Frankenstein: and Feminism

Mary Shelley, a teenager only 19 years old, had just written a book that a century later would become a phenomenon of horror and is now considered a classic of horror and science fiction: Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, popularly known simply as Frankenstein.

***Before continuing, I want to clarify that I am not a fan of the 1931 film adaptation. I have seen it, I understand the story it tries to tell, and I understand the legacy that followed it, but it is not particularly to my taste.
Perhaps it would be if modern media were not so saturated with references to that version of Frankenstein. Movies, series, books, animations—almost everything seems to replicate the 1931 interpretation.
And despite not being a fan of that film, I know the story from beginning to end, or at least the popular version: a mad scientist and his deformed assistant create a monster from pieces of corpses. Although the creature has life, it seems to lack something—perhaps a soul or a clear conscience.
I always felt that it was a monster by force, someone who became “the monster” because of society’s expectations and stereotypes.
But my perspective changed when I encountered Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein; The Modern Prometheus.
It is nothing like what Hollywood has shown us.
And that is what I want to talk about.

Please keep reading.***

Mary Shelley lost her mother on the very day she was born and grew up without much closeness to her father. Imagine being in her position: it is the 19th century, a young woman without a maternal figure, with a distant father, living in a world where men dominated science, philosophy, psychology, art, music, and especially literature.
She was the daughter of one of the earliest modern feminists and a political philosopher, and she grew up surrounded by books. It is said that she used to sit beside her mother’s grave reading for hours.

At the age of sixteen she ran away with the famous poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was already married at the time.
Inspired by the Greek myth of Prometheus—the Titan who gave humanity fire and, symbolically, knowledge—Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein: The Modern Prometheus.
Popular culture often assumes the novel is about a monster.
But in reality, it revolves around Victor Frankenstein, the creator of what the novel repeatedly calls the creature.

So what is all of this about?
What does feminism have to do with it?
Why am I writing so much?
And will I ever release more music?
I would summarize the novel as an odyssey about one of humanity’s oldest conflicts: creation.
Many civilizations speak of gods creating life, especially human life.

Victor represents that ambition: the ambition to create life itself.
And he succeeds.
But not in the way he expected.
The creature is alive, yet Victor believes it lacks something—perhaps a soul.
One of my favorite reflections about creation is this:
“Is God satisfied with His creation, or does He hope that His creation will eventually become something worthy of His pride?”
Another question might be:
“Could God fear His own creation?”
These questions humanize the idea of God, and Victor Frankenstein mirrors that idea: a human being seeking the power and satisfaction of creation.

A human who played God.
The creature lives long enough to develop consciousness. It educates itself by reading books and gains knowledge comparable to that of an average human being.
Yet society still perceives it as a monster solely because of its appearance.

A creature that eventually begins to perceive itself as a monster.
Its resentment toward its creator grows until it seeks to destroy him.
This makes me reflect on one of the most beautiful aspects of life: its ending.
I wish I could summarize the novel more clearly, but it is so philosophical and powerful that it is difficult to reduce it.

But this leads to another question:
Where does feminism appear in all of this?
Mary Shelley became pregnant after leaving with Percy Shelley. Her first pregnancy ended in a painful miscarriage, and similar tragedies followed with other pregnancies.
At the age of twenty she published her novel anonymously, with a small introduction written by her husband. Later, in 1831, she published a revised edition under her own name.

Today the novel is considered one of the pioneering works of science fiction, Gothic romanticism, and—according to many interpretations—a reflection on femininity.
But again, where is the feminism?
The feminism of Mary Shelley’s time was not the visible political movement we see today.
She lived in a world dominated by men, especially in science and literature.
Yet she managed to break barriers and become a recognized author.

A nineteen-year-old woman who had already experienced the death of her mother, the distance of her father, and the loss of children.
In a time when scientists believed they could control life and death, she created Victor Frankenstein: a man obsessed with crossing the boundary between life and death, yet incapable of taking responsibility for his own creation.
Shelley seems to show what happens when an arrogant mind attempts to create life without understanding the responsibility that creation requires.

The result is a being born from ego and abandoned out of fear by its own creator.
And this leads to a final question:
Who is the real monster?
The one who looks different, or the one who abandons him?
But the story does not end there.
In the novel there is a crucial moment when the creature asks Victor for something:
A companion.

After educating itself through reading, it realizes it is completely alone.
It asks its creator to make another being like itself.

Victor begins to create her.

But just before bringing her to life, he remembers the fear he feels toward his first creation.

He realizes he may be creating another intelligent, independent being with its own will.

And he destroys the unfinished creature before it can live.

Victor Frankenstein created a being with a brain—but without a childhood.

And a being without childhood cannot understand love, trust, or even its own existence.

A being created by a man.
Without a woman.

Mary Shelley did not only give us one of the earliest great works of science fiction.

She also left us with a warning:
Every creation requires responsibility, care, and affection.