Frankenstein Bonus Text: Introduction to the 1832 Edition

In which Mary explicates and perhaps embellishes upon Frankenstein's origin story.



And one final parting shot from Frankenstein before it lumbers off into the sunset! As mentioned way back when we started this book, Shelley rewrote large portions of the original 1818 version for an 1832 edition, and wrote this new introduction for it. I read us the 1818, but feel I should toss this in as well. For an introduction, it's got a surprising number of notes:

4:43 - She mentions that Lord Byron is writing the third canto of Childe Harold, by which she means Childe Harold's Pilgramage, a long, semi-autobiographical narrative poem about a disillusioned young man who broods across the world trying to forget his world-weariness. You can read it here, and see quite literally the invention of the Byronic hero.

5:10 - Here we begin a recounting of the "volumes of ghost stories translated from the German into French" that inspired to story-telling contest that led to Frankenstein. The volume to which she refers is Fantasmagoriana, by an unknown author, published in France in 1812. The French edition was subsequently translated into English by Sarah Utterson in 1820 as Tales of the Dead, which can be read here. She recounts (with variable accuracy) The History of the Inconstant Lover, published in English as The Death-Bride, and "the tale of the sinful founder of his race," which refers to the story The Family Portraits.

5:37 - "in complete armor, but with the beaver up." This is an explicit reference to Horatio's description of the ghost of Hamlet's father, a line that will continue to cause amusement in high school English classes unto eternity. "Beaver," of course, refers to the helmet's visor.

6:23 - Shelley says how Byron published his ghost story as a fragment "at the end of his poem of Mazeppa." Mazeppa (which can be read here) is an 1819 poem of Byron's telling the story of the Ukranian Cossack Ivan Mazepa, most of which is taken up by the hero being tied naked to a horse that is let loose. The "Fragment of a Novel" itself, one of the very first vampire stories in English, inspired Polidori to write the enormously popular and influential novella The Vampyre, which really set the stage for every vampire story to come after it.

6:52 - Polidori's own story for the contest was apparently never published, but recounted here as being about a skull-headed lady punished for looking through a keyhole. Shelley says she "was reduced to a worse condition than the renowned Tom of Coventry." This refers to the tailor who peeked at Lady Godiva's famous nude ride through Coventry to make her husband cut back on the town's taxes. The tailor was rewarded by being struck blind and immortalized in the phrase "peeping Tom."

7:55 - She refers to "Everything must have a beginning" as "speak[ing] in Sanchean phrase," referring to the way Don Quixote's famous sidekick Sancho Panza spouts off proverbs.

8:28 - "Columbus and his egg." Huh, this one seems like something I should've heard of before this. It refers to an apocryphal story about Christopher Columbus, where he responds to criticism that anyone could've made his discovery, and would have eventually anyway, by betting them they couldn't get an egg to stand on its end. They couldn't, and he did by tapping the end to break the shell a bit, flattening it enough to stand on its end. Thus, a brilliant idea that seems simple and obvious after you see someone else do it. Of course, Columbus himself didn't really discover the Americas, so there's that too.

8:59 - "Dr. Darwin." Shelley here mentions the great Dr. Erasmus "grandfather of Charles" Darwin, referring again to his influence on her writing here. Here, though, she specifically mentions the experiments "spoken of as having been done by him" where a piece of vermicelli was preserved in a glass case and spontaneously reanimated. It seems that this is actually a mish-mash of a couple of different things Darwin wrote about in The Temple of Nature, the most pertinent being about dried vorticella (a kind of very simple single-celled organism) coming back to life. "Vermicelli" does in fact literally mean "little worms," but is only ever used to refer to a type of pasta, so... yeah. If this whole thing seems vaguely familiar to you, you probably are remembering this scene from the Mel Brooks classic Young Frankenstein, which is of course a direct reference to this introduction and not anything resembling actual science. (Those of you who listen all the way to the end of the recordings may have noticed that I'm a HUGE fan of Young Frankenstein. If I ever get around to it, I actually have some thoughts on it I may share here.)

