in response to William Verder's "The Women of Frankenstein"

From reading William Verder's "The Women of Frankenstein" certain new observations happened to befall me.
Firstly, that the readership of Shelley's would certainly have been repulsed by both the Catholics and Judiciary. Being English citizens, they would naturally have been raised in a protestant environment where justice for the common man was perhaps harsher than necessary to maintain civil stability.
Secondly, the women of Frankenstein, though perhaps somewhat bland to modern tastes and sensibility, are not necessarily weak per se, but rather, are faced against a necessarily ludicrous world that seems to have it in for all of these women. The world around them is impossibly cruel and unfeeling to such injustice.
Thirdly, Catholic presence inside of one of the highest Bastions of Protestantism is actually quite strange to say the least. While the church does not play as much of a role here as it might in other Romanticist works, the fact that a Catholic should be so distinctly mentioned is somewhat strange, in retrospect.

analysis of the mechanics of a particular passage of a particular novel of that particular literary movement

In trying to convince a reader of a point, an author of fiction has markedly different tools at his or her disposal than those of an author of nonfiction. While the nonfiction writer relies upon the essay, the article, and real facts or experiences to illustrate, defend, and argue, the nonfiction writer has to illustrate the point in question for the reader to see in context. Admittedly, while obviousness, clarity, and outright stating what one means to say are completely necessary in crafting an argumentative essay, such stylistic choices in fiction, if done tastelessly, merely leave an impression of heavy handedness concerning the moral or theme of a piece. An essayist might state that “stealing is wrong” and then continue to quantify his statement without so much as a pause from a reader. A writer of fiction, however, would appear to have several more options to convey this idea. The author might choose to simply state “stealing is wrong” in their narration of events or have a character, designated truth dispenser or not, tell another character, designated violator of truth or not, that “stealing is wrong,” and then subsequently explain with quantifiable and logical points why “stealing is wrong.” Beyond such technical devices that the writer shares with the essayist, there also exist narrative illustrations of the point in action. The writer, playing the god of his tiny microcosm of his perception or idealization of reality and morality, might portray a character stealing, and subsequently portray said thief being caught and promptly punished for his transgression of the central theme “stealing is wrong.” The author has a choice of how much time he or she wishes to devote to either telling the reader “stealing is wrong” or showing the reader “stealing is wrong.” Admittedly, a piece of fiction is not particularly interesting should it be too devoted to either side of the sliding scale of showing versus telling. It is difficult to find a masterfully crafted tale devoted entirely to telling and explaining to a reader a thesis or a deeply impactful fable completely lacking any theme whatsoever. In the case of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in particular, Shelley takes steps to blend the showing and telling to both illustrate her theme and impress value upon her horrific tale of one man’s aspirations gone too far. One particularly interesting example of this blending occurs as Shelley details the notably gruesome process of constructing the monster. The complex attitude of negativity and opposition to the sacrifices made by Victor von Frankenstein at this point in the novel is only fully realized with a blending of technical choices in persuasive description and compelling decisions in narrative pacing and placing.

Narratively, Shelley places the entirety of the passage and narrative as a whole inside of Frankenstein’s experience Technically, Shelley controls the tone of the piece by devoting great energy into generating a feeling of negativity from the steps Frankenstein took in fabricating a scaled up human. Very specific wording is given and is used to describe the nature of Frankenstein’s work. Instead of calling his toils steps to a greater end, Shelly notes them as “horrors,” involving the “bones” of the dead, as disturbed by “profane fingers.” Instead of evoking the images of a sterile, clean facility to study cadavers, Shelley refers to the “dissecting room” and “slaughter-house,” seemingly comparing the study of human remains to gruesome animal butchery. In terms of pacing, two thirds of the passage are devoted to the description of the profane act, double the length of the section outlining Frankenstein’s hopes for the project. Not that those hopes really outweigh the negative implications of his actions, for Shelley also, in terms of plot, completely denies any possible benefits of Frankenstein’s creation. Bringing a “torrent of light into our dark world” is somewhat difficult when no one in the world except Frankenstein knows of his experiment’s existence, let alone success. Frankenstein himself admits that raising the dead is impossible as far as he could tell. He cannot even claim the glory of another race as he denies his creation the means to reproduce. Of particular note also, is that Frankenstein is disposed to retell the experience only after experiencing the death of everyone he cared for at the hands of the brute, hardly likely to positively affect the interpretation of spending months at work in poor health and lonely environment.

