The Ramifications of a Fervent Passion

The story of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is brought full circle with the passing of Victor Frankenstein and the forthcoming, sacrificial death of his monster. The “cat and mouse” game played between the two is merely a prolonged torture for both, and although Victor Frankenstein has failed to learn the lesson in following one’s unbridled enthusiasm, he has at least imparted the perils of it to his final friend and ally, Cpt. Watson.

Throughout the novel, we are given instances that Victor has at least realized the repercussions of his labors and the hindsight he so wishes he had. As he reflects in the creation of his monster, while creating a possible mate for the being: “my mind was intensely fixed on the consummation of my labour, and my eyes were shut to the horror of the proceedings”. But the hindsight he exhibits is for naught, as he again makes rash actions in a fit of passion that alters his life once more, in destroying the monster’s only hope for happiness and companionship. Without once again considering the ramifications of such an act, he has doomed himself to the consequences of it, even with the warning of his enemy imparted upon him: “soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness forever.”

Victor spends the better part of his life thinking a force other than his own leads him, whether it be divine or pure destiny. Even in his resolve to kill his creation or die, he claims, “I pursued my path towards the destruction of the daemon more as a task enjoined by heaven…” Having fully heard the Victor’s story and the perils of blindly pursuing passion, Walton finally shows resolve and humanity in deciding to head back South, in order to ensure the safety of his crew. Although he himself intended to “die rather than return shamefully,” he fully realizes the dangers apparent not only for him, but for others around him as well. This principle is hit home in the final scene, as even the monstrous and inhuman creation confirms how “the completion of my daemonical design became an insatiable passion. And now it is ended; there is my last victim!”

The conflict between the creator and his creation is resolved with the death of one of them, with the futilities of their efforts fully realized only until after. In deciding to turn around against his perceived destiny and personal pursuit, Walton has at least begun to realize that one can be in control of their own fate and can change course at will.

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Textual Analysis: Why You Can’t Trust Anyone In Frankenstein

Mary Shelley was highly influenced and talented due to her parentage, as mentioned in the introduction, Percy Shelley, her husband, was very supportive and always urged her to explore her literary talents. Frankenstein was an ideal example of her talents and how she is able to speak in different voices within a singular work. This novel is narrated in first person and by three different people during different parts of the overall story, each demonstrating different qualities and personalities which Shelley did a good job of exhibiting. However, because they are all recalling their perspective on the same story, it will be very biased and therefore, unreliable, as first person narratives tend to be. Both Victor Frankenstein and Robert Walton control the vast majority of the narrative that the reader perceives. However, there are a variety of contradictions within their own narratives, specifically Frankenstein’s. Frankenstein even goes as far as to discount his creation’s narrative. This demonstrates Frankenstein’s egocentric nature and exhibits how it clouds Frankenstein’s view on morality.  

Walton is very similar to Frankenstein and is often regarded as his foil (juvenile, innocent form of Victor, but just as pretentious). Walton is only heard in the novel through the means of letters sent to his sister. Walton is pompous and glory seeking and unlike Frankenstein, also has a more cheerful tone and is not isolated by nature but rather by choice. He chooses to frequently write to his sister, unlike Frankenstein who rarely wrote to his family. So the vast majority of diction used in Walton’s letters is light hearted and optimistic, never perceiving the possible dangers ahead. Through Walton’s eyes, everything seems to be going well except that he has no companion and he longs for one. He exalts Frankenstein greatly, but as the reader progresses and uncovers the truth, it’s noticed that Frankenstein is actually also a pompous person who does not deserve praise. The reader’s initial view of Frankenstein was biased due to Walton’s account.

Frankenstein himself is also very pretentious, and is more isolated than Walton. He is more in tune with nature than with people; he regards this as the fault of his elevated intelligence. He also provides a input on how he feels throughout the novel, providing the reader with a grand extension on his perspective regarding the world around him. And even with the amount of details he provides, it is still unreliable. The most significant instances of perspective in his narrative is his opinions regarding the creature. Victor dehumanizes the monster immensely, depriving him of emotions and the reader’s sympathy. Shelley allows the reader to also take the creature’s perspective and make the choice his or herself of whether the creature is an antagonist or simply a misunderstood hero.

