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Frankenstein
Frankenstein
Frankenstein
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Frankenstein

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

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Few creatures of horror have seized readers' imaginations and held them for so long as the anguished monster of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. The story of Victor Frankenstein's terrible creation and the havoc it caused has enthralled generations of readers and inspired countless writers of horror and suspense. Considering the novel's enduring success, it is remarkable that it began merely as a whim of Lord Byron's.
"We will each write a story," Byron announced to his next-door neighbors, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin and her lover Percy Bysshe Shelley. The friends were summering on the shores of Lake Geneva in Switzerland in 1816, Shelley still unknown as a poet and Byron writing the third canto of Childe Harold. When continued rains kept them confined indoors, all agreed to Byron's proposal.
The illustrious poets failed to complete their ghost stories, but Mary Shelley rose supremely to the challenge. With Frankenstein, she succeeded admirably in the task she set for herself: to create a story that, in her own words, "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."

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 3, 2013
ISBN9780486784755
Author

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.

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Reviews for Frankenstein

Rating: 3.8735632183908044 out of 5 stars
4/5

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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A chilling tale! I read this in high school, which was a while ago, but even thinking about it now gives me the creeps.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    It's a wonderful, intense and superbly written novel.Don't be afraid to read it even if you don't like the genre.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Considered by many to be the first science fiction novel.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I love this book so much more than any of the movie adaptations I've ever seen (actually, for anyone seeking horror and thrill in a story, this may be a huge disappointment), but in comparison to other novels of that genre and time period it's far from being flawless.I love the ideas in this story - the idea that one has to take responsibility for their creations, the idea that a being can be as gentle and good as a lamb, it will inevitably become a monster if it experiences nothing but rejection, the idea that just because something is scientifically possible doesn't mean that it should be done. Despite all the Romantic dressing up in this novel that makes it very clearly a product of its age, these premises are still modern and relevant.My gripe is with the characters. I'm aware that this is probably the 21st century reader in me, but - gods almighty, that Victor is a pathetic, self-absorbed piece of selfpity, full of "woe is me", much more fixated on his own emotions and tragic history than on the danger he has released carelessly on the world and without much reflection about his own role in this disaster. All his relationships seem shallow and superficial, and the only woman with a meaningful role in the story gets classically fridged to give him the final push.One day I'll have to read an adaptation from the wretch's point of view. His actions, reactions and justifications seem so much more interesting than Victor's.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.
    I have to admit, I was somewhat weary of this book. Despite its short page count, it is very wordy and has long, large paragraphs, and that made the prospect of reading this rather daunting. However, I swallowed my pride and did it, and was greatly rewarded.

    I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.
    Frankenstein and his creature are both so interesting and complex; they're also both so pitiful. So much of their anguish and sorrow could have been avoided if not for human pride. They are both agents of horror and destruction in both action and inaction, and that made for a really interesting story.

    Besides that, it's extremely quotable.

    Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.
    I was amazed at how Hollywood has continuously gotten the story wrong, so much so that this book felt entirely unique and the twists were effective. I don't know whether I should scorn or love Hollywood for their utter failure to accurately adapt this book into a faithful film. On one hand, this book deserves a great movie. On the other, the plot integrity of a very old book was maintained. The television show Penny Dreadful had a Frankenstein story line that was remarkably close to the source material considering, and the few big changes it made were justified in the larger story.

    I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.
    The themes in this were amazing! I love complex characters and dark, ambiguous morality in my literature. To be completely honest, I sympathized with Frankenstein way more than the monster, which I hadn't thought I would going into it. I loved both characters though.

