“Remember, that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed.” —Frankenstein’s Creature, page 89

the last time i read FRANKENSTEIN, i was a senior in high school who was not at all prepared to read this classic. there is something so deeply universal about feeling loneliness and grief and alienation that it’s no wonder why shelley’s work reverberated through the world. there were moments during the creature’s chapters where i was in genuine tears; to be outside the world with no one other than yourself mars the mind and the body. to be shunned, constantly, without fail, and to have ended your life with the death of your father / creator / god . . . it’s such a miserable existence. 

shelley was insane for writing this book about being scorned by your father-creator-god and dedicating it to her own father . . . jesus christ. 

also, the thing about the wretchedness of this tragedy is that it was preventable. if victor showed his creation love, then this series of unfortunate events would’ve have occurred. it drives me nuts when the moment victor (god-father-creator) could’ve given the creature his eve, he snatched the chance of love away. god, with adam’s blood on his hands. adam, with a wound in his rib. the absence, a loneliness that could’ve been abated. it’s maddening, and, god, i fucking adore tragedies. 

i love you mary shelley. i love you preventable tragedies. i love you complicated creation-and-maker dynamics. i love you sci-fi. i, especially, love you lonely creatures spurned from the world.