Shelley emphasizes that the creature is innately good but was corrupted under man’s prejudice. The only way the reader is aware of this is through the creature’s perspective. Frankenstein never elaborates on the initial good nature of the creature and this created a negative opinion regarding his creation. This is one of the main reasons the reader cannot trust Frankenstein’s opinions about others he interacts with either. Even if Frankenstein believes the monster is terrible and crazy for killing the people Frankenstein has loved, it is also known through the creature’s perspective that he felt guilt and remorse while murdering.

You can’t trust anyone in this novel, but Shelley is not just trying to say that. Romanticism focuses on innate feelings and Shelley explores how diverse feelings and background stories influence accounts of stories. Walton describes the creature as hideous on the outside, but not once does he exhibit the cruel remarks Frankenstein has made regarding the creature’s inner person. The only way to understand a full story is to explore the different perspectives and significances.

Sympathy for the Devil

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay

To mould me man? Did I solicit thee

From darkness to promote me? —

Paradise Lost

In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, sympathy (or the lack there of) is a key component in much of the language and actions of the characters. The novel builds up the emotions and character composition of Victor Frankenstein, in an attempt to create sympathy for the shamed creator. In essence Shelley tries to generate concern for the titular character, however the true focus of sympathy lies in Victor’s creation. The shamed monster is a tragic figure, and the one deserving of the most sympathy in the text.

The part of the novel narrated by Victor gives insight into the man’s mind, and reasoning for his words and actions. These instances of vivid detail into the man’s psyche come at times where he is reflecting on his own life, and the actions he has done. The detail and discernment occur during times when tangible events are not necessarily taking place, they occur more often in Victor’s head as his reactionary thoughts. They serve to help us see the actions from Victor’s point of view, which should make us more sympathetic to the man.

However when the creature is given a voice, and takes over the book’s narration, we as the readers understand who is really to blame for all the misfortune in the novel. When both perspectives are presented to the reader, the accounts of Victor are slightly neglected as we see the consequences of his own actions.

It is quickly apparent why Shelley would choose to include the Milton quote on the title page. The emotion of the quote foreshadows the unwarranted sorrow that will overcome many of the book’s characters. But as the novel lends a voice to the creature parallels are formed between the monster and source of the quote. The tragedy of the monster is due to no fault on his part, at least not at first. After he is created by Victor and immediately he is met with disgust and scorn. This never goes away, as he is met with similar if not worse reactions from every human he encounters no matter what he is doing.

The Milton quote becomes increasingly appropriate as the creatures sheds more and more light on his experiences. The monster is suffering no doubt, but he did nothing to draw the attention of the suffering. His only fault is that he is ugly, and people are scared of him. The one at fault for the creatures suffering is Victor. Victor is the creature’s creator, and Frankenstein acknowledges that their relationship should have been better.

“I ought to be thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel.” The monster at this point of his life is aware that he is a disappointment to Victor, he knows their relationship should have been better. It is only Victor’s horror and disappointment with his results that lead to the creature knowing only mistreatment. In an example of nature vs. nurture the monster eventually is fed up with the treatment he faces, and he is pushed to the limit (committing murder). But considering his brute strength and imposing stature, it is unclear as to why the creature endures it all for so long. The sad truth is that the monster is a tragic figure because did nothing harmful to anyone at first, it was only after his environment (people especially) affected him that he was corrupted and fell to revenge and havoc in response.

Everybody Needs Henry Clerval

In each of the three volumes of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Henry Clerval is present, seemingly understated, and, yet, forms one of the most integral parts of the story. Although introduced as a boy of singular talent, Henry can do far more. Besides being a nicer, less sickly counterpart to Victor, free from dealing with the plight of his friend, Henry has helped far more. It is largely because, through his own actions and inactions, Henry Clerval represents the necessity of friendship.

Simply by appearing throughout Victor Frankenstein’s life, Clerval provides company and removes isolation. Going by the second letter, even Robert agrees with the necessity of having someone who would not “despise me as a romantic.” For the years spent at sea, he needed someone who was willing to hear his thoughts and considered its absence a “severe evil.” Even Victor’s creation desires company. After his long tale, the fiend’s sole request is another companion; else, he would cause fear and injury. In some sense, Victor is lucky. When Frankenstein meets Clerval, his familiar face made him felt “for the first time during many months, calm and serene joy.” After spending years toiling in isolation, now Victor’s own spirits are raised, does not become reduced to causing mayhem such as the fiend, nor does he continue towards pursuits that puts his “body to hardship.”