    Overall, it's a great book with an awesome story, and everyone should read it.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Why did I wait so long to read this? An excellent novel and highly recommended. Wonderful.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    It has taken me decades, but I finally read this classic horror novel. I have no excuse for the procrastination, but it turned out to be a nice surprise because it is much different from the movies, we are so familiar with. The films and vampire lore surrounding Dracula, seem to have followed closely to that novel, but Shelley's Frankenstein is a much more philosophical exploration, asking big questions about nature, mankind and our different responsibilities to each. This is even more impressive if you consider that the author was only eighteen when she wrote it. If you are still perched on a fence, over this one, reconsider, and give it a try. It also worked very well as an audiobook.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    I didn't finish this story, perhaps because I'd tired of Victorian/Gothic fiction by the time I'd started reading this novel. Perhaps, it was because I hadn't expected a frame story about how the hedonistic Dr. Frankenstein created a person on whim, abandoned him, and refused to take responsibility even as his creation showed an infantile inability to move on from his traumatic rebirth without guidance.

    Half-way through the story, I was rooting for someone to shove the doctor off a cliff and help Frankenstein's monster to become a self-sufficient man. I doubt the end is that cheerful.

    There is a strong possibility that this story can be a trigger from adults who'd suffered neglect and abandonment in childhood. I appreciate that Shelley wrote a story that can elicit strong emotions through its plot, but it was too difficult to continue at times. I felt that too much of the story was told from Dr. Frankenstein's point of view (POV), making the section from the unnamed monster's POV more painful.

