up to date, mary shelley’s frankenstein is my favourite novel. i was guilty of calling the creature a monster and that was before i read it and realised that it isn’t a monster, it’s the name of the creator of the creature.
i was moved at his gentleness, he was innocently built and abandoned by frankenstein. when will men ever be satisfied with their creation? the way shelley portrayed and illustrated her creature was beautiful. how else do you make something so real? giving them a voice and a mind of their own to express their truest feelings and desires.
the creature had expressed his warm feelings of his “neighbours”/”protectors” to a blind man: “they are the most excellent creatures in the world; but unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me. I have good dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless and in some degree beneficial; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable monster.”
frustrated with the injustice the creature was served, i argued with my friends that i felt for this creature. with the judgement of his stature and horrendous being, it blurs the mind from processing or giving him the chance to speak for himself. he was a warm creature who needed acceptance, but instead he was bullied and turned away.
at one point, i almost believed that the creature existed. something so human, so real with true emotions bursting from its heart. he felt emotions, he learned the ways of being human, he understood men. yet, when i read about the frightened countenances men had when they had an encounter with the creature – it sent shivers down my spine. you need to see it to believe it, you need to see the creature to believe it’s a monster.
as much as i wanted to take the side of the creature, frankenstein’s warning to walton swayed me: “I was at first touched by the expressions of his misery; yet, when I called to mind what Frankenstein had said of his powers of eloquence and persuasion, and when I again cast my eyes on the lifeless form of my friend, indignation was rekindled within me.”
when i finished the page of the book, i was left disappointed at the creature’s transformation to becoming a monster. his heart became monstrous because of the disappointment of mankind and not because of his physical being that called him to be so. his darkness emerged, bitterness and evilness overtook his heart. it was not a physical change but an inward change of his soul that labelled him a monster.
why is it that humans are such monsters themselves? nothing is being born into the template of a monster, we give labels that restrict someone to take its natural form and limit its chances at individuality.
it is only when men have hardened their hearts cold towards the misunderstood, where the real monster state of a heart destroys mankind. men were the real monsters first.