Such considerations were surely on Shelley’s mind as she thought how best to evoke only the greatest feelings of disgust and dread in such a passage. However, the piece does seem to lean towards the telling side of the scale. An interesting venture might be attempting to convey the same horror and disgust without having the voice say the phrases “horror” or “tortured” in distilled shots of emotion. Perhaps a Poe-esque portrayal in a Poe-esque short story type.  

particular "characters,scenes, incidents, or brief passages" of note from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein: blog #2

Mary Shelly's Frankenstein is unmistakably Romantic in its literary inclinations: upholding an emphasis on the beauty of nature, emphasizing the fundamentally malicious and unjust nature of humanity, and , most of all, decrying the evils of science and tragedies it wrecks upon all society. Being that the main protagonist is the very creator of the great monster terrorizing innocent members of society, Frankenstein spends most of the book in constant paranoia and, surprisingly, ill health. If it is not the realization of some new horror his demonic creation has perpetrated, it is the profound horror that accompanies violating the laws of nature that confines him to his bed for weeks at a time. He has such an abject rejection to science, one might think Frankenstein is physically allergic to science. It is therefore moderately surprising that, while humanity has apparently decided to follow his lead and forsake the seduction of science as evidenced by the crew of the scientific expedition to the North Pole being willing to most earnestly protest the pursuit of knowledge and science to the point of violence, Frankenstein does not goad them on. Rather, he opposes the popular sentiment of mutiny on the grounds that the men "return as heroes who have fought and conquered and who know not what it is to turn their backs on the foe." While perhaps consistent in enforcing the superiority of human emotion over stoic human logic, it seems inconsistent in terms of how to deal with the scientific menace. Frankenstein seems to state that, in the face of impending destruction and suffering of the scientific sort, humans should only object if they do not realize that pursuing science will cause negative things. In essence, a man should only drive a car when he is completely sure or very nearly sure of hitting another person or otherwise causing great suffering. Interestingly enough, Frankenstein does not seem to interfere with other scientists during his periods of suffering; his hatred for science is particular to his own. Frankenstein does not burn down the campus where he constructed the beast, nor does he interfere with the quest of Captain Walton. This self-centered disgust and hatred loses perhaps some of its profundity, redefining what exactly constitutes a crime against nature.

Blog assignment #1--Most memorable books

While the assignment title certainly contains the word "book," and therefore the implication of a print or physically consumable form, I will, for the sake of being able to even create a list with ten items, include those pieces of literature which exist primarily on the internet, which may or may not also primarily rely on graphic illustration also. Such web-published graphic novels or comics have, perhaps unfortunately, formed one of the primary sources of written word entertainment for me for the last several years. In any case, of the publications and collections of text I have entertained myself with these ten stand out the most, in no particular order.

1. William P. Young's The Shack. At the time when I read this, I was about 13 years old, transitioning between seventh and eighth grade, and on a sailing trip with PCDS's own Mr. Crab. The Book, for one of the first times in my life, presented a tangible representation of the Christian God my father had been telling me about for the better part of my life. Chasing after something or someone, or someones  under certain theological schools of thought, without a tangible type of guide to gauge my progress or physical description of what an encounter with the divine might be like was and still is perhaps one of the more frustrating things I feel I must cope with. 

2. Tim LaHaye's and Jerry B. Jenkins's Left Behind and 16 subsequent sequels. I was 12 or 13 years old when I read the final entry in the series. With perhaps 600 pages or so per novel, it was potentially one of the longest devotions to a series I ever sustained. While it sported opinionated theology, I would like to believe that I might be able to tackle something of comparable length and different subject matter. 