    One day, I'll try reading all the way through with different expectations.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I'm not sure how I went this long without reading Frankenstein (or Dracula, which is still on my TBR list). Of course I'd heard about the story, and thought that I knew the basics of it (apparently I knew more about the movies than the book), and since it's October and Halloween is fast approaching, I thought that I'd find a creepy read.Instead, I found myself getting weepy over Frankenstein's creation. Frankenstein is a total dick, and I find it impossible to really feel anything for him except a vague disgust. Frankenstein spends years crafting his creation, and as SOON as his creation is animated, he is repulsed by him. Having brought this creation to life, with him knowing nothing about life or humans or anything, completely dependent on his creator for care, Frankenstein abandons him - FOR TWO YEARS. TWO FREAKING YEARS. Meanwhile, this poor creation is thrust into a world he does not and cannot possibly understand. He doesn't even understand hunger or thirst, much less how to speak or express his needs. All the creation longs for is acceptance; instead, he finds only horror. Every time he tries to help people in an attempt to win their favor, he's shot or beaten or hated. Is it any wonder that he becomes full of rage and turns that against his creator, whom he blames for bringing him to "life" and then abandoning him in a cruel world? I do feel sorry for the characters that are hurt because of their association with Frankenstein, but Frankenstein himself? Meh. In spite of never being formally educated, the creation is quite smart (having taught himself language and reason by observing, studying his neighbors circumspectly, and reading a few books he found abandoned) and totally calls out Frankenstein for his dickish behavior, and I enjoyed this part the most. And I hated how remorseful the creation was when Frankenstein dies, because I really wanted him to just say "fuck this hoe" and leave. Altogether, this wasn't what I expected it to be - and I'm glad for that. Three stars because I still feel we're suppose to sympathize a bit with Frankenstein, and I just can't. CANNOT.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I haven't read this since high school so it felt like I was reading it for the first time. There was so much more here than I remembered, both in plot and in ideas. Well worth a re-read.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I can understand all the love I hear for this book. It is writing is eloquent and you can fell the time period the author is from. Sadly, this extreme difference is noticed because of how many (terrible) writing styles there are in this day. I cant say much that is not already said about this book. If you are someone who enjoys very well written art, this is for you. Writing style is not what I judge highly, as long as I can feel what the characters are feeling and see what they have seen, I enjoy a book. As for the person who wrote that Hollywood got it terribly wrong, they did. I listened to this on audio book (amazing reader btw, George Guidall is brilliant -I loved his audio reading of The Ear, The Eye, and The Arm By: Nancy Farmer.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Read this in high school and loved it, I still love it, such a brilliant mine to come up with the characters and story.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I've had Frankenstein on my to read list for years. This summer, my 14 yr. old niece was telling me about how it's her favorite book, so I decided to bump it up the pile and read it. I will be very interested to talk to her about this book. I really didn't like it. It is a miserable story and it makes me wonder whether anything could have been different, if, for example, Frankenstein had been kind to his monster? Everyone dies, everyone is unhappy, and it's so pathetically sad that any creepy factor gets totally lost. Sigh. I never thought I'd say that I liked Dracula better, but I did. I liked Dracula better.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
     I had to read Frankenstein as required reading my senior year of high school and I loved it. It was just the right amount of suspense, creepiness, and some big questions of morality. Reading this one also clarified any misconceptions I had about who was who - Frankenstein is Frankenstein, not his monster, and he does some pretty insane things pushing the boundaries between life and death in his obsession to bring back the one he loves. I found this fascinating and couldn't put the book down. It, for the most part, is close to the level of my love for Dracula.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A fairly quick read, and enjoyable.