Clerval also gives Victor Frankenstein the will to live and the feeling that he still belongs in society. Physically, Clerval gives Frankenstein the will to live by nursing him from his sickness. In a later chapter, Clerval’s own enjoyment of existence consoles him and “soothes his heart.” In contrast with Frankenstein’s creation, the fiend has no “Henry Clerval”, and the small chance of a possible companion is torn right in front of him. Then, through what may be considered poetic justice, the fiend destroys Frankenstein’s very own will to live.

An Examination of Victor Frankenstein’s Struggle with Creation

“The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room, and continued a long time traversing my bedchamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult I had before endured; and I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness. But it was in vain: I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her; but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed: when, by the dim and yellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window shutters, I beheld the wretch — the miserable monster whom I had created. He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they may be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me, but I escaped, and rushed down stairs. I took refuge in the courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited; where I remained during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life.”

This passage appears immediately after Victor gives life to the creature. It is also one of the first times when Victor realizes he may have made a terrible mistake, noticing the ugliness and monstrosity in his creation far more than he notices the miracle of manufactured life. In a single moment he transitions from the determined scientist working day and night to accomplish his goals into something else far more afraid and full of regret. “I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed: when, by the dim and yellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window shutters, I beheld the wretch.” In a fever dream brought upon by his internal turmoil, Victor sees his dead mother in a rather grotesque way showing his twisted obsession with her death. This is one of the main motivating factors of his twisted science. By bestowing life upon the creation Victor wanted to show that he could be more powerful than nature and choose by himself whether someone should live or die. The desire to control life has not often been portrayed as a healthy characteristic and much as people are punished for taking life, Victor must be punished in some way for creating it. He sees this creation as the hideous representation of all the mistakes he has made in his experimentation and enters a state of internal distress for the remainder of the story. He is terrified of this monster not only because of its massive size but also because of what it represents: his self-destructive God complex and all of the punishment that he must face for his actions.

A Monologue for the Creature–An Explanation Post

The death of Frankenstein’s wife is obviously very pivotal, and can be considered the final straw in his and the creature’s battle that takes Frankenstein from a respectable man with friends and family to a man with nothing to lose. This monologue is meant to be the creature coming to the conclusion that he will murder Elizabeth to bring down Frankenstein.

I was inspired by the scene where Frankenstein almost creates, then destroys, a mate for the creature. The creature is distraught after this, and I wanted to put that in words. He thinks an eye for an eye will be the best course of action. My monologue for the creature takes place immediately after that scene and right before the creature tells Frankenstein he will be with him on his wedding night. I was also inspired by the end where the creature recounts his sorrow and guilt for killing the people he had done away with to Walton. It showed he felt bad about hurting people, but felt he had to do those things to teach his creator a lesson. I tried to convey this much in the monologue.

I wanted to give the creature some time to explain himself that wasn’t at the end of the book. Since this story is told from Frankenstein’s point of view, we really only see/interact with the creature when he is with Walton, or his mortal enemy Frankenstein. This monologue gives the creature some time to shine on his own and be himself without someone to threaten or pander to.

A Monologue for the Creature

Why must my creator torment me so? It is true that I have exterminated a small number of his compatriots, but it brought me no joy to do such things. For every body I claim, I grow more guilty. Upon what I believed to be a simple request to create another like me, so that I may have one to share my solitude with, I was answered with an affirmative response.

As I looked on Frankenstein and his operation from a distance with a feeling of contempt, upset with my maker yet eager to evacuate with my new friend, he tore her apart limb from limb and left the room, locking the door to his comfort. I was ardently filled with a pain stronger than my own inhuman strengths could handle, emitting a cry of agony and torture at the sight I had just witnessed. The one hope for another like me had vanished thanks to my creator. Great God! Such a wretch is he who torments me so.

I have followed him from the highest hilltop, to the lowest valley, to the widest river waiting for him to create such another villain like me so that we may live in peace far from civilizations who would rather hurt us. I am still filled with despair! I have dreamt of possessing a love for another. Oh to be happy in this wretched form! Why must I go on suffering?

This fallen angel. This devil craving love. This tormented soul! Oh how Frankenstein might feel should this occasion occur to his own self. How he would then feel the ardent misery which trembles within me. May he then suffer as alone and unhappy as I.

