson; nevertheless, it’s excellence stood for itself, and it showed good sales and soon became well-known.

Unfortunately, Mary’s foreboding proved prescient, and her tragic losses were not yet over. Her baby girl, Clara, only lived one year, and six months later, her precious three-year-old, William, died. However, her son, Percy Florence was born soon after, destined to be the one child who survived and outlived his long-suffering mother. At only twenty-five years old, Mary lost the love of her life; her husband Percy was drowned at sea off the coast of Italy. His body was burned in a funeral pyre on the beach where it had washed up, and as befits a Romantic Gothic novelist, Mary kept the charred remains of his heart. When she died at the age of 53, it was found among her things, wrapped in one of Percy’s love poems to her.

Mary returned to England in 1823, dejected and alone but determined to make a life for herself and her little boy. She was pleasantly surprised to see the popularity of her novel. Her story was adapted for the English Opera House, the first of many performances and film adaptations. People everywhere seemed to be talking about it. Without modern copyright laws, Frankenstein was altered in endless ways for the stage. Her creation had taken on a life of his own.

In many modern adaptations, Frankenstein becomes the name of the creature rather than its creator. This reflects a device often used in literature called the double, in which writers create two characters who have similar and opposing characteristics. Duality is often used to show us important points about human nature. As you read the novel, you can make this comparison, finding doubles in the story in addition to Frankenstein and the creature. This is just one of the many things you can look for to find meaning beneath the surface of the story.

The first thing you may notice is the subtitle, or The Modern Prometheus. In Greek mythology, Prometheus was a titan made from clay who stole fire from the Gods and gave it to man, enabling progress and civilization. To punish Prometheus, Zeus bound him to a rock, where an eagle eats his liver every day, and every night it grows back (the liver was seen as the seat of all emotions). Prometheus represents humanity’s quest for knowledge without regard for the risk of unintended consequences. Knowing this will point you to one of the main themes in Frankenstein. Think about how some of the characters pursue knowledge. What drives them in these quests? Think about their goals, whether they succeed in accomplishing them, and what the unintended consequences are.

In the early nineteenth century, western European society was experiencing profound consequences of the pursuit of progress. The Age of Enlightenment and the French Revolution brought new ideas, and change was happening at an unprecedented pace. There were explorations to the ends of the earth, and new inventions, factories, and railroads seemed to be multiplying. Work that previously took many people and a lot of time was now done quickly and efficiently by machines. This created hope for a better future, but with it came anxiety, and there was great fear regarding the loss of morality. Scientific discoveries about the workings of the human body raised questions about the nature of the soul. You will find many of these themes explored in Frankenstein. Like scientific discoveries and human progress, this story unfolds in many layers. The entire novel is enveloped within the letters, introduced on the first page, written by an Arctic explorer. See if you can recognize other layers, and consider what the author may be saying through this literary device called framing.

While the novel starts out in the far-away Arctic, most of the action takes place in and around polite society. This was a unique form for Gothic novels in its time, which were usually set in otherworldly places like castles or dungeons and were about mysterious beings like ghosts or frightening hallucinations. The flesh and blood reality of Frankenstein’s creature made Mary’s novel a trailblazer in its time. It was the age of Romantic literature, and while Frankenstein is considered Gothic Romance, it is different from the modern genre of the romance novel. A main theme in Romanticism is the question of feelings vs. reason; what drives the choices people make? Romantic literature is centered around the forces of nature and the idea that nature is perfect and man is flawed. As you read, pay attention to how an outdoor setting affects the mood of both the scene and the individual characters. How is nature used to present a message? When you read long descriptions of natural scenery, think about how the symbolism might parallel the thoughts and feelings of the narrator. Like the Romantic poets of her day, including John Keats, Lord Byron, and her husband, Mary Shelley uses highly descriptive imagery to highlight extreme emotions. Natural scenery like mountains can represent things like aspiration, obstacles, or the heights of achievement. Similarly, the sunrise, a thunderstorm, or a change in weather can be read as important symbols. If you watch for symbols like this you’ll find the depth of the story more compelling.