Geez, I think these notes are longer than the introduction itself. Anyway, something a little lighter next time!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg.

Frankenstein, Volume Three, Chapter Seven

In which Victor vows vengeance, pursues to the perilous pole, is saved by the stranded sailors, and all are awfully angsty.



And that concludes Frankenstein! It took us a while, but we made it. I admit, this last bit especially is a bit of a slog (sorry it's so long, I really just couldn't make another all-Robert-Walton installment), with us returning to the framing story we don't really care about and everyone talking about how miserable they are. What really sort of gets me in this section (as you can probably tell from my interjection at one point) is how both Walton and the monster sort of lionize Victor, and bemoan his sad fall due to persecution from the creature. Yes, Victor had a tragic downfall, but it was of his own making. He's not the hero of this story. No one is, really, nor is anyone truly the villain (notice I never used the "iconic villain debut" tag in this book). And I'm not talking about "oh, his actions had terrible consequences that he couldn't possibly have foreseen," because he created a giant, sentient, intelligent creature and then just abandons it. How could something bad possibly come from that?

ANYWAY. This final cover comes from a 1934 edition published by Harrison Smith and Robert Haas, with cover and illustrations by Lynd Ward (1905-1985). Ward was a very influential artist, best known for his engraved wood illustrations, particularly in his series of "wordless novels" that strongly influenced the development of the graphic novel. He also illustrated hundreds of children's books, won the 1953 Caldecott Medal for his book The Biggest Bear, and of course illustrated a number of classics, such as Frankenstein here.

Man, look at that! I love the art deco / German expressionistic look of this. It's like Fritz Lang directed this book cover. Also, hee, monster butt. I really wish I could've used his illustrations in my posts, because they're just magnificent, really. Check out Victor and the monster on the glacier! The monster running among lightning trees! William's murder! Victor with his chemistry equipment! Hey, wait, that looks a lot... oh, Airmont Classics. You plagiarizing scamps. (UPDATE: I forgot to link to the main site, where you can see a whole bunch more of the illustrations from this edition! DISCLAIMER: The guy who compiled the site is an author on an apparent crusade to prove that not Mary but Percy Shelley wrote Frankenstein, a position I do not support.)

Just a couple of quick notes in this one, as most of the being miserable was fairly straightforward. At 6:36, Victor pursues the monster into Tartary and Russia, where Tartary was a large chunk of central and northern Asia that included Mongolia, Siberia, Turkestan, and Manchuria, among other regions. This is of course where the Tartars we met in "Sleepy Hollow" came from.

At 33:38, Walton's letter from September 12th recounts how the ice broke up on September 9th. Well, the text actually says "September 19th" there, which was presumably a typesetting error in the 1818 edition due to the printer assuming that it was supposed to be the date of the next letter and thus should have a later number. It was corrected in later printings, so I figured I'd just change it myself rather than leave it weird and confusing.

Last, 48:21 the monster talks about Felix driving him from his door "with contumely," which basically means "with insulting and humiliating treatment."

And that's a wrap! We're going to lighten things up a bit with our short story interlude, as well as our next book. Stay tuned!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Frankenstein, Volume Three, Chapters Five and Six

In which Victor is self-centered to the point of missing the obvious, gets married, and the obvious happens.



And the monster has hit the fan! Well, he hit Elizabeth, actually, something which the monster's killing of others dear to him and and threats to take away all that he loves completely failed to tip Victor off to the monster's next move. Seriously, Victor, it's not all about you.

Anyway, now that the, uh, spoiler has occurred, I can share the more dramatic and violent of the covers. First up:

This French-language edition is from Le Scribe of Brussels in 1946, and depicts Elizabeth's murder in a manner highly inspired by the movie, with the castle and the neckbolts and what-not. Notice that this edition was written by Ann Mary Shelley, I guess. Apparently, the title page gets a little closer with May W. Shelley. Don't... don't know what's going on there, Belgium. Oh, and the cover artist is uncredited. So.