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This book surprised me. Neither Dr. Frankenstein or his monster were anything like what I expected from their pop-cultural portrayal. Dr. Frankenstein is far from a mad scientist, and the monster is not entirely a victim, or all that sympathetic in my opinion. How to view the pair seems to be very much at the discretion of the reader. Considered a cautionary tale about science going too far, that is also something for the reader to think about, and decide if that really was the case.On the actual text, this edition features a preface written by Percy Shelley. Don't let it scare you, Mary's writing is much easier to get through. ;). The actual text is shorter than it looks, with about 1/3rd of the book being supplemental material.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    The Good: The quality of this story, in terms of the ideas it contains and the philosophical musings it provokes, is far greater than that of the various movie versions.The Bad: The quality of the writing is not always equal to the quality of the story. This is very much a book written by a relatively young woman, trying to impress a literary scene with her abilities. The dialogue is very weak at times, and there are strange moments when Frankenstein collapses into a fever that last months and months, just to give his creation time to explore the world he finds himself in.The Ugly: Yes, the creature is ugly and terrible, but also very, very interesting. This thinking, moralising monster is much more worthy of our attention than the giant imbecile that haunts the cinema. Reading the story, one also wonders if the general public (or the press) has it right in describing genetically modified food as 'Frankenfoods'. The monster is only evil when he suffers the evil of society around him; he has an overwhelming capacity for love and for good.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Summary: Victor Frankenstein, the son of a wealthy Geneva family, was encouraged in his pursuit of the study of the natural sciences, and from his reading gleans the idea of creating life from non-life. So he builds a creature from human body parts, and animates it, and is then struck by the horror of what he's done, during which time the monster escapes. It soon learns that it is monstrous, and by hiding in a shed near a house with a family, learns language. It vows vengeance on Frankenstein, for creating it and abandoning it, and proceeds to kill those that Frankenstein loves, and to destroy his every chance for happiness.Review: This was a really fascinating read, and made for a surprisingly intense discussion at book club. I'd grown up with the pop-culture monster image in my head, and I knew enough to know that Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster (although does his behavior make him the one that's truly monstrous? Discuss.), but I'd never before read the actual book. I was surprised how much of it doesn't match the Hollywood version, and by how much of it's from the monster's point of view - he's very articulate, which surprised me.The prose was really pretty dense - no point in saying once what you can say three times with a bunch of adjectives, I guess - and there was a lot of wailing and (metaphorical) gnashing of teeth and rending of garments, which got a little bit (a lot, actually) tiring. But I liked that it could be read on a number of levels - as a horror story, as a story about scientific ethics, as a story about the human condition and what it really means to be human, so that was all great. I also entertained myself as I was listening by seeing how far I could carry my theory that Frankenstein himself actually was murdering all those people - several times throughout the novel he goes into fits and has a fever from which he doesn't recover for several weeks, and when he does, someone else close to him is dead. It doesn't quite hold up throughout the entire story, but I thought it made an interesting possibility. 3.5 out of 5 stars.Recommendation: I didn't love it, but it's absolutely worth reading, both to get the real scoop on the mad-scientist cliche, and to provide lots of really interesting possibilities for debate with others.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I wanted to like this book more than I did. The story of Frankenstein is in pop-culture enough that I knew pretty well what the book was about. What I didn't expect was how pathetic Frankenstein is, whining about everything and taking almost no responsibility for his own thoughts and actions. He gets awfully dramatic about his early education, as if he could really blame one conversation in his youth for his entire adult obsession over making his monster. Similarly, the monster seems incapable of taking responsibility for his choices and actions, even after he has become the articulate, intelligent creature he is when he starts killing people. I suppose if Frankenstein is a restrained sociopath, and Frankenstein is an expression of his repressed fantasies, maybe it makes some sense, but since Frankenstein narrates most of the story (in his whining style) I found this book to be a slow and not-so enjoyable read.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Quality!

