Frankenstein by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Download (read online) free eBook .pdf.epub.kindle

Frankenstein

The classic tale of the devastating consequences of playing God.

Brilliant, driven Victor Frankenstein has at last realized his greatest ambition. The scientist has succeeded in creating intelligent life. But when his creature first stirs, Frankenstein realizes he has made a monster. And, abandoned by its maker and shunned by everyone who sees it, the Doctor’s creation sets

Brilliant, driven Victor Frankenstein has at last realized his greatest ambition. The scientist has succeeded in creating intelligent life. But when his creature first stirs, Frankenstein realizes he has made a monster. And, abandoned by its maker and shunned by everyone who sees it, the Doctor’s creation sets out to destroy him and all that he holds dear.

Mary Shelley’s FRANKENSTEIN remains one of the greatest horror stories ever written, a book that chillingly captures the unforeseen terror of playing God. And the heart-stopping fear of being pursued by a powerful, relentless killer.
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    Hannah

    No stars. That’s right. Zero, zip. nada.

    It’s been almost 30 years since I’ve detested a book this much. I didn’t think anything could be worse then Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. Seems I’m never too old to be wrong. This time, I don’t have the excuse that I was forced to read this for high school lit. class. Oh no, this time I read this of my own volition and for fun. Yeah, fun. Kinda like sticking bamboo shoots between my fingernails type of fun. Watching paint dry fun. Going to an Air Supply conce

    It’s been almost 30 years since I’ve detested a book this much. I didn’t think anything could be worse then Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. Seems I’m never too old to be wrong. This time, I don’t have the excuse that I was forced to read this for high school lit. class. Oh no, this time I read this of my own volition and for fun. Yeah, fun. Kinda like sticking bamboo shoots between my fingernails type of fun. Watching paint dry fun. Going to an Air Supply concert fun.

    OK, to be fair, I need to tell you what I liked about this….

    Well, Mary Shelley was a teen when she wrote this. Color me impressed. At 19 I was just looking for my next college boyfriend, not penning the great English classic. Kudos to Mary for that.

    Otherwise, I can’t think of anything to admire in this book, apart from the fact that it’s the only book in my reading history where I actually noted EVERY SINGLE PAGE NUMBER and mentally counted down the time I’d be finished.

    Why did I persist, you may ask? Well, at the point where the pain became mind numbing, I decided to channel my inner John McCain and just survive the torture. Figured it would make me a better, stronger reader. Might even make me enjoy a re-read of Breaking Dawn….(well, no it wouldn’t, but you get the idea).

    Frankenstein is a classic alright. A classic melodrama. Complete with a wimpy, vaporish, trembling prima donna main character and a pseudo monster whose only sin is being uglier then Bernie Madoff in cell block D. After the upteenth tremble/jerk/gasp/faint/start from our mad scientist Victor Frankenstein, I could only sign in relief that he wasn’t a Rabbi about to perform a bris circumcism – oy vey!

    Were we supposed to be outraged at the monster’s killing spree? By the books end, I was merely miffed that the creature murdered the wrong Frankenstein sibling. He would have saved himself a good deal of traveling (and saved me a good deal of suffering) had he snuffed out his maker before he could high-tail it out of the birthing room.

    I’m sure that the fans of this book will say that I didn’t understand the deeper, symbolic nuances of this book, and I’m sure that they are right. At this point in my life, all I know is what I like and don’t like in a book, and as far as I’m concerned, this book is unadulterated, mind-numbing crap. But that’s just me. Your mileage will vary (as I sincerely hope it does). As for my own mileage, it can best be compared to driving a Ford Pinto in the Indy 500…

    EDIT
    Due to the efforts of a few Kool-ade drinking trolls who have gotten their big girl/big boy panties in a wad over an almost 200 year old book and can’t comment nicely on my review, I am suspending all future comments.

    Don’t like it? Blame the navel grazing trolls for not accepting the concept of a PERSONAL OPINION.
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    Stephen

    My apologies, but this review is going to be a bit frantic due to my brain being so oxygen-starved by the novel’s breath-stealing gorgeousness that I’m feeling a bit light-headed. So please forgive the random thoughts.

