Frankenstein

I have been able to read Frankenstein, a classic tale of a monster that learns how to read and speak French. These are some things I was able to take from it:
Again the motifs of tragedy (the murders of Frankenstein’s loved ones) dominates the book. I found the contrast between and disruption of Frankenstein’s picteresque life with that which was to come (although like the rest of the book it was excessively drawn out). Then there was the supernatural aspect which always sparks at least some inkling of interest in me, especially when a little science fiction is thrown in the mix.

I thoroughly enjoyed the irony in the fact that Frankenstein essentially created his on undoing. There was the constant battle in my mind of whether he deserved it or not. This ambiguity is what I believe kept me engaged in between the horrendously monotenous painting of nature scenes and meticulous narration of every little thing. Who was the real monster? Frankenstein or the creation. It was rather frustating at the same time because just as you begin developing sympathies towards the well-spoken creation, it’d go off and kill someone.
The conflict of mankind vs the monster has its ups and downs. What I mean by that is Mary Shelley draws the hopeful gleamor from your eyes that perhaps somehow the monster could make it and then BAM! She grinds it beneath her feet. This ability makes or breaks writers in my opinion. The ability to manipulate your readers in a certain direction only to throw them the opposite way. Toy with their emotions and make them audibly vocalize gasps of shock.
I hope I can pull that off in this mystery, thriller of mine.

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