Book Log #59: Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley

Frankenstein is rightfully lauded as one of the very first SF novels, and one penned by a woman to boot. For this reason alone I'm happy to have it in my library. I am however here to tell you--if you're home recovering from major surgery and loopy from painkillers, this is not a book you want to tackle during your downtime.

The language, certainly appropriate to the era in which it was written, is thick and florid. And the layers of who's telling a story to whom--the monster telling a tale to Frankenstein who's telling a tale to the ship's captain who's telling a tale to his sister in letters--are tough to keep track of. Moreover, due to this exact nature of the story, i.e., tales being told back and forth, the action is thereby kept at a remove from the reader. For me, this was a hindrance as it kept me from really fully engaging with what was going on.

I could say that the story boils down to "a lot of landscape and angst and oh yeah there's a monster", but that's really uncharitable of me. The thing is, even given the lengthy passages in which both Frankenstein and his creation lament the general sucktitude of their various lives, there's a powerful story here. And if you give it a chance it'll grip you--right around the throat. ;) Three stars.