Frankenstein and the Bible

In this year’s AP Literature class, we’re always encouraged to consider allusions to past works (like the way that Thomas Foster in How to Read Literature Like a Professor insists that there exists just one story and all the works of literature created are enriching it). As the most universally known work of literature or religion, the Bible is an excellent source to look to for inspiration in analyzing literature. So it is fascinating to examine Mary Shelley’s Romantic –era novel, Frankenstein, from a biblical perspective. Motifs that I notice in particular include references to the Christian God, Adam and Eve, the Garden of Eden, and the fall from innocence.

Perhaps Frankenstein has maintained its status as such an iconic story for so many centuries because it has such strong ties to well-known archetypes. Dr. Frankenstein can be seen clearly as a God figure in the way that he “overreaches” nature and its laws. His experiments are not described in scientific, logical terms but in loud noises and flashes of lightning. His creation of the Monster (who is not named Frankenstein!) is characterized and magical, unnatural- evil. He’s like a foil for the Christian God, who is described as a peaceful, benevolent, father figure. The Christian God does break the laws of nature in his mythical creation of the world just as Dr. Frankenstein does, but what he does is justified by his religion- Frankenstein’s unholy creation is not.

Speaking of this “unholy creation,” I would like to consider the monster himself. He is very obviously a sentient being (especially as evidenced by his dialogues in Chapter 10), just as Adam was created by the Christian God as a fully sentient, self-aware being. Neither went through the normal stages of life that we view as inescapable: infancy, early childhood, adolescence, and maturity. Instead, they are born with their full intelligence but a lack of knowledge about the world around them they soon cure with their curiosity. Adam is purely curious and is punished for the sin of his (Eve’s) curiosity. The monster (is monster even an apt moniker for him- he’s not monstrous at this point?) begins his journey in life full of love and appreciation for the world around him. But he is abandoned by his creator and isolated by the world. These things shaped him, changed him from his peaceful initial self to a violent creature.

Adam’s knowledge (literally, because Eve eats fruit from the Tree of Knowledge) is what causes his fall from innocence. But he is not abandoned by his creator like the Monster- more like disciplined. The monster’s fall from innocence occurs not through any fault of his, but of his creator. So the story can be connected to another universal archetype- the irresponsible parent. It is essentially Dr. Frankenstein’s fault that his “son” loses his innocence in the rough world around him and it is Dr. Frankenstein’s fault that the “monster” begins to become a force of destruction. It will be interesting to read the rest of the novel and see how the situation plays out, especially in relation to the biblical allusions.

Looking Back at Anthem

Sometimes, I enjoy reflecting back on books that I was assigned to read in past English courses. One that fascinated me was Anthem, by Ayn Rand. The novel is full to the brim with quotable material. I can just flip to a page in the book in front of me and immediately be drawn to some insight that I did not fully realize the first time I read it.

When the protagonist, Prometheus, is investing himself in his work, he is far from the other members of his society. On a basic level, Prometheus does not fully understand the importance of his work. “We alone, of the thousands who walk this earth, we alone in this hour are doing a work which has no purpose save that we wish to do it.” (36). In examining this quote, one can see the brilliance of its basal meaning , that Prometheus has taken advantage of his new freedom, as well as its deeper meaning, the higher purpose of his work.

From working alone in secret to gaining an advanced understanding of the motives of people around him, Prometheus’ thoughts and actions reveal that he has taken advantage of his newfound physical and emotional freedom. He has broken away from the drudgery of his previous life and the doldrums that surround the rest of society, as he expresses when looking upon his face for the first time, “Our face was not like the faces of our brothers, for we felt no pity when looking upon it.” (80). Free from the prison surrounding his former comrades, Prometheus looks upon himself with pride and confidence. Looking back, he feels disgust for the empty and complacent life he once shared with his comrades. With breathtaking imagery, Prometheus lauds the exhilaration of discovery, “For this wire is as a part of our body, as a vein torn from us, glowing with our blood.” (61). By comparing his invention to a the system of life in his own body, he connects to his work and emphasizes its necessity to his intellectual growth. Throughout the novel, the changes in Prometheus’ behavior illustrate the freedom he has won.

