Monsters On My Mind

It has not escaped my notice that this blog has deteriorated into a place where all I talk about is my current favorite television shows. This is not what I wanted. It makes me feel shallow and asinine. Besides, I never have anything of much substance to say. I'm not a very good critic. So from here on out, I'm going to try to keep the television fandom rants to a minimum.

Recently, I'm begun reading Frankenstein. (I'm still in the middle of The Complete Sherlock Holmes and about a third of the way through Tales of Mystery and Imagination by Poe but that didn't stop me from picking up another book) I have never before read this book. I didn't get to read it in high school, though the class before me did. My class got to read Night by Elie Wiesel instead. Not that I'm complaining about that. It was a good book. Though I can't really say that I enjoyed it. But really, how does one take enjoyment out of reading a story like that? I'm glad I read it. But I don't plan on ever reading it again.

Anyway, back to Frankenstein. I bought the book (along with my first copy of Dracula) back in high school with the intention of reading it then. However, as it so often used to happen, I bought more and more books, and thus Frankenstein moved further and further down list. Now, I'm not sure what made me pick it up at this particular time. I suppose it might have something to do with the fact that I've been in a rather dark and lonely state of mind of late. This had made it rather easy to sympathize with the characters in the book.

Before reading the book all I knew of Frankenstein is what I've seen in movies and on television. The Boris Karloff monsters with green skin and bolts in the neck. The bumbling assistant Igor with his hunchback. The epic scene when the monster first awakens with lightening flashing, thunder cracking, and a mad scientist screaming "It's alive!" Now, when I began reading this book I fully expected that much of I know of the Frankenstein legend would most likely not appear or at least have significant differences. But in truth, I had no idea just how different the book is from the movies. I knew going in that Frankenstein is the name of the creator not the monster. In fact the monster never gets a name. But that was about it. I expected the scene in which the monster comes to life to be at least a little dramatic. But no. It just sort of happened. And then Frankenstein doesn't see the monster again for another two years! When he finally does confront it for the first time I was expecting a mindless, ungainly fiend who's only form of communication is of a series of grunts. Again, I was mistaken. The monster can talk, and quite eloquently too. Also, he's able to move about the cliffs where he resides with great speed and precision. In short, he was not at all the creature I was familiar with. I find myself sympathizing with him more than his creator. That was something I did not expect.

turns out the monster
should look a little
more like this

and a little less like this

This is why I enjoy reading classic books that have been made into movies over and over. The characters become bigger than the stories that originated them: Sherlock Holmes, Dracula, Frankenstein, Romeo and Juliet, Quasimodo, etc. These characters and their stories are things we have grown up with. But the versions we most recognize are so much different for their original form. I like seeing where they started and then try to trace that to where they've ended up. And more often than not, I find myself enjoying the originals more than the pop culture versions I'm used to.