I shall do this: I will make Frankenstein as lonely and wretched as myself. He may feel wicked presently, but I have the power to become my tormentor’s torment. I devise that I will keep following him, wreaking havoc in his life in some form or another, until he is finally reunited with his bride to be. There, on his wedding night, I will demonstrate to him the true pain that is felt to have a love ripped away and be completely alone.

I will take no joy in this. Frankenstein’s own hopes and dreams will cease to exist, yet I will still have none of my own. I realize this will accomplish nothing in solving my loneliness and wretchedness, but it will bring my creator closer to my own misery.

Gerald’s Garden

The sun shone brightly down on Gerald’s garden that morning.  As soon as the boy walked through the entrance gates his senses were overwhelmed. His sight soared from flower to shrubbery unsure as to which magnificent piece of life deserved his attention most. When he would close his eyes he would take a deep breath and it was as if the purest air was filling his lungs. When he exhaled it was as if passion and life itself moved through him. Then he gazed upon the mother of this garden. Nestled in the center of the garden exuding vitality and surrounded by her children was a breathtaking oak tree. She stood high above the garden fences and her powerful branches stretched to the heavens beckoning them to gaze upon her.

The boy tried in vain to capture, in a single photograph, the true essence of this garden, but its beauty escaped his camera. After a few more failed attempts trying to find a perfect vantage point the photographer found himself at the foot of the giant tree and let himself fall at her feet and rest in the shadow of her foliage. It was here that Gerald found him.

“What are you doing in here?” asked Gerald.

The photographer looked at the man who had created this gift onto earth with an immediate fear. Gerald was nearing 80 years old but the voracity of youth still lingered in his eyes. He was a tall and slender man and towered over the boy.

“I’m sorry sir; I’ve been driving for days just exploring the country side and I saw your magnificent tree towering over the fences and was just dying to see what was in here. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

“My private garden is not a tourist destination boy,” Gerald stated staring down at him, “but I suppose I can hardly blame you for being enchanted by it. Captivating isn’t it?”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“How old are you son?”

“22.”

A smile crawled across Gerald’s face as he bowed to the boy. “It’s a pleasure to see such a young man already enamored with the beauty of nature. I myself did not discover it until much later in life.”

“You’d have to be a fool not to appreciate this paradise,” he said looking around him.

“I thank you for your kind words; I’m sorry what was your name?” Gerald asked.

“Jonathan.”

“Well, Jonathan my name is Gerald and I must say I have been working on my garden all morning and am absolutely exhausted. I imagine you are as well since I found you near sleeping in my garden. Would you care to join me inside for a cup of tea? I very rarely get to enjoy the company of another human being out here.”

Jonathan was exhausted from his trip and tea sounded fantastic so he accepted the kind invitation without hesitation.

“Do you live alone sir?” Jonathan asked.

“Please call me Gerald,” he started as they approached his front door, “and I live with my dear wife Emilia.”

Gerald opened the door and Jonathan walked in. Immediately he felt the life of the garden sucked out of him. The world he had entered could not possibly be attended to by the same creature who nurtured that magnificent garden outside.  All around him Jonathan could see nothing but gray and black. Dust covered all surfaces, and the corners of the home had been selected as the adopted home of several spiders. Dark heavy curtains hung over each window allowing nearly no light to enter the house. When Gerald closed the door behind him the room got surprisingly darker.

“The living room is right this way,” Gerald said as he passed Jonathan and led the way forward, “I do apologize for the mess.”

Jonathan slowly moved forward following Gerald and passed a grand piano that looked like it hadn’t played a tune in years.

They entered a large room where two large black chairs surrounded a coffee table.  A chandelier covered in web hung above them and a large grandfather clock in the corner of the room incorrectly told all attendants, if there ever were any in this home, the wrong time.

“Please have a seat,” Gerald offered Jonathan the cleaner chair and Jonathan thanked him.

“I’ll be right back with the tea.”

Jonathan stood in silence after Gerald departed. This poor old man and his wife probably didn’t have the strength to do anything much less clean the house.  He was sure they hired help for the garden and they probably couldn’t afford to hire a housekeeper. Jonathan walked over to a fireplace filled with rotted, dead wood and saw several frames standing on the mantelpiece. He saw a picture of a much younger looking Gerald and a woman Jonathan assumed must be the wife. They stood outside this same house but no garden had been erected yet it seemed. In this picture Gerald hardly looked like the man he does now. He looked young and vibrant, and actually bore a striking resemblance to Jonathan himself. Next to their photo he saw a large framed diploma; a PhD in Biology for Gerald.