Prometheus’ work holds a far higher purpose than a mere hobby. A part of its importance is that through working, he begins to understand the value of his work, as evidenced by the illuminating comparisons he makes, “We wish nothing, save to be alone and learn, and to feel as if with each day our sight were growing sharper than the hawk’s and clearer than rock crystal.” (36). The reader can feel the excitement coursing through Prometheus’ entire being as he makes discoveries and innovations. Prometheus learns what it is to lose himself in the passion of an important work. As the Committee feared and Prometheus began to understand, his endeavor was the sort that fuels discoveries and revolutions. As the young pioneer came to understand, “The power of the sky can be made to do men’s bidding. There are no limits to its secrets and its might, and it can be made to grant us anything if we but choose to ask.” (60). This quote embodies the intensity of the force that Prometheus has harnessed, the force that the Committee fears and hates; the force of knowledge. As the Committee is all-too aware of, education is the key to revolution and therefore the primary enemy of the controlling government. Through his work, Prometheus abandons his assigned purpose and comes to choose his own: to learn, and consequently to help free others from oppression.

Prometheus eloquently expresses the essence of knowledge and discovery with his early thought, “We alone, of the thousands who walk this earth, we alone in this hour are doing a work which has no purpose save that we wish to do it.” (36). During Prometheus’ hours spent working in solitude, he attains a clarity about his work and about his purpose in life. He understands that his purpose can be assigned to him by no man but himself, and that his work in gaining knowledge gives him the purest joy he has ever felt. He feels this joy for no man but himself, and makes this work his purpose.

Grendel and Nihilism

While I enjoyed being mystified at the events of Chapter 5, in which Grendel descends (it doesn’t say anything about descending, that’s just how it feels- like the archetype of passing through hell) into the dragon’s lair and comes up again, I so far have been most interested in Chapter Six, which in my opinion is about Grendel’s resurgence into his own world as a changed creature. He’s taken the “hero’s journey” into “hell” and has had a rebirth. I enjoyed realizing the connections that this archetype has to Greek myth lore and pondering about how it relates to Grendel.

Before Grendel has his perspective altered by the mind-bending conversation with the Dragon, he’s sort of unsure about himself, the world around him, and his place in it. I couldn’t define any sort of social philosophy he adheres to, despite the fact that he is a very sentient and pensive creature. He acts and appears to feel just like an angry child on the brink of adolescence, alternating periods of hopelessness and longing with those of blind destructive anger. But after he is put in the position of student to the dragon’s professor, Grendel has a change- both physical and emotional. He’s told by the dragon that he is insignificant, that life existed long before him and will go on long without him until nothingness and that once his existence is over, the world won’t have been much changed. Now this is something rather upsetting for anyone to hear, let alone a sad angsty monster (albeit an adorable one, judging by the cover of Gardner’s novel), so it’s understandable that Grendel is rather shaken by this encounter.

Aside from the emotional effects that the wise (is he wise? Can you be a figure of evil and wise? Is he evil?) old dragon has on Grendel, the physical effect that he brings to Grendel after their Socratic learning seminar is incredibly significant- Grendel finds that he is completely invulverable now to the weapons and techniques of the men who are trying to kill him. So their whole dynamic changes as a result. Grendel, now invulnerable like a true monster and a little bit less like the people, becomes further isolated from society as a result. This is only spurred on by the opinions taught to him by the dragon- nihilism. Grendel has been told that his one purpose is to be the monster for society, give them something to fight and ultimately succeed against. Far from questioning this (as he once would have), Grendel (out of nihilistic bloodlust?) runs with his new worldview. He destroys like a mindless monster (like his mother). This makes me wonder about one of the questions that our class will be discussing over the coming days- Is Grendel a depressing or optimistic novel? I’m not one to find nihilism depressing, but I feel that this chapter’s take on it certainly does not bode well for Grendel’s feeling of belonging in the world.

Grendel and the Wild Things

After reading the first few chapters of Grendel by John Gardner and then looking into the art on the novel’s cover, I was distinctly reminded of some lost part of my childhood that had recently been re-imprinted on my mind- Where The Wild Things Are. The creatures from the short children’s book, Where the Wild Things Are are ferocious and fearsome. They’re given multiple, more adult dimensions in the recent film adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are. Fluffy, surreal monsters are rife with human insecurities (difficultly with emotional expression and low confidence among other eccentricities) that are revealed as Max, the little boy who wants to be a monster invades their midst and crowns himself their king (and it is interesting to note that the monsters put up very little argument). Max, juxtaposed against Grendel, the monster who pities his own lot as an outcast from human society, provides an interesting contrast and makes me question if it is possible to truly “fit in” where one is supposed to.