    First: Mary Shelley…I love you!!

    Second: Dear Hollywood – you lying dung pile of literature-savaging, no talent hacks…you got this all wrong. Please learn to read and get yourself a copy of the source material before you FUBAR it again.

    Third: My heart shattered for the “monster” an

    First: Mary Shelley…I love you!!

    Second: Dear Hollywood – you lying dung pile of literature-savaging, no talent hacks…you got this all wrong. Please learn to read and get yourself a copy of the source material before you FUBAR it again.

    Third: My heart shattered for the “monster” and I haven’t felt this strong a desire to “hug it out, bitch” since reading Grendel and Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter. The “wretch” is so well drawn and powerfully portrayed that he form the emotional ligament for the entire story. He is among the finest creations the written form has to offer.

    Fourth: As surprised as I am to be saying this, this novel has ousted Dracula as my all time favorite of the classic horror stories…sorry Bram, but the good/evil, sad, desperate loneliness of the orphaned monster trying to find a purpose and to define himself in the world trumps The Count.

    Five:

    No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs. Pursuing these reflections, I thought that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless matter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible) renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption.

    As gorgeous as the prose is, I thought it a crime not to include at least one quote.

    Six: The “non-explanation” for the process that Victor uses to create the monster is thing of genius. No other approach could have possibly conveyed the majesty and significance of the achievement, because we would have known it was bullshit. Shelley did it perfectly…which leads me nicely into…

    Seven: The corny, slapdash lightning scene is entirely a work of Hollywood? There’s …NO…lightning…scene? Are you kidding me? Even Kenneth Branagh’s supposedly “true” adaptation had electric eels providing power to the “it’s alive” process. All of it bunk. I’ll say it again, Hollywood is a bunch of useless tools. . LIARS!!!

    Eight: Speaking of tools, Victor Frankenstein is a giant one. As far as I am concerned, he is clearly the villain of the piece. However, what I found so squee-inducingly magical about Shelly’s writing was my degree of vacillation when it came to Victor’s character. I liked and even admired Victor in the beginning of the story and found his personal journey compelling. He was a genius driven by his desire to unlock the secrets of the universe and had that manic, “mad scientist” focus necessary to the accomplishment of such a lofty goal. However, once the “birth” of the monster came, I found myself waffling back and forth throughout the rest of the story. Ironically, his moment of success and his reaction to life he had conjured was when he began to lose his humanity in my eyes.

    His treatment of the monster was abhorrent. Despite this, Shelley was able to get me to see over my disgust and appreciate Frankenstein’s position and understand why he was so unwilling to continence the existence of “the wretch.” Not enough for me to forgive his lack of compassion, but enough for me to see him as a tragic figure. Huge propers for Shelley as that is excellent writing.

    Nine: I would place the monster among the finest literary creations of all time. This singular manifestation of humanity’s scientific brilliance and callous indifference to the consequences thereof is masterfully done. Frankenstein’s “wretch” became the prototype of the literary outcast and every “misunderstood” creature since has been offspring from his loins. His character profile is phenomenal, and just as Victor’s actions garner sporadic moments of understanding for his cruel treatment of the monster, so the monster’s wanton acts of vile cruelty severely test our compassion for him. Tested, bent and stretched, but, for me at least, never broken. I understood his pain…I understood his anger…I understood.

    Ten: No spoilers here, but the final resolution of the relationship between Victor and the child of his genius was…stellar. Everything was reconciled and nothing was resolved. The final reckoning occurs and it is both momentous and useless.

    Eleven: I expected the prose to be good but, having never read Shelley before, I was still surprised by how exceptional and ear-pleasing it was. Her writing really resonated with me and I loved her ability to weave emotion, plot momentum and a high literary quotient seamlessly together. Good, good stuff.

