Frankenstein journal 1/21/11

The picture that Victor draws of his childhood is an idyllic one, despite the poverty of Beaufort and the orphaning of Elizabeth. However, the overly nostalgic tone of these passages led me to suspect that the stability and comfort of family were going to be rather short lived. Women in Frankenstein fit into few roles: the loving, sacrificial mother; the innocent, sensitive child; and the concerned, confused, abandoned lover. Throughout the novel, they are universally passive, rising only at the most extreme moments to demand action from the men around them. The language Victor uses to describe the relationship between his mother and father supports this image of women’s passivity: in reference to his mother, he says that his father “came as a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who committed herself to his care.” Elizabeth, Justine, and Caroline all fit into this mold of the passive woman, which I read as a commentary on the roles women had to deal with at the time. For example, Elizabeth stands up for Justine’s innocence, she, like Justine, is completely helpless to stop the execution, something that only Victor could do. The first few chapters were been rife with foreshadowing. Victor constantly alludes to his imminent doom; for example, he calls his interest in natural philosophy “the genius that has regulated my fate” and “the fatal impulse that led to my ruin.” Victor’s narrative is rife with nostalgia for a happier time; he dwells on the fuzzy memories of his childhood, but even in the midst of these tranquil childhood recollections, he cannot ignore the signs of the tragedy that lies in his imminent future; he sees that each event, such as the death of his mother, is nothing but “an omen, as it were, of [his] future misery.” This heavy use of foreshadowing greatly adds to the suspense of the novel, leaving the reader wondering about the nature of the awful tragedy that has caused Victor so much grief. It also lends the novel its gothic romantic feel; words like “fate,” “fatal,” and “omen” reinforce the inevitability of Victor’s tragedy, gluing it firmly to the "the future is inescapable" ideas of romanticism. After that, around when Victor creates the monster, the book's tone shifts, putting Victor irrevocably on the way to tragedy. The creation of the monster is a grotesque act, not the triumph of scientific knowledge for which Victor had hoped. His nightmares reflect his horror at what he has done and also serve to foreshadow future events in the novel. The symbol of light appears around the same time. “From the midst of this darkness,” Victor says when describing his discovery of the secret of life, “a sudden light broke in upon me—a light so brilliant and wondrous.” Light is the ultimate symbol of knowledge; it clarifies, it illuminates. Just as light can illuminate, however, so can it blind and burn - it's a metaphor for the balance of knowledge and wonder that one must maintain to ensure one's own safety, something Victor completely ignores. The theme of secrecy also manifests itself in these chapters, as Victor’s studies draw him farther and farther away from those who love and advise him. He conducts his experiments alone, following the example of the ancient alchemists, who jealously guarded their secrets, and rejecting the openness of the new sciences. Victor displays an unhealthy obsession with all of his endeavors, and the labor of creating the monster takes its toll on him. It drags him into charnel houses in search of old body parts and, even more important, isolates him from the world of open social institutions. Victor’s reaction to his creation gives the book a haunting, and even more oppressive feel; the sense that the monster is inescapable, ever present, liable to appear at any moment and wreak havoc start dominating Victor's thoughts, something that, again, glues it firmly to romanticism.