This one,by Lion Press in 1946 also with no artist credited, shows the immediate aftermath, with a sexy, lipsticked, cleavage-baring Elizabeth very prettily being dead without a mark on her. Meanwhile, the monster is not especially Karlovian, but does appear to be having a "my god, what have I done" moment that is not especially apparent in the book. Though, to be fair, neither is the cleavage.

Only one note this time around: at 16:42 we hear about Victor and Elizabeth purchasing their house in Cologny, which is a municipality of Geneva that is home to the World Economic Forum.

...I'm sorry, I thought that note would be more interesting. Anyway, one more installment!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Frankenstein, Volume Three, Chapter Four

In which Victor discovers the identity of the murdered man, falls ill — again — for a couple of months, is found innocent, and is picked up by his dad.



So... is it just me, or are you all kind of rooting for bad things to happen to Victor now? Am I a bad person for feeling this, or is Victor just sort of insufferable? Maybe a little of Column A, a little of Column B? All right then.

Today's cover focuses on Victor, walking in the Alps, just as he first meets the monster whose shadow looms over his shoulder:

This 2007 edition is from Sterling Publishing's Unabridged Classics series, all of which have covers by Scott McKowen. McKowen works in a scratchboard style, which is nicely evocative of old-school woodcuts and such. He's best known for his work illustrating theatrical posters, many of which can be seen here along with much of his other work, and is also well-known in geek circles for illustrating the covers to Marvel Comics' 1602, by Neil Gaiman.

Notes after the jump!

Frankenstein, Volume Three, Chapter Three

In which Victor changes his mind, re: monsters, creating another, and the monster vows revenge, whereupon Victor gets lost at sea and ends up in a land of terrible accents; and in which the narrator apologizes for his terrible accents.



Things are heating up now! Someone's dead! I wonder if the monster had anything to do with it. Probably! No notes this time around, thankfully after last time, so two covers for you here, both from Classics Illustrated:

 

Yes, LOOK AT THIS THING! The lightning font! The perspective that makes it look like the monster is Godzilla-sized! The armpit lightning! Man, this is just fantastic. This is the original line drawing cover of Classics Illustrated number 26, with cover and interior art by Robert H. "Bob" Webb and Ann Brewster. It was first published in 1945 under the banner of Classic Comics, but since this specific cover cost a full fifteen cents and is under the Classics Illustrated banner (the changed the name in 1947), it's probably from the 1951 reprint.

Around 1953, CI decided to update their look by replacing the line drawings with painted covers, and this included replacing the covers of reprints of back issues, leading to this one:

 Here we get to see a scene not usually depicted on covers: the monster being pursued across the polar wastes by Victor in his dogsled. See him back there? He looks like he's waving! Anyway, this cover first appeared in September 1958 and was by Norman Saunders, who you might remember from his saucy "Famous Fantastic Mysteries" Time Machine cover.

That wraps it up for now! Come back next time for Victor's Irish adventure, apparently!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Frankenstein, Volume Three, Chapters One and Two

In which Victor drags his heels on fulfilling his promise to the creature, and he and Henry travel to Britain; and in which the narrator assures you that that was the whole two chapters.



Well, not a whole lot happened here, besides Victor ultimately secreting himself off the coast of Scotland to finish his work. Lots of notes, though, mostly about people and places Victor and Henry see and discuss on their journey. But first, our cover!

This edition, issued by Tor in 1989, features a cover by well-known fantasy artist Boris Vallejo. More of his work can be found on his official site, though his work tends heavily to the "half-naked barbarians" end of the spectrum, and later into "completely naked fantasy ladies," so maybe don't check it out at work. Anyway, this cover shows the trend from the late 20th century of veering away from Karloff's monster into representing him somewhat more how he's described in the book, while also attempting to re-emphasize his humanity. Though, it should be noted, Karloff's portrayal was in fact very humanistic, but that's not how it really stuck in the public's consciousness.