3. Rich Burlew's The Order of the Stick. I was perhaps around 12 or 13 when I first encountered a thread on a forum I had been frequenting, discussing the merits of this particular webcomic over others around on the internet, though perhaps as ineloquently as most forum members around my age. While I lost interest in the forum, I have never lost interest in Order. From its humble start with generally poor presentation in its undoubtedly iconic art style, Order has only progressed in complexity and character building over the 800 strips since its first in 2003. Admittedly it also sparked my interest in table top Role Playing Games, with its saturation of reference jokes to the gameplay and common tropes suggested by the numerous guides and various publications by Wizards of the Coast and other table top RPG companies. I consider it remarkable that Order is able to make me, in one moment, laugh at its necessary weekly reference joke, while in the next make me care about the dozen characters as they progress through the joys, tragedies, blessings, and curses of living inside a literal adventure land. 

4. Howard Taylor's Schlock Mercenary. Admittedly, while not as dramatic as Order of the Stick, Schlock Mercenary is where I first learned about a Dyson Sphere, personable Artificial Intelligence, Nanotechnology, and numerous other true scientific concepts as the titular Mercenary, Sergeant Schlock, traipses about the universe with the mercenary company Tagon's Toughs. Again, in terms of art, one need only click on the "first" button to compare Taylor's illustrative capacities in 2000 to those of his present strips. I believe I was around 13 or so when I found Schlock Mercenary

5. Christopher Hastings's The Adventures of Dr. McNinja. Admittedly, while his art has improved with the addition of color and perhaps more advanced artistry skills, Hastings's best stories involving the good Ninja/Doctor, Dr. McNinja, were before he could publish color pages, or even properly draw mangled arms and legs being torn off by a velociraptor. I have yet to properly replicate the purely awesome chaos he is able to portray, while still being coherent and comfortably entertaining. When looking at most newer and more colorful works, I feel as though Hastings has somewhat lost the affability offered by the good doctor in revealing the implied inner harshness he must have in dealing with washed up movie stars, dinosaurs, zombies, clones, mustachioed raptor bandits, and the like. I find hardly surprising my 13 year old self was enamored with the McNinjas.

6. Gabriel Ba's and Fabio Moon's Daytripper. Daytripper was perhaps one of my most enjoyable forays into Magic Realism. Perhaps it was the stunning visuals I was offered to accompany the absurd realities attached to the universe the duo constructed. While I, at the age of 17, watched Brazilian protagonist Bras de Olivias Domingos die terribly at the end of every chapter,  I could not help but believe that life must certainly continue on, in spite of your present circumstances to, ironically, offer you new opportunities to seize and make the most of what is dealt to you before you inevitably expire. 

7. Kaja and Phil Foglio's Girl Genius. I really can't justify my attachment to the series beyond its engaging story and beautiful Steam Punk environment. Perhaps it was the brass, metal gears, and whirring clockwork machinery that kept my interest at 14 or so through the enormous archive of strips. 

8. Roald Dahl's Danny the Champion of the World. I recall reading this book when I was perhaps 10 or 11. I felt it to be one of the most beautiful illustrations of a father's love for his son that I had ever seen. 

9. CS Lewis's A Horse and his Boy. What I always longed for from CS Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia was more in-universe building. A Horse and his Boy was always satisfying after any reread. Adventure, secret births, romance with rich women? All it really lacked for my 13 year old heart was more epic violence and lasers of my favorite Star Wars films. 

10. John Bellairs's The House with a Clock in Its Walls. I remember reading this when I was in but fourth grade for assigned reading. I remember being ACTUALLY afraid for once, being the avid reader I used to be. 

Looking back, perhaps I had best get to more profound novels. Though, I must say, digging for gold in mounds of even dirt seems more satisfying that digging for gold in mounds of gold. 

In any case, I applaud you for reading my obviously over-extended explanations.