Frankenstein: Annotated Bibliography
David S. Miall, for ENGL 450: The ShelleysThis assembly of references collects some of the readings I have found helpful -- it is not intended to be representative, and is far from complete. After each citation I provide a short abstract and an illustrative quotation.
Editions: Butler (1994); Macdonald & Scherf (1994); Smith (1992); Joseph (1980). Articles and Chapters: Behrendt (1995); Brennan (1989); Hobbs (1993); Hodges (1983); Homans (1995/1986); London (1993); May (1995); Moers (1974); Randal (1984); Rose (1995); Scott (1974); Willis (1995); Youngquist (1991).
Editions
Frankenstein 1818, ed. Marilyn Butler (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994).
Butler's introduction reviews the intellectual context and emotional stresses of Mary Shelley's life that appear to have influenced her novel. It is suggested that the science of the novel reflects a contemporary dispute among biologists, in particular between Abernethy and Lawrence (who acted as Percy Shelley's physician), whether life is to be explained on vitalist or mechanical principles. Butler argues that Shelley's revisions to the novel for its 1831 publication reflect her need to play down the mechanistic view which fell into disrepute during the 1820s. An account hostile to the mechanistic view is reprinted from a Quarterly Review article of 1819 in an Appendix. Also discussed are the ghost stories read at the Villa Diodati in 1816, the education of the monster, and Frankenstein's "parenting."
Mary and Percy Shelley, Lawrence's friends, were living near London in that March of 1816, when Lawrence's materialist case against spiritualized vitalism was first sketched out. It would not be surprising, then, if Mary's contribution to the ghost-story competition to some degree acts out the debate between Abernethy and Lawrence, in a form close enough for those who knew the debate to recognize. Frankenstein the blundering experimenter, still working with superseded notions, shadows the intellectual position of Abernethy, who proposes that the superadded life-element is analogous to electricity. Lawrence's sceptical commentary on that position finds its echo in Mary Shelley's equally detached, serio-comic representation . . . (p. xxi)Frankenstein 1818, ed. D. L. Macdonald & Kathleen Scherf (Peterborough: Broadview Press, 1994).
The Introduction reviews the influences on the book and its publication history in four sections: The Education of Mary Shelley (in particular her reading of Godwin and Wollstonecraft), the Education of Victor Frankenstein (discussion of Darwin and Davy), the Education of the Monster, and the Evolution of the Novel. An Appendix provides extracts from Godwin, Wollstonecraft, Darwin, Davy, and from the books read by the monster: Volney, Goethe, Plutarch, and Milton. The substantive variants in the 1831 edition are listed in another Appendix.
Darwin, who wrote a two-thousand-line poem about the sexual lives of plants, and who fathered fourteen children, was an enthusiastic advocate of sexual reproduction. In avoiding it, Victor is not simply descending some abstract biological hierarchy, but committing a serious offense. The Temple of Nature explains why. Darwin thinks of the organisms that reproduce by "solitary reproduction" as male, not as asexual or bisexual. Their offspring resemble them completely: thus the common interpretation of the monster as a sort of double of Victor is solidly grounded in Darwinian biology. Sexual reproduction, by contrast, allows not only for variation but for the blending of masculine and feminine traits, leading to what William Veeder considers Shelley's psychological ideal, androgyny. Victor's resort to solitary reproduction shows how far he is from this ideal. (Introduction, p. 22)Frankenstein 1831, ed. Johanna M. Smith [Case Studies in Contemporary Criticism] (Boston: Bedford Books, St. Martin's Press, 1992).
In her introduction, Smith points to the conflicts in the life and writings of her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft; she also discusses the historical context of Godwin's Political Justice. In eloping with Percy Shelley, Godwin's disciple, Mary took on the precarious social situation of her mother, as well as the conflicting demands of intellectual and domestic life. Reflecting on the potentially revolutionary situation in which Frankenstein was published (and reissued in 1831), Smith finds echoes of Shelley's sympathies with both reformist and revolutionary impulses.
