FRANKENSTEIN by Mary Shelley ⭐⭐⭐⭐

I have a hard time fully immersing into these centuries-old horror stories. Maybe because once the plot is spoiled, I’ve already lost most of my drive. But while this wasn’t particularly scary, I can appreciate the prose and poetry swirling about as we dive into multi-layered storytelling. The unexpected format highlights what makes this horror classic special.

I wish I could’ve come into this one unaware, because much of the experience is different than my preconceived notions. Frankenstein the creature is so attached to everything we know about horror and Halloween and monsters that reading the actual text is almost like experiencing a fresh take on the classic. There’s no extensive description of a chaotic laboratory scene, no Igor or exultant doctor. The story is told in an 'Inception'-style pattern, each step a new narrator taking it deeper. It’s multiple things at once; an adventure tale, a shock-horror groundbreaker, a social class commentary, a debate on man playing god and regret/blame. And all along, Frankenstein isn’t even the “wretched monster’s” name. It’s the doctor’s. I probably should’ve known that before.

It reads a bit like Shakespeare, an intimidating attribute until you get into the flow of the story. But I appreciate that she doesn’t stop to dwell on the unimportant plot points, the inbetweens. We can skip whole years of learning or travels if it gets us closer to the encounters we crave — any between our monster and humanity. These moments stand the test of time, scary or not.