“Ah, I see you’ve found the old memory shelf,” Gerald said as he came back into the room carrying a tray with tea cups. He set it down on the table and once again offered Jonathan a seat.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Jonathan said as he sat down.

“No worries Jonathan, I’ve already noticed what a curious mind you have. Sugar?” Gerald asked. Jonathan shook his head.

Jonathan picked up his cup and took a sip of his tea. He closed his eyes as he felt the sweet nectar activate his taste buds. Gerald noticed the smile on his face.

“It’s good isn’t it? Made from the tea leaves in the garden.”

“It’s divine,” Jonathan said, “that Garden truly is a piece of art.”

“Oh it’s more than art, Jonathan, it’s my child truly. I have raised that garden outside for the last 50 years of my life. I watched that tree grow from a tiny seed into the majestic overseer that it is today.”

“Well, you have a lot to be proud of in your child sir.”

“Gerald, please.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes I suppose it is quite noteworthy. Everyone who’s ever seen it has been quick to tell me so.”

“It’s a shame you’re so far out in the country, I’m sure a lot more people would love to come and visit the garden. You could probably make a lot of money with visitors.”

Gerald scoffed at the idea

“Oh Jonathan, money is a young man’s game I have no interest in money. Nor do I particularly want many people in my garden, I’m very protective of it.”

Jonathan felt the cold air of the house getting to him and took another drink from his cup. The warmth sent a wave of euphoria through him.

“What made you want to make the garden?” Jonathan asked.

“Pardon?”

“The garden, I saw in the picture with your wife that there wasn’t always one outside, what made you start growing it.”

“Ah, well it’s a bit of a sad story I’m afraid,” Gerald started. Jonathan sat comfortable in his seat and gave no sign that he wanted Gerald to stop. “Back when Emilia and I got married we wanted to start a family. Fill this house with the sound of children laughing and little footsteps running down the stairs.”

Jonathan drank more tea as he listened to the story.

“Emilia’s sisters had all already had children; I think her oldest sister had four. For a few years we tried but fate never seemed to want to stop on our doorstep.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jonathan said, “ she wasn’t able to get pregnant?”

“Oh no, she was. Poor Emilia, she carried…I don’t know how many children before we gave up. They just never seemed to…Sometimes…Well, let’s just say that sometimes things don’t go as planned. I studied medicine in school but I couldn’t figure out what was wrong and we went to the best doctors in the state but a baby just wasn’t for us.”

Jonathan felt tears welling up in his eyes as he finished his drink. He sank further into his chair as he searched for a response to Gerald’s story.

“Poor Emilia, after the seventh baby we lost she just couldn’t take it anymore,” Gerald took a sip from his cup; “I walked in on her in the bathtub one day and found her wrists pouring blood into the water.”

Jonathan remained still.

“She thought she was the only one suffering, her plan was to leave me on this Earth alone, suffering, childless, wifeless. Well, I wasn’t going to let her do it. I dragged her out of that bathtub screaming and fixed her up good. She’d lost a lot of blood but she wasn’t going to die on me.”

The cup slowly slipped out of Jonathan’s hand and crashed against the floor, shattering into pieces. Gerald looked over at Jonathan in the chair, drool spilling out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh Jonathan,” Gerald said calmly, “don’t you worry about that. It was the drug’s fault not your own I assure you.”

Jonathan’s eyes darted from side to side, scanning the room, panicking. He saw Gerald get up from his chair and walk towards him. Jonathan tried to jump up and run for the front door but was no longer in control of any of his limbs and remained motionless in his chair.

“Don’t struggle, it only makes it worse ,” Gerald said. He walked behind Jonathan and bent down beneath the chair. He removed the latches the held the wheels in place and began to lead the chair out of the room.

“I think it’s time you met my wife,” Gerald said.

Jonathan tried to scream but he could feel all consciousness leaving his body, he barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. He watched in terror as Gerald led him down a long hallway that led into darkness.

“Now, your original question was what made me want to start a garden, I think you deserve the answer to that question.”

They reached the end of the hallway and Gerald opened up a door behind the giant staircase and pushed Jonathan in.

“After that wife of mine tried her damndest to leave me I swore I was going to get the child I was promised, with or without her help.” Jonathan’s view was slowly fading as he looked around and saw giant tubes filled with water and giant lumps floating inside them. He tried to make sense of it but was unable to concentrate.

