Saturday, June 16, 2012
Mary Shelley's Frankenstein
Have I mentioned that I am a master procrastinator? My responsible side has gotten better at fooling my procrastinatory side (who is in turn trying to fool my responsible side in the first place...at what point does this qualify as a mental problem?) and I finally buckled down and plowed through the rest of the book.
I liked the story of Frankenstein and the monster he created. The mystical-science aura reminded me a bit of Jules Verne (that was fun) and there is certainly plenty of food for thought presented. However, the biographical portion of the introduction was much more interesting to read. Shelley's super-introspective, emotional, memory-flavored sentences bored me to distraction (as noted above).
Last August I read Shelley's novella, Mathilda and adored it. I loved how her writing perfectly exuded the emotions she was trying to portray. Her writing style wasn't necessarily any different in Frankenstein, but it did lack the passion that I felt in Mathilda. Without the great force of feeling, I found the writing to be too flowery and sentimental for my taste.
Can you believe that I've never watched an adaptation of Frankenstein? I imagine there must be an assortment to choose from, and I'd like to see how it translates into film. Any suggestions?