Most novels of this time period contained a lesson in morality. The Romantic protagonist was usually at odds with society, which you’ll find reflected in some of the characters in Frankenstein. There are many dynamic characters who change as the story proceeds. They may grow and learn, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. Consider how these changes happen and what it means to the overall action of the novel. Do their motivations or choices evolve, and if so, what is the cause? Romantic literature is also often about the relationships between people, families, and society. Notice scenes in which characters are alone that may be significant. How do personal connections or the lack of them affect the actions, choices, and feelings of the characters?

As you notice some of the things mentioned in this Introductory Key, highlight passages and make notes in the margins. It is important in understanding literature that you engage with the text. If you notice a recurring symbol or idea, jot it down and underline the section. This book has wide margins so that you have room for notes. If you see sections that have similar or opposing ideas, use colored sticky notes or highlighters, so you can come back to them later. When you write about literature, it is critical that you back up your ideas with direct quotes from the piece, and these notes can help you to defend your thesis. Even if you’re just reading for pleasure, jotting down your observations and noting interesting connections will enable you to organize your thoughts and help you remember what you read.

The original Frankenstein or The Modern Prometheus was published in 1818. The version included in this book is taken from the edition that was republished in 1831. At the request of her publisher, Mary Shelley added an introduction discussing how she came to write the novel, which you will read in the following pages. A list of some of the things that were changed for the 1831 edition is at the end of this book, placed there to avoid giving away any spoilers. Frankenstein was only the first of many novels written by Mary Shelley, but all of her subsequent works were destined to carry the tagline, "by the author of Frankenstein."

FRANKENSTEIN

or The Modern Prometheus

MARY

Wollstonecraft (Godwin)

SHELLEY

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay

To mould me man? Did I solicit thee

From darkness to promote me?

¹

~ John Milton, Paradise Lost

Author’s Introduction

The Publishers of the Standard Novels, in selecting Frankenstein for one of their series, expressed a wish that I should furnish them with some account of the origin of the story. I am the more willing to comply, because I shall thus give a general answer to the question, so very frequently asked me—How I, when a young girl, came to think of, and to dilate upon, so very hideous an idea? It is true that I am very averse to bringing myself forward in print; but as my account will only appear as an appendage to a former production, and as it will be confined to such topics as have connection with my authorship alone, I can scarcely accuse myself of a personal intrusion.

It is not singular that, as the daughter of two persons of distinguished literary celebrity, I should very early in life have thought of writing. As a child I scribbled; and my favourite pastime, during the hours given me for recreation, was to write stories. Still I had a dearer pleasure than this, which was the formation of castles in the air—the indulging in waking dreams—the following up trains of thought, which had for their subject the formation of a succession of imaginary incidents. My dreams were at once more fantastic and agreeable than my writings. In the latter I was a close imitator—rather doing as others had done, than putting down the suggestions of my own mind. What I wrote was intended at least for one other eye—my childhood’s companion and friend; but my dreams were all my own; I accounted for them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed—my dearest pleasure when free.

I lived principally in the country as a girl, and passed a considerable time in Scotland. I made occasional visits to the more picturesque parts; but my habitual residence was on the blank and dreary northern shores of the Tay, near Dundee. Blank and dreary on retrospection I call them; they were not so to me then. They were the eyry of freedom, and the pleasant region where unheeded I could commune with the creatures of my fancy. I wrote then—but in a most common-place style. It was beneath the trees of the grounds belonging to our house, or on the bleak sides of the woodless mountains near, that my true compositions, the airy flights of my imagination, were born and fostered. I did not make myself the heroine of my tales. Life appeared to me too common-place an affair as regarded myself. I could not figure to myself that romantic woes or wonderful events would ever be my lot; but I was not confined to my own identity, and I could people the hours with creations far more interesting to me at that age, than my own sensations.