“So I quit my job, I had no need for it anyway, I already knew what I was going to do. I set up shop here at home and started getting to work. I was going to get me a baby.  The doctors had all told me I was fine, I was a strong young man who should have no problem making a child, but she was too weak. Her womb couldn’t keep a baby healthy.”

Gerald stopped the chair in front of a large tube filled with water, larger than the ones they had passed before. It took a while but Jonathan was able to focus his vision and saw through the glass the body of a woman floating in the water. She had pipes sewn into her stomach, her mouth, and all over her body. Despite this terrible condition Jonathan immediately recognized her as the woman in the painting he had seen on the fireplace. She hadn’t aged a day.

“Beautiful isn’t she? Keeping her young and alive in there was the easy part. Recreating her womb not so much. I worked for months and months and finally I got one to stick.  Can you imagine that feeling Jonathan, to create human life with your bare hands. It was our child, Emilia’s and mine. And she was beautiful. I lifted her out of that tube of water and her cry was more beautiful to me than any composition you’d ever heard. But when she opened her eyes at me my heart dropped. I don’t know where I went wrong. I had made an error in calculation along the lines but I knew that I could fix it. I looked down at what I now realized was a monster and knew that I could do better. So I put her back into the water until she stopped crying.”

Jonathan was starting to feel a little life come back to him. He was able to feel his fingers once more.

“I knew that I had to keep trying, but I couldn’t possibly have a house full of dead monsters, can you imagine Jonathan? So with that first beast I created that beautiful oak you so admired outside. And then I went back to work, but time after time after time something went wrong. The hair was the wrong color, the mouth was too big, too many hands, I couldn’t get my calculations right. And so my garden grew.”

Jonathan knew that he had the strength to get up but he wasn’t sure if he could get away from this psychopath yet. It was then that Gerald stepped in front of him and dropped himself down onto his knees.

“I’m so close Jonathan, so close to getting it right. She’s going to be beautiful, I know it.” Gerald got up and walked behind Jonathan, he could hear him opening cabinets and shuffling instruments around.

“But I’m old now Jonathan, I no longer have that power to give life. I thought that was the end of it. I knew my project had an expiration date and I had reached it, but then you came along like a gift from God. Such a strapping young man, thankfully one who looks like I did in my better years.  Yes you will do perfectly.”

Jonathan gripped the armrests on his chair to shoot himself up when he felt the needle pierce his neck. As the drugs raced through his veins his vision quickly faded and the last thing he saw was Gerald filling up another tube with water right next to Emilia’s.

Reflecting, Wondering, Seeking

I stare at my image in the basin’s reflection,
A sacramental pool has never been so muddied,
Reflecting the state of a soul so uneasy.
My gaze strays toward the rood upon which He was sentenced ,
His eyes full of sorrow, but toward whom I’m unsure,
Wondering what true intent lies in His grandeur.
I view the many faces that surround me each week,
Heads buried wherever they can avoid finding light,
Wondering if is this is enough for their life.
I dare to look into the face of my creator,
What do I owe to you? Jubilance or misery?
Do I even know you, stranger conjured from voices?
Do they even know you, he who can be seen no more?
Reflecting, wondering, seeking.

Explanation Post – Seeking, Wondering, Reflecting

     A common theme explored throughout Frankenstein is the concept of creator versus creation. Frankenstein sees the creature as an abomination of nature (and his original intentions) while the creature sees Frankenstein as having abandoned him in a world that fears and rejects him. I took this theme and, in an attempt to empathize further with the creature, applied it to my personal views on God and religion. The poem takes place in a Catholic Church.
     The first 3 lines are about me looking at my reflection in a pool of holy water and contemplating my increasing moral dissonance from the values of Catholicism.
     In the next 3 lines, I look at a crucifix as my thoughts shift toward the figure of Christ and his true feelings toward God asking him to sacrifice his own life.
     The next 3 lines show me looking at the parishioners and reflecting on the true intentions of their religious practices.
     I turn to look at the Eucharist in the next 3 lines and seek to justify the balance between the good and evil God has allows into life.
     The last 3 lines conclude the poem by questioning the existence of God and pointing out the danger of not questioning what you’ve been told to believe.
     My intention to empathize further with the creature was successful. I understand his anger and confusion toward the intentions of his creator as I have experienced similar struggles myself. The creature’s views toward Frankenstein reflect the millennium old struggle between humans and “God.”