If . . . Frankenstein and his culture have created the monster, then there are clear grounds for two claims: that a society and not its outcasts creates revolutionary violence, and that the monster's rage is, as Godwin put it, the revolutionary's "excess of a virtuous feeling." This tension between fear of revolution and sympathy with the revolutionary reveals Mary's personal ambivalence, but it does more than that: by making both the conservative and the revolutionary arguments, Frankenstein dramatizes the tension between the two that characterized England in the years between 1789 and 1832. (p. 16)In the Case Book section, after a review of criticism of Frankenstein, five approaches to the novel are outlined with five essays by different authors. The approaches offered are reader-response criticism, psychoanalytic (a Lacanian approach is taken in the essay), feminist, marxist, and cultural criticism.
Frankenstein 1831, ed. M. K. Joseph (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980).
Joseph's introduction points to the Romantic associations of the Prometheus myth with science, especially electricity. Joseph also points to the parallels created by the concentric layers of the narrative structure, and to the echoes of Paradise Lost in the stories of both the monster and Frankenstein. The monster is seen as Frankenstein's double.
Prometheus was also an accepted metaphor of the artist, but when Mary Shelley transfers this to the scientist, the implications are radical. If Frankenstein, as scientist, is 'the modern Prometheus', then science too is creative; but whereas the world of art is ideal and speculative, that of science is real and inescapable. It must then take the consequences: the scientist, himself a creature, has taken on the role and burden of a creator. If Frankenstein corrupts the monster by his rejection, which is good Godwinism so far, we are left asking a question which demands another kind of answer: what has rejected and corrupted Frankenstein? And if Prometheus, in the romantic tradition, is identified with human revolt, is the monster what that revolt looks like from the other side -- a pitiful botched-up creature, a 'filthy mass that moved and talked,' which brings nothing but grief and destruction upon the power that made him? (p. xii)
Articles and Chapters
Behrendt, Stephen, "Mary Shelley, Frankenstein, and the Woman Writer's Fate," in Paula R. Feldman and Theresa M. Kelley, eds., Romantic Women Writers: Voices and Countervoices (Hanover and London: University Press of New England, 1995), pp. 69-87.
Mary Shelley's fear of the public role of authorship is reflected in the dangers encountered by Frankenstein and the monster. As authors, the usual result of women's interventions on male-dominated culture was alienation and division especially when they stepped outside the sentimental or Gothic. The reception of women writers such as Tighe, Hemans, or Landon confined their achievement to the domestic and affectional. The monster shares the fate of the woman writer, made marginal and then self-destructive. In seeking sympathy from a reading public the writer also courts self-exposure and misappropriation.
As objects of discourse, women were continually reminded of their "proper" and "natural" place in private familial and public extrafamilial interaction. The woman writer (who becomes herself an originator of discourse by publishing) is "represented" within public culture as an object of discourse when her work is reviewed by the (generally male) critic. But she is also translated into the subject of discourse when her literary efforts are indiscriminately interchanged with, or substituted for, her self -- her individual person -- within the public discourse of criticism. (pp. 71-72)Brennan, Matthew C., "The Landscape of Grief in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein," Studies in the Humanities 15:1 (June, 1989), 33-44.
Brennan suggests that Frankenstein is result of Mary's Shelley's unresolved grief for the death of her mother. In the novel this is represented by Frankenstein's pursuit of the sublime in Nature, in contrast to Clerval's and his own earlier preference for the picturesque prior to the death of his mother. Both Shelley, and Frankenstein in his scientific pursuit, wished to resurrect the dead. Frankenstein's retreat to the sublime landscape of the Alps provided a symbolic reunion with the lost mother. In contrast, the appearance of the monster reminds him of his grief. Mary Shelley overcomes her own need to regress by writing the novel.