    Twelve: The novel is structured as an epistolary nesting doll using the frame story of Captain Walton corresponding with his sister about his expedition to the North Pole. While at the top of the world, Walton finds Victor Frankenstein stranded. This sets up the dovetail into Walton relaying Victor’s story which takes up the bulk of the novel and includes within it the incredibly poignant story of the “monster” in the creature’s own words. It is superbly executed and I thought the framing device was very effective.

    Thirteen: Despite my trashing of the movie versions earlier, there was one scene that I thought was handled far better on screen than in this story. Kenneth Branagh’s portrayal of (view spoiler) was far more chilling than Shelley’s more subdued recounting. I actually anticipated this segment being far more shocking and I was a tad let down as a result. This is probably my only gripe about the book.

    Fourteen: On my list of all time favorite novels. The writing, the story, the characters, the emotion, the imagery, the power…all off the charts.

    6.0 stars. HIGHEST POSSIBLE RECOMMENDATION!

    P.S.(or Fifteen:) I listened to the audio version of this read by Simon Vance and his performance was extraordinary, especially his portrayal of the “monster.” Definitely check it out if you are a consumer of audio books.

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    Emily May

    Dec 05, 2010

    rated it
    it was amazing

     · 
    review of another edition

    “I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”

    I was walking along earlier today with Jacquie and discussing the important things like, you know… books. And the subject of our top favourite books of all time came up. Oddly enough, two of our top three were the same – Wuthering Heights and Crime and Punishment. Then Jacquie said her third was a book that I hadn’t thought


    “I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”

    I was walking along earlier today with Jacquie and discussing the important things like, you know… books. And the subject of our top favourite books of all time came up. Oddly enough, two of our top three were the same – Wuthering Heights and Crime and Punishment. Then Jacquie said her third was a book that I hadn’t thought about in a very long time. That book was Frankenstein. It hit me like a shot of good literature: I had forgotten all about this classic that had so affected me, made me think and completely torn my heart out multiple times.

    Frankenstein? I said. I must go review that right now.

    You see, though, the best and worst thing about this novel is how distorted it has become by constant movie adaptations and misinformed ideas about the nature of Frankenstein and his “monster”. For years I thought Frankenstein was the name of that slightly green dude with the bolts in his neck. Nuh-uh.

    Did Frankenstein scare me? Did it have me staying awake and sleeping with the light on, jumping at every slight creak in the house? Was I terrified of the monster and technology and the dangers of playing God? No. Because the beauty of this story is that it isn’t the one so many people think it is. Which is almost my favourite thing about it. This book is not a Halloween kind of story with Halloween kind of monsters. This story is nothing short of heartbreakingly sad.


    “…once I falsely hoped to meet the beings who, pardoning my outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding.”

    The book offers many interesting avenues of philosophical exploration if one is so inclined to ponder such things; for example, allusions to religion and Genesis, possible criticisms of using science to “play God”, the relationship between creator and creation. All of these things interest me, yes, but it is the painfully human part of this book that has always so deeply affected me.

    Because the sad thing, the really sad thing, is that pretty much everyone has heard of Frankenstein’s monster… but so many don’t know how human the character is. Created as a scientific experiment by an overly ambitious man, he comes into a frightening and hostile world that immediately rejects him on sight. Even the man who made him cannot look upon his creation without feeling horror. It’s that same thing that gets me in books every time: things could have been so different. If people had just been a little less judgmental, a little less scared, and a little more understanding.

    This being, created from different parts of corpses, seeks love and finds hatred, so he instead decides to embrace it. Fuelled by his own rage at the unfairness of the world, he gradually turns towards evil. Everyone knows him as “the monster” so it’s hard for me to call him anything else, but I basically always saw him like this:

    He belongs in my own little mind category with the likes of Heathcliff and Erik (aka The Phantom of the Opera). Scared, angry villains who were made so by their own unfortunate circumstances that plunged them into worlds where they couldn’t find a place. The kind of characters you simultaneously hate and love, but most of all hope they find some kind of peace.

    So call it science-fiction, if you will. Call it horror, if you must. But this story is brimming with some of the most realistic and almost unbearably moving human emotion that I have ever read.

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