You Win This One, Mary Shelley...

"'I fear, my beloved girl,' I said, 'little happiness remains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in you. Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life, and my endeavors for contentment.'" -- Page 140

Let's get a group 'Aw!', shall we?  Awwwwww!  Alright, that felt good.

First, I take back everything I said about Victor!  He's amazing, the best, wonderful, a true Gothic romantic!  The letter he writes to Elizabeth while returning to her is beautiful poetry ripped straight out of a Taylor Swift love story (no pun intended).  I know I thought it was a little creepy at first, the incestuous relationship between Victor and Elizabeth, brother and sister, cousin and cousin.  Call it what you'd like, they aren't related.  They reveal their mutual love for each other in what is probably the cutest way possible, and I can appreciate that.  But to be honest, I'm just glad something interesting happened in this story besides Franky killing one of Victor's kinsmen and then Victor moping about it for three chapters straight.  All in all, the future is looking up for Victor if he marries Elizabeth, and if he does as he promises, which is tell Elizabeth everything the day after they're married, then maybe he can finally get some support in this novel from someone other than his own inner conscience.  I swear his biggest problem during the entire course of events was never letting someone else in.  You gotta let that stuff out, man.

Hate to Say I Told You So, But...

"I entered the room where the corpse lay, and was led up to the coffin. How can I describe my sensations on beholding it? I feel yet parched with horror, nor can I reflect on that terrible moment without shuddering and agony. The examination, the presence of the magistrate and witnesses, passed like a dream from my memory, when I saw the lifeless form of Henry Clerval stretched before me." -- Page 129

I'm glad Henry Clerval died.  I really am, and I saw it coming for two reasons.  But before those two reasons, further proof that Victor is mentally insane, an apostrophe.

"Clerval! beloved friend! Even now it delights me to record your words, and to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving." -- Page 113

Cut back on the laudanum, Victor.  Addressing a dead companion may seem gothically romantic, but it's just weird.  Anyways, the two ways I saw this coming:

1. While googling/sparknoting Frankenstein, it was spoiled to me on an analytical website, and
2. Franky told us it was gonna happen!

I mean seriously, Victor.  How dumb do you have to be?  I could give you an entire page's worth of quotes where Franky warns Victor what will happen for destroying his unfinished work, but instead I'll quote one; "Your hours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness forever."  There it is in plain English (well, French, I suppose).  And yet Victor, the ever-arrogant mongrel that he is, continues to shout things that would upset even the gentlest creature, like "Devil, cease" and "Begone!" and so on herein and herein contained, etcetera etcetera!  Then he wonders how such terrible and horrible things 'befall' him throughout his entire whole entire whole life when really it should come as no shock to see Clerval turn up dead.  I was glad Henry died because I wanted to prove to Victor that he can't be such a pubescent adolescent about everything, changing his mind and ideas at the whim of the weather, but it backfired.  What happened was Victor's complaining filled the pages for the next two chapters.  Boo!

OM NOM NOM

"'Safie was always gay and happy; she and I improved rapidly in the knowledge of language, so that in two months I began to comprehend most of the words uttered by my protectors.'" -- Page 83

There's a common trend I've realized while reading Frankenstein, and that trend is the deus ex machina, Latin for "God out of the machine", which can be applied in this sense as an unusual amount of convenient coincidences for one novel.  In the example used above, when Mary Shelley needs to simultaneously explain how Franky can learn how to speak, read, and comprehend/employ a vast number of cultural and historical references, she introduces Safie and the whole De Lacey backstory, conveniently allowing for Franky to learn how to speak fluently-educated French in under two years.  Safie is the deus ex machina, but the conveniences don't stop there.  Franky can read; he never learned how to read, and learning how to speak is waaay different from learning how to read.  But Mary Shelley, in courtroom judge style, will allow it.  Franky always seems to be where Victor is, even when he isn't trying.  When he kills Clerval, the body gets left in Ireland.  IRELAND.  How random is that?  Basically, Mary Shelley (or should I say her husband) is a lazy writer, but I'm not a lazy reader!  Alas, we clash!

Foil

"Alas, how great was the contrast between us! He was alive to every new scene; joyful when he saw the beauties of the setting sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise, and recommence a new day. He pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape, and the appearances of the sky." -- Page 112

In this excerpt from Chapter XVIII, Victor talks about the stark contrast between himself and his best friend and companion, Henry Clerval.  In literature we have a name for these juxtaposed personalities, they're called foil characters.  For every self-pitying, cry baby, whining, depressing comment Victor can make about life, Clerval is there to brighten the day with odes to nature and the beauties of life.  Victor despises creation (with fair reason) where Clerval embraces it.  It's truly a pity that Henry has to be the one to die.  O, how I hate Victor.  This foil at first seems to make a good storyline, as the duo travel the English countryside, visiting the houses of randos who invite people into their homes without knowing them.  Then, they split up (bad move).  Within Clerval I see resemblances to Franky; they both appreciate nature and speak with poetic wisdoms about humanity and its charms.  In fact, I'm starting to see a common denominator here, that the only unlikeable character in this whole novel is actually Victor, because all he does is complain about his life.  I don't like your life either, Victor!  Do something interesting.

Showdown: the Creator vs. the Created

"'Abhorred monster! fiend that thou art! the tortures of hell are too mild a vengeance for thy crimes. Wretched devil! you reproach me with your creation; come on, then, that I may extinguish the spark which I so negligently bestowed.' / He easily eluded me..." -- Page 68

I don't like Victor that much anymore.  He's mean to poor Franky (as I affectionately call him), and he's a loser.  He charges at his creation, "impelled by all the feelings which can arm one being against the existence of another", and misses horribly.  I'm empathize much more with Franky, because his longings seem at least genuine and with reason.  His creator shunned him already upon creation, and he has no friend; he's abhorrent, an abomination.  His sadness and self-pity is well founded, whereas Victor just whines about his supposed fate without taking any steps to change or prevent it.  Victor has the love of his family which he has abused, while Franky has never had the love of anyone.  Poor guy.  On a slightly unrelated note, I think the fact that Victor refuses to tell Walton the secret of life is a total cop out on the part of Mary Shelley, so we're back on bad terms again.  Make something up, at least the lightning thing!  Sheesh.