Like Victor Frankenstein and his Monster, Mary Shelley felt the agony and grief of lacking a nurturing mother. Clearly, Mary Shelley has projected into her characterization of Frankenstein her own adolescent attraction to the sublime as a vehicle to escape consciousness of this grief; but, significantly, she also distances herself from Frankenstein through her narrative structure and in so doing mitigates her need to regress. Here, with Walton writing letters about Frankenstein, the narrative frame forms a boundary between, on one hand, the destructive regression of the self at the center of the story and, on the other hand, the more rational, socially adjusted self of the frame . . . (p. 41)Hobbs, Colleen, "Reading the Symptoms: An Exploration of Repression and Hysteria in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein," Studies in the Novel 25:2 (Summer, 1993), 152-169.
While hysteria was seen primarily as a female malady, it was also diagnosed in men as the result of misdirected passions, and is apparent in Shelley's depiction of Frankenstein. While his family seeks to restrain all signs of emotion, such as grief, Frankenstein's excessive passion violates the male orthodoxy of self-control (which Godwin had preached to Mary). His body betrays his anxieties even as he works to create the monster. The murder of Elizabeth forestalls the dangerous unleashing of sexual passion. The novel explores the costs of remaining within a gender role defined by reason and control.
Because women are traditionally associated with irrationality and the body -- at the expense of the "noble spirits" of reason and mind that Godwin observed -- "madness, even when experienced by men, is metaphorically and symbolically represented as feminine" [Showalter]. By attributing the most "feminine" of female traits to a male character, Shelley forces us to re-assess a character who, heretofore, seemed determined to impress us with his "manly" control. Wollstonecraft uses hysteria to depict the oppression of women: Shelley employs the condition to uncover what is being repressed in and by Victor's code of masculinity. She calls into question her character's aggressive version of masculinity by shutting it down with an extreme inscription of the feminine that silences him when he wants to speak and paralyzes him when he most needs to act. Victor's hysteric symptoms illustrate that his body will address the message that his brain would deny: even rational "noble spirits" must attend to their emotions. (pp. 160-1)Hodges, Devon, "Frankenstein and the Feminine Subversion of the Novel," Tulsa Studies in Women's Literature 2:2 (Fall, 1983), 155-164.
If the novel in the early 19th century serves to naturalize women's domestic position within a patriarchal culture, Mary Shelley's novel works to undermine this. By adopting the male voice in three deviant narrators, Shelley destabilizes its authority. As the product of a dream, the novel also represents a disruption in the symbolic order. The monster figures the position of the female writer, neither inside nor outside culture.
Like the monster, woman in a patriarchal society is defined as an absence, an enigma, mystery, or crime, or she is allowed to be a presence only so that she can be defined as a lack, a mutilated body that must be repressed to enable men to join the symbolic order and maintain their mastery. As Baudelaire puts it, "woman is different, that is to say, abominable." Her difference places her outside culture, and her abominable presence places her within it. Mary Shelley, because she writes from this paradoxical position, has been accused of artistic failure: "Mary Shelley is not inside or outside enough" writes one male critic. But her representation of the liminal position of women -- and the relation of that position to sexual categories of a patriarchal culture -- is precisely her achievement. (pp. 162-3)Homans, Margaret, "Bearing Demons: Frankenstein's Circumvention of the Maternal," in Fred Botting, ed., Frankenstein: New Casebooks (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1995), pp. 140-165. (original publication 1986)
In the monster Frankenstein creates a substitute for the desired but absent mother, inquiring into nature as if violating sexual secrets. The monster's murder of Elizabeth removes the last of a series of actual or potential mothers. The monster is thus Frankenstein's literalized narcissistic love-object, rather as Eve is for Adam in Paradise Lost, and as Mary was for Percy (who then tired of her and sought another ideal woman). At the same time, the novel also expresses fear of birth, or the loss of control over its outcome. In particular, it reflects horror of the illegitimate birth outside male control. The monster literalizes the literature of the poets to whom Shelley listened by Lake Geneva in 1816.
