Backlog: Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley

Frankenstein continues to a good read. I wouldn't say it's one of my favorite books, but it's very, very good.

In retrospect I think it was better the second time around.

What with all the mauling pop culture has done to dearest Victor Frankenstein and his Daemon, I find myself shocked to remember just how sophisticated the novel is. Then again, pop culture treatments of classics are usually not very good. (Except maybe some of the treatments of Jane Austin. But take Dracula, for example. Dracula becomes the wolfman and there's a sex scene...on the ceiling? In fact, I don't even know if that's the same treatment. That was one of the very few movies I have been completely unable to make myself watch all the way through. With the obsession I have with vampires and Dracula, this is most CERTAINLY an insult.)

My favorite aspect of the book is the Daemon himself, especially since he is one of the elements of the book which brings up the most questions, at least in my mind: questions about the definition of humanity, cruelty, the nature of revenge, and the nature of guilt.

I think I also liked Frankenstein because my interpretations and opinions on the characters completely evolved. They didn't change entirely, but they did indeed change. Maybe that's why the classics are called the classics after all: not because they are from another time, but because they change with the individual reader.

All abstractions aside, pick up Frankenstein.

And have your dictionary on hand.