Notes after the jump!

Frankenstein, Volume Two, Chapters Eight and Nine

In which the creature rages against the heavens and vows revenge, murders just a little bit, then asks Victor for one tiny favor in order to leave everyone alone forever.



Here we go, we're picking up steam again! I mean, still plenty of angst and misery, but we're back to the murdery and mad sciencey place again. Yay!

Today's cover goes full-on Karloff:

This doesn't even really pretend to take its imagery from anything other than the movie. There's even a castle! This 1976 edition published by Pocket Books had this here cover done by Mara McAfee (1929-1984). McAfee started out as a minor-league actor in the 1950s before going on to a very well-respected career as an artist and illustrator who did do some literary illustrations like this, but was best known for satirical illustrations for publications like National Lampoon, which often featured her work on the cover. A small selection of her work (including a closer look at this cover) can be viewed here.

Thankfully brief notes after the jump!

Frankenstein, Volume Two, Chapters Five to Seven

In which the creature edumacates himself with incredibly convenient books, relates the unnecessary backstory of his cottagers, reveals himself to them and is disappointed; and in which the narrator assures you that that does indeed span three whole chapters.



Well, it turns out that our chewy nougat center has, I don't know, a thin ribbon of caramel or something running through it, in the form of the cottager's completely superfluous and interminable backstory. Bah. We dug down four levels deep into this nested narrative, now we claw our way back up. First, though, our next cover! This edition was published sometime in the 1990s by Holt, Rinehart and Wilson.

Aww, sad monster.

Mostly literary notes, and a lot of them, after the jump!

Frankenstein, Volume Two, Chapters Three and Four

In which the creature explains how he lived in a forest for a while, was attacked by some villagers for being scary, and shacked up in a hovel where he could spy on a beautiful little poor family he falls in love with; and in which our narrator really wonders about the family not ever looking into the little little hovel attached to their house over the course of several months even though someone's nearby collecting their wood for them, I mean, right?



Okay, so now we've tunneled down through our Frankenbar into the chewy nougat center that is the Creature's Story, and I think that's where our candy bar metaphor reaches its limit. Anyway, this installment's cover is from a Romanian edition by Excelsior-Multi Press from some indefinite year:

This is crazy! We've got the title all drippy and bleeding and stuff, and it looks like we're seeing the monster as his head is being, like, hooked up, on a background of lab equipment and... and is that a... a crocodile? What in the world is that doing there? Was that used for parts or something?

Notes after the jump!

Frankenstein, Volume Two, Chapters One and Two

In which the family Frankenstein takes a field trip to raise their spirits, where Victor takes a solitary sojourn on a glacier and unexpectedly encounters a familiar face who begs to tell his side of the story.



And so starts Volume Two, where we will find out what the creature has been up to over the past several years after being brought to life and promptly abandoned. A few notes, mostly pertaining to places, but first our new cover:

This cover is from an edition published by Signet in 1965, and is rather special to me as the edition in which I myself first read the story, and which still sits on my bookshelf. It does, however, contain the 1832 version, so it's not the one I'm actually reading right now.

I like the impressionistic style of this cover. It emphasizes the monster's human-like but somehow still bestial nature, and gives the whole thing a sort of air of mystery over horror, while still being suitably creepy. It also manages to be somewhat reminiscent of Karloff's monster — the flat-top head, the sunken eyes — while not being an obvious reference to it.

Notes after the jump!

Frankenstein, Volume One, Chapter Seven

In which Justine goes to trial for William's murder, it goes about as well as can be expected, but Victor makes sure to let us all know that his suffering is the worst of everyone; and in which the narrator is STILL not dead.