Thus the novel may be about the horror associated with motherhood, yet this reading seems unduly influenced by the superimpositions of the introduction, and furthermore it ignores the novel's most prominent feature, that the demon is not a child born of woman but the creation of a man. Most succinctly put, the novel is about the collision between androcentric and gynocentric theories of creation, a collision that results in the denigration of maternal childbearing through its circumvention by male creation. The novel presents Mary Shelley's response to the expectation, manifested in such poems as Alastor or Paradise Lost, that women embody and yet not embody male fantasies. At the same time, it expresses a woman's knowledge of the irrefutable independence of the body, both her own and those of the children that she produces, from projective male fantasy. While a masculine being -- God, Adam, Percy Shelley, Frankenstein -- may imagine that his creation of an imaginary being may remain under the control of his desires, Mary Shelley knows otherwise, both through her experience as mistress and wife of Percy and through her experience of childbirth. Shelley's particular history shows irrefutably that children, even pregnancies, do not remain under the control of those who conceive them. (p. 155)London, Bette, "Mary Shelley, Frankenstein, and the Spectacle of Masculinity," PMLA 108:2 (March, 1993), 253-267.
Percy Shelley's death, figured in a monument and a painting, suggest male self-display, and point to Frankenstein's creation of his monster as "a spectacle of himself." Rieger's introduction to his 1818 edition focuses by contrast on Mary's authorship, on the spectacle of the female, a position echoed in recent feminist criticism. Debate over the authorship of the novel only perpetuates a male myth of creation that the novel itself undermines. It is the male body that is persistently at the centre of the novel. From the margins, Mary Shelley is able to expose the fractures in the male imagination and question its assumptions about gender.
For the woman silenced at the margins of the male imagination can do more than demonstrate masculine preeminence. Like the figure of Mary Shelley produced in the reconstruction of her story's origins (the 1831 introduction) or the sacrificial figures cast up in her novel the woman at the extremities can point to the fractures in the unified male image: the excesses and deficiencies that disturb the surface of masculinity. From such a position she can carve out a space for reading differently, opening to view the inevitable gap between image and ideal that structures male self-presentations, that renders male literature -- and literary criticism -- autobiographical confession.May, Leila Silvana, "Sibling Revelry in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein," Studies in English Literature 1500-1900 35:4 (Autumn, 1995), 669-685.
The brother's desire for the sister in Romantic literature is threatened by the sister's desire for the brother. In Frankenstein female desire is effaced by the extreme subjection and passivity of the women, but this in turn creates a figurative world of monsters and the destruction of the family. With parental relationships pared away, sibling desire dominates the relationship of Walton to his sister, Walton to Frankenstein, and the wish of the monster for a partner. But desire is displaced onto Frankenstein's scientific inquiries, and Frankenstein's sister is replaced by the monster who murders her.
Just as images of sexuality and parturition are systematically displaced in this novel, so too is the idea of feminine desire. We are never allowed to locate it with precision; it is certainly not to be found in Caroline's otherworldly demeanor, nor in Elizabeth's passivity and ineffectuality (though perhaps glimpses of it are revealed in Safie's resistance to "the law of the father"). But feminine desire spills over onto the landscape of the novel, erasing all surveyor's markings and creating a symbolic deterioration of identity boundaries. It does so with its own logic of destruction and creation, generating a tide whose ebb and flow erodes the distinctions between individuals and displaces identities, ultimately effacing the familial definitions that discipline and contain sororal desire. (p. 677)Moers, Ellen, "Female Gothic," in George Levine & U. C. Knoepflmacher, eds., The Endurance of Frankenstein, pp. 77-87 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974).