    At one time this was my favorite classic novel--I've read it 4 times for 4 different classes and it's amazing how many different interpretations are out there regarding the nature of the monster! One professor believed he didn't exist at all--a figment of Victor's imagination or a manifestation of his oedipus complex. The fact that the men at the end witness the existence of the monster is an example of group hysteria. That's my favorite thesis and I wish I could remember the name of my professor that suggested it to give her credit!
    A chilling and complex tale that examines the relationship between man and his creator, feelings of isolation and rejection, and monstrosity. A psychological thriller as much as a horror story. Recommended to lit majors especially!
    By the way, this isn't my copy but one from a library book sale. Mine is so full of notes you can barely read the text anymore...
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This book was excellently written and very philosophical, and way depressing. It's also very worth reading.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I loved this book and can't believe how differently this story has been portrayed by American culture. Aside from the sheer disbelief that everyone who has not read the book has gotten the story so WRONG, I often found myself getting wrapped up in the eloquence of Shelley's words. The way she described some of the most mundane things was simply beautiful.

    I loved the story within a story within a story. I felt it allowed us to not only see the characters as they saw themselves, but also as the respective narrator saw them. Though there were portions that I felt weren't necessary (Chapter 19 read like the most boring travel brochure ever) I appreciated most of it. Frankenstein's overall struggle and loss as a result of his "playing god" was heartbreaking.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    In "Frankenstein", Victor Frankenstein, a student who attended a science university, discovers how to animate dead flesh. After many months of Victor's tedious work, his monster opens its hideous, yellow eyes. It sickens Victor, who then flees to his home town, Geneva. The creature, noticing he had been abandoned by his creator, seeks revenge by destroying everything that Frankenstein loves. The creature killed Victor's brother, William. A friend,Justine, is convicted for the murder and is executed. The creature being abhorred by everyone, needs a partner to love. He finds Victor and tells him to create another one. He agrees. After starting the gruesome work, he can no longer take it. The monster coming to this knowledge, confronts and tells him and that he will be with him on his wedding night. On the night of his marriage, in a villa by the lake, Victor hears a shill then a dreadful scream, rushing to Elizabeth, he finds her dead and a disfigured human form running on the shore. Victor followed this menace into the Arctic where it was spring and the ice was fragile. Both having a sled and dogs, tread onto the frozen ocean. The heavy monster fell through the ice which was cracked due to an earthquake, but he survived. Victor died on a boat going to England. The demon killed himself when Frankenstein died. This book was interesting and "terroriffic". I would call it historical fiction. I liked this book because I can connect to the places I've been to that were mentioned in this book. I have always wanted to read this book because people said the movie wasn't the same. I liked the way the author gave human emotions to the creature. On the other hand, it was a little bit too long and drawn out. I would recommend this to someone that likes to read suspenseful books.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    total classic book, one of the best books i have ever read and one of my favourite. when i read this i got goosebumps and shivers down my spine it terrified me but i could not put it down. brilliant book. must read for any horror lover.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This is one of those classics that everyone knows about but that few ever actually read. The actual content of the book is so different from what people believe they know about it that I can't help but think someone (probably long dead by now, and safe from prosecution) has played an elaborate prank on the world, for reasons which will likely remain forever lost to the gentle perturbations of passing time.The story has a nested, tripartite, epistolary structure, being presented as a collection of letters by a young polar explorer named Robert Walton to his sister in England. Within this is nestled the story of the eponymous Dr. Frankenstein, who is found by the explorer and his crew on the pack ice. And comfortably holstered in Dr. Frankenstein's tale is the narrative of the life of Frankenstein's Monster, who relates his story to Frankenstein in the Alps, prior to Walton's discovery of Frankenstein near the North Pole.Mary Shelley was a Romantic, and, like most Romantics, was rather prolix and agitated. The novel maintains a fairly constant emotional tone, leaving the reader feeling a bit drained after only a few pages. All 3 of the narrative voices seem to be constantly on the edge of some unbearable sensation. Sometimes it's joy, but for the vast majority of the work it's despondency, so it's best taken in small doses.It might be easy to take this famous story for granted, but the reader should remember what a novel blend of ideas this was for the time. It's influence has been so thorough that it can be difficult to detect it's presence, but it can be readily perceived in the works of H.P. Lovecraft.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    It was good:)
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This was my second time reading Frankenstein and each time I have struggled with the same issues. I find it very hard to get into the story and once I'm there the narrator is so unreliable I am constantly frustrated by him. I love that the actual story of Frankenstein is so different than what is known in pop culture. I only wish I loved the book more.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Highly underrated by much of the population. Mary Shelly (at nineteen) wrote this complex novel full of historical and contemporary themes, including man's responsibility for his creations (weapons, Industrial Revolution), contemporary ideas of pregnancy (women giving birth to "monsters" because of bad thoughts), hubris (man taking the place of God by creating life), parental abandonment - all kinds of interesting questions.Good to read in a book group, as different people see very different things in it.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This is primarily a novel that sets out to create an atmosphere of fear, horror and despair and succeeds admirably in so doing. Mary Shelley must have had an appalling dream but she brought it to life in wonderful, evocative language and at such a young age (only 19 when she wrote the book). The monster is so different from the monster of the films. Here he is no lumbering, stupid brute, but an agile, resourceful and calculating creature who can and does conduct a deep and thoughtful dialogue with his creator when explaining his background story. But at the same time the monster carries out horrible murders of Frankenstein's nearest and dearest and these deaths are shocking when they happen. The science is almost non-existent and we never find out how Frankenstein creates the monster nor indeed what the monster really looks like other than being repulsively hideous. But that is not the purpose of the book, which is to set a mood and raise philosophical questions about the purpose of scientific discovery. And Mary Shelley does this brilliantly.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Who doesn't know the plot of Frankdenstein? A scientist constructs a huge man and imbues him with the life force. The construct becomes a monster and turns on his creator. At least that's what I knew of the plot. Having finally listened to this audiobook I found that there was more to the story. At times I thought the level of detail was too much but I do admit that for the time of its writing it would have been ground-breaking.One of the things that I didn't know about the story is that the tale of the monster is told aboard a ship immured in the ice of the Arctic Ocean. An Englishman has followed his dream to explore the north. His ship is hailed by a man on an ice floe and they take him aboard. The man is Frankenstein, a Swiss scientist. He tells his tale of how he came to be on the ice. Having created a man who had become a monster he was determined to do battle with his creation until death, either his or the monster's. We learn how the monster had killed Frankenstein's brother, best friend and wife in revenge for being created as a thinking but loathsome creature. According to the monster he did not start out as a violent person. Instead he wanted to love and have friends but everyone who saw him was so repulsed by his looks that he grew to hate his creator. It does make one feel sorry for the monster.Frankenstein does merit a place on the 1001 list since it was the forerunner of the horror genre. Read it in that frame of mind and you will probably appreciate it.

Book preview

Frankenstein - Mary Shelley

Letter II

To Mrs Saville, England.

Archangel, March 28th, 17—.