Hi-ho, everyone! Yup, still not dead, and here with another installment of Frankenstein. This is a rather short one, as we come to the end of Volume One after only a chapter, but now we start getting into the real angsty stuff. No notes this time around(!), and we're all out of illustrations, so here's our new vintage cover:

Holy hell, how great is this thing? A 1932 printing from Illustrated Editions, with cover (and interior illustrations) by Nino Carbé. Carbé later went on to be an animator at Disney and worked on films such as Fantasia, Bambi, and Pinocchio, though he primarily ended up working as a children's book illustrator. And yes, that's the face of his monster, definitely playing up the "daemon" aspect of Victor's narration. Interestingly, while this was done after the 1931 movie (and, in fact, probably published to capitalize on its popularity), Karloff's monster had not become quite iconic enough to completely overtake designs of the monster, as it later would. It is, however, probably responsible for Carbé putting electrodes in the monster's neck. Man, I wish these illustrations were in the public domain. I would've LOVED to use them here. Ah well.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Frankenstein, Volume One, Chapters Five and Six

In which Victor returns to health, letters arrive from loved ones, Elizabeth expounds at length on the history of a person whom Victor really already knows, tragedy strikes, and Victor figures it's probably his fault but eh, it'll probably end up working out this time, right? And in which the narrator assures you that he, too, will not stay dead.



Lookit that, we're back! This was actually recorded in part over a month ago, but only just completed last night (in case the sound between the two chapters sounds different or anything. Unfortunately, I appear to have, uh, misplaced my notes for Chapter 5, and my computer just ate my notes for Chapter 6, so I'm gonna have to go back through and listen to find out what notes are needed and where. I'll post 'em up here soon as I can!

In the meantime, here's today's cover, from a 1963 edition from Airmont Classics.Boy, this is a good one! I love that we've got Victor being all broody amongst his laboratory equipment that is also a graveyard, with the subtle grim specter of the creature's (Karloff-inspired) face looming in the background. This is also a great example of stock lab equipment in art. Want to show people your character is a "scientist"? Put some colored liquid into some flasks -- round-bottom and Erlenmeyer are especially popular, though I'm surprised there aren't any retorts there -- a smoking crucible over some kind of a burner, probably, and a mortar and pestle and boom! Science!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Frankenstein, Volume One, Chapters Three and Four

In which Victor meddles in Things Man Was Not Meant to Know and, spoilers, grants life to a cobbled-together creature and promptly freaks the hell out, and best friend Henry appears just in time to play nursemaid.



And now we've passed through the chocolately backstory and into the caramel and crazynuts of the main narrative. And boy, once there Shelley really leaps right into making the creature, doesn't she? Interesting to note some major differences from the popular conception of the story (which, of course, largely comes from the movies): Victor's a student, not a doctor. No castle, and no assistant, hunchbacked or otherwise, just Victor by himself in the attic room of his apartment. And, of course, the appearance of the creature himself, with his lustrous black hair and pearly teeth.

One sort of general note: Victor mentions several times his visits to charnel houses during his studies and, eventually, his supply runs. These were vaults where bodies and/or bones were piled up, often those found when digging new graves and sometimes those excavated specifically to make more room (I mean, hey, are you really using that grave five years down the line?)

At 7:50, Victor says he "was like the Arabian who had been buried with the dead, and found a passage to life aided only by one glimmering, and seemingly ineffectual light." This refers to the Fourth Voyage of Sinbad the Sailor, (who, of course, made seven voyages total). In this specific tale, to be brief, Sinbad is rescued from cannibals by other island natives, befriends their king, and is given a wealthy and beautiful wife. She gets sick and dies, and Sinbad learns that their custom is that both spouses are entombed when one dies, the living one given a jug of water and seven rations of bread to, I guess, prolong their agony. Luckily, when these are used up, a new living/dead pair are tossed into the cave, so Sinbad, uh, kills the still-living wife and takes her food (along with all the burial jewels and finery). After this happens several more times, Sinbad's got a nice little hoard of food, water, and wealth going on, until he follows the little light and/or a wild animal out an escape route to the sea. So... yeah.

