Almost thirty years ago, my path crossed with Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” by pure chance. I was a university student in Belgium, immersed in the then-primitive world of digital image processing. A very good friend, studying English literature, was assigned “Frankenstein,” and his experience with the book piqued my curiosity. I decided to read it and found myself hooked.

The novel tells the story of a scientist who creates life, only to be horrified by his creation and abandon it. This creature, intelligent and sensitive, is left to face a hostile world, leading to tragic consequences. Notably, the creation itself is never given the name “Frankenstein.” That is the doctor’s name. He is often referred to as “the creature,” “the monster,” or “it.”

“Frankenstein” has a rich history. Mary Shelley was only 19 when she began writing it, and the concept emerged from a storytelling challenge among Mary Shelley, her husband Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, and John Polidori during a rainy summer in Switzerland. The novel is often cited as an early example of science fiction, and Shelley credited a dream for the idea. There are also theories that Castle Frankenstein, in Germany, and the alchemist who resided there, Konrad Dippel, played a role in inspiring the story.

The novel is seen as a cautionary tale about the dangers of scientific ambition and is celebrated for its profound themes, including the nature of humanity and the consequences of social isolation.

I managed to fully immerse myself in “Frankenstein” despite the novel’s occasionally challenging pace (it was written in the 19th century). It helped me survive the gray skies of Belgium, and reading it is a fond memory of that time. I would give it a 9.

– S –