HOW SLOWLY the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow! yet a second step is taken towards my enterprise. I have hired a vessel, and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have already engaged, appear to be men on whom I can depend and are certainly possessed of dauntless courage.

But I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy; and the absence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil. I have no friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium for the communication of feeling. I desire the company of a man who could sympathise with me; whose eyes would reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly feel the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet courageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whose tastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans. How would such a friend repair the faults of your poor brother! I am too ardent in execution, and too impatient of difficulties. But it is a still greater evil to me that I am self-educated: for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wild on a common, and read nothing but our uncle Thomas’s books of voyages. At that age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets of our own country; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power to derive its most important benefits from such a conviction, that I perceived the necessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my native country. Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more illiterate than many schoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more, and that my day dreams are more extended and magnificent, but they want (as the painters call it) keeping; and I greatly need a friend who would have sense enough not to despise me as romantic, and affection enough for me to endeavour to regulate my mind.

Well, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on the wide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen. Yet some feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these rugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful courage and enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory: or rather, to word my phrase more characteristically, of advancement in his profession. He is an Englishman, and in the midst of national and professional prejudices, unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest endowments of humanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel: finding that he was unemployed in this city, I easily engaged him to assist in my enterprise.

The master is a person of an excellent disposition, and is remarkable in the ship for his gentleness and the mildness of his discipline. This circumstance, added to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage, made me very desirous to engage him. A youth passed in solitude, my best years spent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the groundwork of my character that I cannot overcome an intense distaste to the usual brutality exercised on board ship: I have never believed it to be necessary, and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for his kindliness of heart and the respect and obedience paid to him by his crew, I felt myself peculiarly fortunate in being able to secure his services. I heard of him first in rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him the happiness of her life. This, briefly, is his story. Some years ago he loved a young Russian lady of moderate fortune; and having amassed a considerable sum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented to the match. He saw his mistress once before the destined ceremony; but she was bathed in tears, and, throwing herself at his feet, intreated him to spare her, confessing at the time that she loved another, but that he was poor, and that her father would never consent to the union. My generous friend reassured the suppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover, instantly abandoned his pursuit. He had already bought a farm with his money, on which he had designed to pass the remainder of his life; but he bestowed the whole on his rival, together with the remains of his prize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited the young woman’s father to consent to her marriage with her lover. But the old man decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour to my friend; who, when he found the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor returned until he heard that his former mistress was married according to her inclinations. What a noble fellow! you will exclaim. He is so; but then he is wholly uneducated: he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind of ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his conduct the more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy which otherwise he would command.

Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little, or because I can conceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am wavering in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyage is only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation. The winter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring promises well, and it is considered as a remarkably early season; so that perhaps I may sail sooner than I expected. I shall do nothing rashly: you know me sufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever the safety of others is committed to my care.

I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my undertaking. It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of the trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which I am preparing to depart. I am going to unexplored regions to the land of mist and snow; but I shall kill no albatross, therefore do not be alarmed for my safety, or if I should come back to you as worn and woeful as the Ancient Mariner. You will smile at my allusion; but I will disclose a secret. I have often attributed my attachment to, my passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of the ocean, to that production of the most imaginative of modern poets. There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand. I am practically industrious—pains-taking;—a workman to execute with perseverance and labour:—but besides this, there is a love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore.

But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, after having traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape of Africa or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to look on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the present to write to me by every opportunity: I may receive your letters on some occasions when I need them most to support my spirits. I love you very tenderly. Remember me with affection, should you never hear from me again.

Your affectionate brother,

Robert Walton.

Letter III

To Mrs Saville, England.

July 7th, 17—.

My dear Sister,

I WRITE a few lines in haste to say that I am safe—and well advanced on my voyage. This letter will reach England by a merchantman now on its homeward voyage from Archangel; more fortunate than I, who may not see my native land, perhaps, for many years. I am, however, in good spirits: my men are bold, and apparently firm of purpose, nor do the floating sheets of ice that continually pass us, indicating the dangers of the region towards which we are advancing, appear to dismay them. We have already reached a very high latitude; but it is the height of summer, and although not so warm as in England, the southern gales, which blow us speedily towards those shores which I so ardently desire to attain, breathe a degree of renovating warmth which I had not expected.

No incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure in a letter. One or two stiff gales, and the springing of a leak, are accidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record; and I shall be well content if nothing worse happen to us during our voyage.

Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured, that for my own sake, as well as yours, I will not rashly encounter danger. I will be cool, persevering and prudent.

But success shall crown my endeavours. Wherefore not? Thus far I have gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas: the very stars themselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph. Why not still proceed over the untamed yet obedient element? What can stop the determined heart and resolved will of man?

My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus. But I must finish. Heaven bless my beloved sister!

R.W.

Letter IV

To Mrs Saville, England.

August 5th, 17—.

SO STRANGE an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear recording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before these papers can come into your possession.

Last Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed in the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room in which she floated. Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we were compassed round by a very thick fog. We accordingly lay to, hoping that some change would take place in the atmosphere and weather.

About two o’clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out in every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to have no end. Some of my comrades groaned, and my own mind began to grow watchful with anxious thoughts, when a strange sight suddenly attracted our attention, and diverted our solicitude from our own situations. We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by dogs, pass on towards the north, at the distance of half a mile; a being which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature, sat in the sledge, and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid progress of the traveller with our telescopes until he was lost among the distant inequalities of the ice.

This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we believed, many hundred miles from any land; but this apparition seemed to denote that it was not, in reality, so distant as we had supposed. Shut in, however, by ice, it was impossible to follow his track, which we had observed with the greatest attention.

About two hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea;¹ and before night the ice broke, and freed out ship. We, however, lay to until the morning, fearing to encounter in the dark those large loose masses which float about after the breaking up of the ice. I profited of this time to rest for a few hours.

In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck and found all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel, apparently talking to some one in the sea. It was, in fact, a sledge, like that we had seen before, which had drifted towards us in the night on a large fragment of ice. Only one dog remained alive; but there was a human being within it, whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel. He was not as the other traveller seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of some undiscovered island, but an European. When I appeared on deck, the master said, Here is our captain, and he will not allow you to perish on the open sea.

On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although with a foreign accent. Before I come on board your vessel, said he, will you have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?

You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question addressed to me from a man on the brink of destruction and to whom I should have supposed that my vessel would have been a resource which he would not have exchanged for the most precious wealth the earth can afford. I replied, however, that we were on a voyage of discovery towards the northern pole.

Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied, and consented to come on board. Good God! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated for his safety, your surprise would have been boundless. His limbs were nearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and suffering. I never saw a man in so wretched a condition. We attempted to carry him into the cabin; but as soon as he had quitted the fresh air, he fainted. We accordingly brought him back to the deck, and restored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy and forcing him to swallow a small quantity. As soon as he showed signs of life, we wrapped him up in blankets and placed him near the chimney of the kitchen stove. By slow degrees he recovered, and ate a little soup which restored him wonderfully.

Two days passed in this manner before he was able to speak; and I often feared that his sufferings had deprived him of understanding. When he had in some measure recovered, I removed him to my own cabin, and attended on him as much as my duty would permit. I never saw a more interesting creature; his eyes have generally an expression of wildness, and even madness, but there are moments when, if any one performs an act of kindness towards him or does him any the most trifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with a beam of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw equalled. But he is generally melancholy and despairing; and sometimes he gnashes his teeth; as if impatient of the weight of woes that oppresses him.

When my guest was a little recovered, I had great trouble to keep off the men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions; but I would not allow him to be tormented by their idle curiosity, in a state of body and mind whose restoration evidently depended upon entire repose. Once, however, the lieutenant asked why he had come so far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle?

His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom; and he replied, To seek one who fled from me.

And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?

Yes.