Oh, and we've got another illustration! Also involving a glimmering light.

17:07 - "By the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull,
yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive
motion agitated its limbs, ... I rushed out of the room."

And... that's it for the illustrations. It's gonna be covers from now on. A few more notes, though:

22:10 - "Like one who, on a lonely road, / Doth walk in fear and dread, / And, having once turn'd round, walks on, / And turns no more his head; / Because he knows a frightful fiend / Doth close behind him tread." While wandering the streets, Victor brings us another reference (this time, a direct quotation) to "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," much as Walton did in the Letters. In case anyone is nit-picky enough to care (and you know I am), these references rather screw with the supposed timeline of the novel. Coleridge's poem was published in 1798, while Walton's letters were dated December 11th, 17—, to August 19th, 17—. It's possible that both Walton and Victor read the poem (Victor closely enough to memorize passages) in the months before heading up to the Arctic, and those m-dashes conceal 1798 to 1799. Sure. But then, Walton mentioned that they were trapped in the ice "last Monday (July 31st), and July 31, 1799 was a Wednesday. Going back, we first find it on a Monday in 1797, a year before "The Rime" was published! God, it's like Shelley didn't research this AT ALL.

At 22:28, we hear about another mode of conveyance: the diligence. This was a form of stagecoach, a big, sturdy carriage drawn by four or more horses used as a mode of public transport. They could usually seat a bunch of passengers and carry a mess of luggage on the roof.

Last, Henry says that his father was like the "Dutch schoolmaster in The Vicar of Wakefield: 'I have ten thousand florins a year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.'" The Vicar of Wakefield was a comedic sentimental novel (or possibly a satire of sentimental novels, depending on who you talk to) from the 1760s that remained popular up through and including the Victorian era.

Okay, so monster's created and immediately abandoned. Let's see how well that turns out!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Frankenstein, Volume One, Chapters One and Two

In which we are introduced to Victor Frankenstein, and he relates his backstory of parental death, sweetheart cousin Elizabeth, best friend Henry, fascination with alchemy, and teachers both supportive and non.



All right, so we've broken through the crunchy, frozen outer shell of the framing device and into the smooth, chocolately Swiss backstory of young Victor. This is actually where an interesting change was put in when Shelley edited the story for the 1831 edition. In the original version we're reading, Elisabeth is Victor's cousin, taken in by Victor's father when his sister (Victor's aunt) dies, and Elizabeth's father decides she'd apparently be better with her uncle than with a stepmother. Reading too much Grimm, perhaps.Spoilers, but Elizabeth and Victor become sweethearts, which was not an uncommon thing back then. Charles Darwin, for instance, married his cousin Emma Wedgwood in 1839.

The 1831 edition, in contrast, not only beefs up how much Victor's parents doted on him, but changes Elizabeth into the daughter of an Italian nobleman who, upon his wife's death, left her with a foster family to raise. When the foster father disappeared at war, the family fell into poverty. Victor's parents, traveling through Italy and being of a charitable mindset, frequented the houses of the poor and came across this foster family. They noticed that one of the children "appeared of a different stock. The four others were dark-eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin, and very fair." Obviously, they decided to take this child (and only this child) out of poverty. The family loved her, but wanted the best for her, and so let them take her. Elizabeth was then subsequently given to Victor as a present. Jokingly, but the five-year-old took it seriously.

Personally, I find this 1831 version much creepier and more problematic than the kissing cousins.

Anyway, notes after then jump:

Frankenstein, Volume One, Letters I to IV

In which some guy mounts a voyage to try to sail across the North Pole or something, and meets a mysterious, sorrowful man in the Arctic waste; and in which our narrator goes on at some length on the novel's background information.