Shelley's twist to the Gothic tradition is based on her figurative handling of a myth of birth, or, more exactly, the trauma of the afterbirth that involves guilt and depression. This comes, in part, from Shelley's own early experience of childbirth and the suicides of her half-sister Fanny and Percy's first wife Harriet, experiences which mixed birth and death during the writing of Frankenstein. The newborn is thus both monster and piteous victim. Frankenstein's idealism contrasts grotesquely with the material ugliness of his creation.
Frankenstein, the scientist, runs away and abandons the newborn Monster, who is and remains nameless. Here, I think, is where Mary Shelley's book is most interesting, most powerful, and most feminine: in the motif of revulsion against newborn life and the drama of guilt, dread, and flight surrounding birth and its consequences. Most of the novel, roughly two of its three volumes, can be said to deal with the retribution visited upon Monster and creator for deficient infant care. Frankenstein seems to be distinctly a woman's mythmaking on the subject of birth precisely because its emphasis is not upon what precedes birth, not upon birth itself, but upon what follows birth: the trauma of the afterbirth. (p. 81)Randel, Fred. V., "Frankenstein, Feminism, and the Intertextuality of Mountains," Studies in Romanticism 23:4 (Winter, 1984), 515-532.
A patriarchal tradition of mountain-top vision, descended from the Bible through Milton, Wordsworth and Coleridge, is challenged by Percy's Shelley's "Mont Blanc" and by Mary Shelley in Frankenstein. Mary Shelley's mountain scenes in the novel provide both regressive and nurturing opportunities, the latter mediated by sound (specifically, the voice of the monster in contrast to his appearance). At the same time, Frankenstein's laboratory figures the birthing process as repulsive precisely because the female presence is suppressed. The concentric narrative structure valorizes the monster, in contrast to Frankenstein's revulsion and irresponsibility towards his creation.
In the next chapter (ch. x) she introduces a mountaintop experience that holds a potential for enabling Frankenstein to grow up. The topography again focuses attention on opposed mountains: Montanvert, with its "somber" "pines," a mountain incorporating the greenness of fertility, and, on the other hand, "a bare perpendicular rock" which is the "opposite mountain." The Miltonic alternatives of generativity and sterility, now severed from a supernatural framework, stand starkly before us. Frankenstein resolves "to ascend to the summit of Montanvert," but he insists on going "without a guide" in order to preserve "the solitary grandeur of the scene." He "arrived at the top of the ascent" but soon crossed the glacier to the "opposite mountain" and climbed up its side to a point "exactly opposite" to Montanvert. His desired isolation is inscribed in the lifelessness and even the namelessness of this barren crag, where he promptly withdraws into "a recess of the rock." (p. 526)Rose, Ellen Cronan, "Custody Battles: Reproducing Knowledge about Frankenstein," New Literary History 26:4 (Autumn, 1995), 809-832.
Modern criticism of Frankenstein reflects the novel's own anxieties about gender and birthing. A review of feminist criticism, contrasted with some male critics, points to male anxiety about female procreative power, while the succession of feminist writing on Frankenstein shows a move from biographical and bodily concerns to linguistic and cultural. This move is situated within shifts in women's awareness in modern America, such as the debates on abortion or reproductive technologies. Most recently a new concern with the problematics of masculinity has emerged, which is shown in essays by Hobbs and London.
I began this essay asserting that literary criticism, no less that the texts it examines, reflects unfolding cultural and historical preoccupations and anxieties. As we have seen, from the mid-1970s to the end of the 1980s, feminist criticism of Frankenstein assumed a shape that followed closely the contours of evolving feminist analyses of women's relation to biological procreation. When feminist philosophers and popular writers alike saw motherhood as an impediment to women's achievement of independence, agency, and even full humanity, it was glaringly evident to feminist critics that Frankenstein registered a woman's highly ambivalent feelings about maternity. As (some) women gained access to technologies that enabled them to separate sexual activity from procreation, they ceased to regard biology as destiny. (pp. 825-6)Scott, Peter Dale, "Vital Artifice: Mary, Percy, and the Psychopolitical Integrity of Frankenstein," in George Levine & U. C. Knoepflmacher, eds., The Endurance of Frankenstein, pp. 172-202 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974).
