Frankenstein – Mary Shelley – May 2013

Mary S. takes a stab at channeling Bill S.

 

She does an interesting beginning; then realizes she’s bitten off more than she can chew as she slows in the middle; and then tires, to wrap this up kinda lamely, exposing her true purpose with all of this, rather than keeping it all magical {which was nice.}

It’s a monumental undertaking, writing a Greek tragedy; it’s bold and audacious.  This remains after two hundred years, as a significant milestone in English language storytelling.

Is the author trying to say that this evil lies within us?

n  That this is a Christian tenent

and that the monster was Dr. Victor Frankenstein’s alter-ego;

That this was an internal struggle between the good and evil

that lies within all of us

n  Or is she documenting a real belief that evil lies without and can be fought, with knife and bludgeon?, religious faith and a wooden cross?

Lots of deaths accentuated the whole point, whatever the point was; just like in MacBeth.

Man is ignoble; possibly a lessor creature to the “Monster”; man is nonetheless, unable to acknowledge the “Monster” as a viable member of the species.  Was this prescience on M.S.’s, part of the Third Reich? or maybe of Asimov’s robotics?; or even an awesome foreseeing of genetic re-engineering, and the creation of a “master race”?

The relevance of this in modern times is scary.  Did she foresee this as a result of our penchant for scientific exploration and discovery?  The A-Bomb and H-bomb.!  Are they the Frankensteins.  We have forgotten them this past twenty years, along with poison gas {and God forbid, the next generation of these sorts of things: proliferation of genetic toxins}], since the fall of the “Evil Empire” [or was that us?].  We are only reminded periodically by events like the Boston Marathon [I am horrified that I first wrote Boston, then realized that I needed to add Marathon, or next year, nobody would know what I was talking about.]

Another, simpler thought, would be: she thought as would a butterfly, or a fawn: friend or enemy; love or hate. In my experience, I am loved by wasps and bees, rats and raccoons, and birds of all sorts.  I like to dwell on that thought.  Also, let’s give Mary credit for maybe spanning the range of human interactions, as well as time and philosophic thought.  Does Good versus Evil work any differently today than it did two hundred years ago?  I don’t think so, not one wit.  I’m currently addicted to catching up on “West Wing” on Netflix, and watching themes from ten years ago: still N. Korea & Iranian nukes.  Short term – nothing changes:  Long Term: Good & Evil; just like the Crusades, a millennia ago.

Is there take-away for our generation?

“You betcha kemo sabe.!”

At the lowest levels:

      There are those who think like us – the good guys

      And those who don’t – the bad guys

At higher levels:

      There are those who think like us – the good guys

      And those who don’t – the bad guys

 

At the end, running out of space and energy, she paraphrases my {all men’s} favorite warrior speech

 

KING HENRY V   Act 4: Scene 3

What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.