Max is a little human boy who, try as he might, cannot really feel comfortable with the people and society surrounding him. He clearly suffers from some psychological disorders, as evidenced by his raving, flailing, and other destructive tendencies. When I examine these characteristics of Max and compare them to Grendel’s personality, the similarities are striking. Neither creature fits in with society. Max believes that he doesn’t want to fit in among people and Grendel just longs for an end to his loneliness, whether by death or acceptance. After comparing the two, I get the feeling that Gardner’s Grendel can be described as a characterization of mental disease- the chaotic thoughts, emotional turmoil, and separateness from society that identify such disorders are all basic parts of Grendel’s being.

Max leaves the humans and is embraced (mostly) by monsters (“We’ll eat you up we love you so”) who, funnily, in the book Where the Wild Things Are express the same sort of simple animalistic feelings that Grendel’s mother shows to Grendel through her wailing and scratching. Grendel doesn’t fit in amongst man or beast: “There was nothing, or, rather, there was everything but my mother.” Both characters are raised by single mothers (in the movie version of Where the Wild Things Are, that is) and I get the feeling that this concept of a broken family is significant in the way that Grendel’s and Max’s personalities were shaped. The fact that Max’s own loving mother was unable to get through to him, to find the boy beneath the monster, makes it sadder that Grendel’s mother is incapable of even attempting the same for her son- Max has a future, he has hope for improvement and integration into society, as his reconciliation with his mother at the end of his story suggests. Grendel, on the other hand, has no one to possibly form a meaningful bond with. His angry existence is doomed to continue like before until he meets his sudden and violent death.

A Doll's House

The play by Henrik Ibsen is definitely important in the scheme of the universal dialogue on gender roles. Written in 1879, it was one of the early works of literature to plainly exhibit a questioning of society’s strict gender roles. I can understand why, as Ms. Clinch said, audiences in European theaters during the time that the play was first performed saw it as unforgivably scandalous. After all, a wife suddenly leaves her husband and children. Even in today’s “immoral” times, this abandonment is almost always seen as unacceptable. Sure, Nora is unhappy with her life. She realizes that every aspect of her existence had been a sham. So is it her duty to herself to leave in order to discover who she is? Does she have no responsibility for her children because she left their upbringing up to a nanny?

I feel that it was a refreshing thing to witness Nora breaking free of the societal and self-imposed shackles that had kept her a macaroon-munching squirrel. But in the context of her life- the responsibilities she has to her children and to Torvald- I thought that her decision to leave suddenly without goodbyes was selfish and impractical. So it was depressing to consider that, even when she isn’t under the thumb of Torvald, Nora, the “liberated” woman has her interests closest to heart. It is therefore understandable that the point was raised- was Ibsen a sexist? I think that by modern standards Ibsen would be a sexist for implying that women are selfish and flighty but that he was practically a liberal radical by the standards of the late-1800s

Germans even went so far as to change the ending of the play, which in my opinion completely altered the meaning of the work and bastardized Ibsen’s original intent. Instead of stealing away silently without more drama and weepy goodbyes, they changed the play for their audiences, having Torvald force Nora to go and see the children she was going to abandon (which in real life is the responsible thing to do but for some reason in the play just was depressing- like the shackles she had just thrown off were being clamped back on). Nora breaks down upon seeing her children and collapses, no longer with the intent to leave. If what Nora does in the original version is strength of self character, her failure to carry out her plan of abandonment in this altered version is perhaps a return to normal in terms of gender roles, but ultimately makes that version of the play into a statement on the weakness of women- since Nora returns to her family, she has made no growth as a character and is in nearly the exact same position she was in at the beginning of the play.

So while I don’t agree with the notion of abandoning family in favor of self-fulfillment, I do prefer Ibsen’s intended ending to the play. While Nora in my opinion is not exactly the epitome of female progress and intellect, she progresses in Ibsen’s play, just as the modern day woman evolved from her more restricted counterpart from centuries ago.