Mary Shelley's response to her experimental and idea-driven life with Percy Shelley helps shape the figures of Frankenstein and his monster. Frankenstein's education and enthusiasms are modeled on Percy's, while the monster's vengeance echoes Percy's anti-paternal rhetoric against Christianity. Frankenstein shares central themes with Percy's Revolt of Islam, written at the same time. But Mary also builds on Dante, and on Volney's critique of patriarchal societies. In the figure of the monster she rehearses her own ambivalence towards Percy.
In her critique of mere science and mere superstition, and her depiction of more androgynous alternatives to these unnatural excesses, Mary ultimately adds little to the ideas of her husband, her two parents, the Lake Poets, and Rousseau. The great originality of Frankenstein lies in Mary's recognition of her own dream-monster as an artifice of life that is simultaneously parodic, damned, and quintessentially human. Mary's complexly ambivalent but loving depiction of the Monster arose out of her complexly ambivalent but loving responses to the artifice of her own life with Percy, in which fears, resentments, and even self-hatred, alternated with real hopes of personal and political transcendence. Despite his imperfections, the Monster emerges as more human than his doublegoing creator: what has exhausted and dehumanized the father has served to ennoble the artificially prodigious son. (p. 197)Willis, Martin, "Frankenstein and the Soul," Essays in Criticism 35:1 (January, 1995), 24-35.
Mary Shelley's knowledge of the romantic and materialist arguments over the principle of life is reflected in Frankenstein. The monster's creation and appearance personifies materialism and a mechanical development derived from Hartley or Condorcet. While the vital spark of electricity seems responsible for his animation, echoing the romantic science of Humphry Davy, it is not so clear that it also endows the monster with a soul. The novel warns against the growing materialism of science.
Certainly -- considering the detailed summary of the monster's construction -- it must be more than physical attributes which fully account for the inhuman 'otherness' which so shocks his antagonists (his body-parts are, after all, human ones). In view of the materialist philosophy which courses symbolically through each vein and artery of his newly-created body we need to ask whether his inhumanity stems from the absence of a soul. If so, this in turn would indicate his profane creation by man as opposed to a divine creation by God, and the mastery of a materialist nature over Mary Shelley's romantic background. (p. 28)Youngquist, Paul, "Frankenstein: The Mother, the Daughter, and the Monster," Philological Quarterly 70:3 (Summer, 1991), 339-359.
Whereas Wollstonecraft aimed to liberate woman by transcending sexual identity through the exercise of reason, Mary Shelley in Frankenstein explores the inescapable bodily imperatives of being a woman. The monster's body determines his fate, which cannot be averted by his use of reason or language. His appearance calls up an archaic horror of the defiled which can be related to the impurity of the female realm of generation and birthing. This is symbolized both by Frankenstein's workshop and by his necrophilic dream after the monster's animation. The women in the novel, apart from the dead mother, remain undefiled virgins outside the realm of materiality until destroyed by the monster, as though in revenge for his defilement. The death of the mother in the novel, and the absence of mothers in general, is postulated as Shelley's repression of the tragic potential of motherhood.
For Shelley, body is fate; all idealizings, cultural and personal, liberal and feminist, mask more profound -- and irrational -- imperatives. If it is ugliness that fuels the monster's social exclusion, it is beauty that drives his revenge: he destroys what he cannot possess. Hence the inadequacy of Wollstonecraft's arguments that reason is natural and beauty mere ornament. They fail to take into account the bodily imperatives that condition all human lives, male and female. In Frankenstein, Shelley takes up the greater task of investigating the fate of the body and its uneasy assimilation to social norms, a task that forces her to swerve away from the "liberal feminism" of her mother toward a more essentialist position based in bodily imperatives. (p. 344)
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