After this my life became busier, and reality stood in place of fiction. My husband, however, was from the first, very anxious that I should prove myself worthy of my parentage, and enrol myself on the page of fame. He was for ever inciting me to obtain literary reputation, which even on my own part I cared for then, though since I have become infinitely indifferent to it. At this time he desired that I should write, not so much with the idea that I could produce any thing worthy of notice, but that he might himself judge how far I possessed the promise of better things hereafter. Still I did nothing. Travelling, and the cares of a family, occupied my time; and study, in the way of reading, or improving my ideas in communication with his far more cultivated mind, was all of literary employment that engaged my attention.

In the summer of 1816, we visited Switzerland, and became the neighbours of Lord Byron. At first we spent our pleasant hours on the lake, or wandering on its shores; and Lord Byron, who was writing the third canto of Childe Harold, was the only one among us who put his thoughts upon paper. These, as he brought them successively to us, clothed in all the light and harmony of poetry, seemed to stamp as divine the glories of heaven and earth, whose influences we partook with him.

But it proved a wet, ungenial summer, and incessant rain often confined us for days to the house. Some volumes of ghost stories, translated from the German into French, fell into our hands. There was the History of the Inconstant Lover, who, when he thought to clasp the bride to whom he had pledged his vows, found himself in the arms of the pale ghost of her whom he had deserted. There was the tale of the sinful founder of his race, whose miserable doom it was to bestow the kiss of death on all the younger sons of his fated house, just when they reached the age of promise. His gigantic, shadowy form, clothed like the ghost in Hamlet, in complete armour, but with the beaver up, was seen at midnight, by the moon’s fitful beams, to advance slowly along the gloomy avenue. The shape was lost beneath the shadow of the castle walls; but soon a gate swung back, a step was heard, the door of the chamber opened, and he advanced to the couch of the blooming youths, cradled in healthy sleep. Eternal sorrow sat upon his face as he bent down and kissed the forehead of the boys, who from that hour withered like flowers snapt upon the stalk. I have not seen these stories since then; but their incidents are as fresh in my mind as if I had read them yesterday.

We will each write a ghost story, said Lord Byron; and his proposition was acceded to. There were four of us. The noble author began a tale, a fragment of which he printed at the end of his poem of Mazeppa. Shelley, more apt to embody ideas and sentiments in the radiance of brilliant imagery, and in the music of the most melodious verse that adorns our language, than to invent the machinery of a story, commenced one founded on the experiences of his early life. Poor Polidori had some terrible idea about a skull-headed lady, who was so punished for peeping through a key-hole—what to see I forget—something very shocking and wrong of course; but when she was reduced to a worse condition than the renowned Tom of Coventry,² he did not know what to do with her, and was obliged to despatch her to the tomb of the Capulets, the only place for which she was fitted.³ The illustrious poets also, annoyed by the platitude of prose, speedily relinquished their uncongenial task.

I busied myself to think of a story,—a story to rival those which had excited us to this task. One which would speak to the mysterious fears of our nature, and awaken thrilling horror—one to make the reader dread to look round, to curdle the blood, and quicken the beatings of the heart. If I did not accomplish these things, my ghost story would be unworthy of its name. I thought and pondered—vainly. I felt that blank incapability of invention which is the greatest misery of authorship, when dull Nothing replies to our anxious invocations. Have you thought of a story? I was asked each morning, and each morning I was forced to reply with a mortifying negative.

Every thing must have a beginning, to speak in Sanchean phrase; and that beginning must be linked to something that went before.⁴ The Hindoos give the world an elephant to support it, but they make the elephant stand upon a tortoise. Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos; the materials must, in the first place, be afforded: it can give form to dark, shapeless substances, but cannot bring into being the substance itself. In all matters of discovery and invention, even of those that appertain to the imagination, we are continually reminded of the story of Columbus and his egg.⁵ Invention consists in the capacity of seizing on the capabilities of a subject, and in the power of moulding and fashioning ideas suggested to it.

Many and long were the conversations between Lord Byron and Shelley, to which I was a devout but nearly silent listener. During one of these, various philosophical doctrines were discussed, and among others the nature