Then I fancy we have seen him, for the day before we picked you up, we saw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.

This aroused the stranger’s attention, and he asked a multitude of questions concerning the route which the daemon, as he called him, had pursued. Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said, I have, doubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that of these good people; but you are too considerate to make enquiries.

Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to trouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine.

And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation: you have benevolently restored me to life.

Soon after this he enquired if I thought that the breaking up of the ice had destroyed the other sledge? I replied, that I could not answer with any degree of certainty, for the ice had not broken until near midnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a place of safety before that time; but of this I could not judge.

From this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of the stranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck, to watch for the sledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him to remain in the cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness of the atmosphere. I have promised that some one should watch for him and give him instant notice if any new object should appear in sight.

Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the present day. The stranger has gradually improved in health, but is very silent, and appears uneasy when anyone except myself enters the cabin. Yet his manners are so conciliating and gentle, that the sailors are all interested in him, although they have had very little communication with him. For my own part, I begin to love him as a brother; and his constant and deep grief fills me with sympathy and compassion. He must have been a noble creature in his better days, being even now in wreck so attractive and amiable.

I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find no friend on the wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before his spirit had been broken by misery, I should have been happy to have possessed as the brother of my heart.

I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals, should I have any fresh incidents to record.

August 13th, 17—.

My affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at once my admiration and my pity to an astonishing degree. How can I see so noble a creature destroyed by misery, without feeling the most poignant grief? He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mind is so cultivated, and when he speaks, although his words are culled with the choicest art, yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.

He is now much recovered from his illness, and is continually on the deck, apparently watching for the sledge that preceded his own. Yet, although unhappy, he is not so utterly occupied by his own misery but that he interests himself deeply in the projects of others. He has frequently conversed with me on mine, which I have communicated to him without disguise. He entered attentively into all my arguments in favour of my eventual success, and into every minute detail of the measures I had taken to secure it. I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced, to use the language of my heart, to give utterance to the burning ardour of my soul; and to say, with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I would sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my enterprise. One man’s life or death were but a small price to pay for the acquirement of the knowledge which I sought for the dominion I should acquire and transmit over the elemental foes of our race. As I spoke, a dark gloom spread over my listener’s countenance. At first I perceived that he tried to suppress his emotion; he placed his hands before his eyes, and my voice quivered and failed me as I beheld tears trickle fast from between his fingers,—a groan burst from his heaving breast. I paused;—at length he spoke, in broken accents:—Unhappy man! Do you share my madness? Have you drunk also of the intoxicating draught? Hear me,—let me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cup from your lips!

Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but the paroxysm of grief that had seized the stranger overcame his weakened powers, and many hours of repose and tranquil conversation were necessary to restore his composure.

Having conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared to despise himself for being the slave of passion; and quelling the dark tyranny of despair, he led me again to converse concerning myself personally. He asked me the history of my earlier years. The tale was quickly told: but it awakened various trains of reflection. I spoke of my desire of finding a friend—of my thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than had ever fallen to my lot; and expressed my conviction that a man could boast of little happiness, who did not enjoy this blessing.

I agree with you, replied the stranger; we are unfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than ourselves—such a friend ought to be—do not lend his aid to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend, the most noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge respecting friendship. You have hope, and the world before you, and have no cause for despair. But I—I have lost every thing and cannot begin life anew.

As he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm, settled grief, that touched me to the heart. But he was silent, and presently retired to his cabin.

Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight afforded by these wonderful regions, seems still to have the power of elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence: he may suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments, yet, when he has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit, that has a halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.

Will you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine wanderer? You would not, if you saw him. You have been tutored and refined by books and retirement from the world, and you are therefore somewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the more fit to appreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful man. Sometimes I have endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he possesses, that elevates him so immeasurably above any other person I ever knew. I believe it to be an intuitive discernment; a quick but never-failing power of judgment; a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled for clearness and precision; add to this a facility of expression, and a voice whose varied intonations are soul-subduing

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