FRANKENSTEIN! Yes, the book that essentially invented the entire genre of science fiction, and actually quite different than the story most people are familiar with through adaptations. As discussed at some length in my intro, the story famously grew out of a contest held between Mary (then 18-year-old Mary Godwin); her lover, the married Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley; her also-18-year-old pregnant step-sister, Claire Clairmont; her lover and father of her child, the other major Romantic poet, Lord Byron; and Byron's physician-who-was-also-a-writer John Polidori. They were all visiting Geneva, Switzerland, in the summer of 1816, "The Year Without a Summer," where they spent some prolonged periods inside due to the poor weather and amused themselves by reading ghost stories. Byron suggested a contest where they would each write their own ghost story. Byron started and abandoned a "Fragment of a (vampire) Novel," which Polidori turned into the novella "The Vampyre," generally considered the beginning of the vampire literary genre. Mary, after a period of writer's block, was inspired by a dream to start what would of course become Frankenstein: or, the Modern Prometheus. She worked on it for a couple of years, gave her draft to Percy to fancify-up,* and published it in 1818.

So, there was Mary's more plainspoken, pre-Percy draft (only recently published and which I want), the 1818 edition, and the 1831 "popular" edition. Mary made some major rewrites in this last edition, often stylistic but also with an eye towards making the story more conservative, making the characters more pawns of fate than people who made (or are victims of) bad decisions. This is by far the most reprinted edition, but since I strongly lean towards the free will end of the "destiny" spectrum, I'm going with the 1818 edition. A good rundown of the differences between the editions can be found in this excellent essay by Anne K. Mellor, published in Chapter 9 of her 1988 book Mary Shelley: Her Life, Her Fiction, Her Monsters, which I also want.

Anyway, there are surprisingly few public domain illustrations for this, considering the book has over a hundred years of public domain editions to pull from. The 1831 edition was, for one, but with only two illustrations. I'll include those, but in the meantime I'll fall back on the covers.

This one is from an 1882 edition published by George Routledge and Sons that looks to be part of a series of sixpence reprints that include this one we saw earlier for Sense and Sensibility. And... I don't know about you, but I get a weird USA patriotic vibe from this one. I mean, it's nice to see the monster depicted before he was forever Karloffed (see: pretty much every other cover we'll be looking at), but the red white, and blue color scheme, the military-uniform-looking outfit, the tricorn hat... just me? Okay.

All right, and lastly, a couple of notes. In the Preface at 8:05, the author states that the central conceit of the novel "has been supposed, by Dr. Darwin... as not of impossible occurrence." This is a different Darwin than the one the Time Traveler was referring to, though it's also not Charles. Here, she's talking about Charles's grandfather, Dr. Erasmus Darwin: physician, poet, physiologist, abolitionist, etc. He had some ideas on species and nature that quite clearly prefigured his grandson's famous theory of evolution, touching on ideas that would later be called natural selection and survival of the fittest. Shelley's probably alluding specifically to Darwin's final work, published posthumously in 1803, The Temple of Nature: or, The Origin of Society: A Poem, with Philosophical Notes. Specifically, she probably means the twelfth note, "Chemical Theory of Electricity and Magnetism."

Finally, Walton's reference at 23:33 to "the land of mist and snow" and his further assurance that he wouldn't kill an albatross (and would thus be okay) are references to Samuel Taylor Coleridge's classic 1798 poem, "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner." In the poem, a ship is driven by a storm into the Antarctic, from where they are guided out by an albatross. The titular mariner then shoots the bird, for some reason, after which their ship (though now in warmer climes) becomes becalmed in uncharted waters. The crew blames this bad luck on the mariner killing the bird that had saved them, so they force him to wear the dead albatross around his neck in shame. It gets worse from there. But, we don't really care about Walton's fate here, we want to get to Frankenstein!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

*Some claim that Percy's contributions were so major that he should be considered at least minor co-author. Some even claim that he's the actual author of the book, and that Mary had little or nothing to do with it. The evidence for these claims generally boils down to "But she's just, like, a CHICK and stuff!"