Frankenstein: Stepping Stone Book Classics
Autor Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Editat de Larry Weinberg Ilustrat de Ken Barren Limba Engleză Paperback – 31 mar 1982 – vârsta de la 6 până la 9 ani
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9780394848273
ISBN-10: 0394848276
Pagini: 94
Ilustrații: BLACK & WHITE
Dimensiuni: 131 x 194 x 8 mm
Greutate: 0.07 kg
Editura: Random House Books for Young Readers
Seria Stepping Stone Book Classics
ISBN-10: 0394848276
Pagini: 94
Ilustrații: BLACK & WHITE
Dimensiuni: 131 x 194 x 8 mm
Greutate: 0.07 kg
Editura: Random House Books for Young Readers
Seria Stepping Stone Book Classics
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Notă biografică
Mary Shelley was born Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin on August 30, 1797 in London, the daughter of William Godwin--a radical philosopher and novelist, and Mary Wollstonecraft--a renowned feminist and the author of Vindication of the Rights of Woman. She eloped to France with Shelley in 1814, although they were not married until 1816, after the suicide of his first wife. She began work on Frankenstein in 1816 in Switzerland, while they were staying with Lord Byron, and it was published in 1818 to immediate acclaim. She died in London in 1851.
From the Hardcover edition.
From the Hardcover edition.
Recenzii
Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is one of the masterpieces of nineteenth-century Gothicism. While stay-ing in the Swiss Alps in 1816 with her lover Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, and others, Mary, then eighteen, began to concoct the story of Dr. Victor Frankenstein and the monster he brings to life by electricity. Written in a time of great personal tragedy, it is a subversive and morbid story warning against the dehumanization of art and the corrupting influence of science. Packed with allusions and literary references, it is also one of the best thrillers ever written. Frankenstein; Or, the Modern Prometheus was an instant bestseller on publication in 1818. The prototype of the science fiction novel, it has spawned countless imitations and adaptations but retains its original power.
This Modern Library edition includes a new Introduction by Wendy Steiner, the chair of the English department at the University of Pennsylvania and author of The Scandal of Pleasure.
Mary Shelley was born Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin in 1797 in London. She eloped to France with Shelley, whom she married in 1816. After Frankenstein, she wrote several novels, including Valperga and Falkner, and edited editions of the poetry of Shelley, who had died in 1822. Mary Shelley died in London in 1851.
This Modern Library edition includes a new Introduction by Wendy Steiner, the chair of the English department at the University of Pennsylvania and author of The Scandal of Pleasure.
Mary Shelley was born Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin in 1797 in London. She eloped to France with Shelley, whom she married in 1816. After Frankenstein, she wrote several novels, including Valperga and Falkner, and edited editions of the poetry of Shelley, who had died in 1822. Mary Shelley died in London in 1851.
Descriere
Mary Shelley's classic has haunted readers for almost 200 years. Here's a lively adaptation of one of the greatest horror stories of all time.
Textul de pe ultima copertă
From the "Longman Cultural Editions" series, this second edition of" Frankenstein "presents Mary Shelley's remarkable novel in several provocative and illuminating contexts: cultural, critical, and literary. Series Editor Susan J. Wolfson presents the 1818 version of Mary Shelley's famous novel in its cultural and historical contexts. Like all great works of fiction, "Frankenstein" gains depth and dimension from its "conversation" with contemporary texts, especially those by Shelley's own parents, husband, and friends. A lively introduction is complemented by a chronology coordinating Shelley's life with key historical events and a speculative calendar of the novel's events in the late eighteenth century. In addition to the 1818 text, this cultural edition features the introduction to and a sample revision of the 1831 version. New to this Edition is Frankentalk, a section of selected references to "Frankenstein" in the popular press, and the complete text of Richard Brinsley Peake's "Frankenstein, A Romantic Drama," the first stage version of Frankenstein.
Extras
Chapter 1Chapter 1
I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.
As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a merchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a proud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts, therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship and was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin the world again through his credit and assistance.
Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a merchant’s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.
His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that there was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support her in her adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw and by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to support life.
Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving her an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her, and she knelt by Beaufort’s coffin weeping bitterly, when my father entered the chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who committed herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend he conducted her to Geneva and placed her under the protection of a relation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.
There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted affection. There was a sense of justice in my father’s upright mind which rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love strongly. Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to set a greater value on tried worth. There was a show of gratitude and worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the doting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her virtues and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace to his behaviour to her. Everything was made to yield to her wishes and her convenience. He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is sheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and benevolent mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. During the two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after their union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change of scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders, as a restorative for her weakened frame.
From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born at Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained for several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother’s tender caresses and my father’s smile of benevolent pleasure while regarding me are my first recollections. I was their plaything and their idol, and something better—their child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on them by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in their hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled their duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed towards the being to which they had given life, added to the active spirit of tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined that while during every hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience, of charity, and of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord that all seemed but one train of enjoyment to me.
For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a daughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five years old, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they passed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent disposition often made them enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my mother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a passion—remembering what she had suffered, and how she had been relieved—for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the afflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale attracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the number of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in its worst shape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother, accompanied by me, visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife, hardworking, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to five hungry babes. Among these there was one which attracted my mother far above all the rest. She appeared of a different stock. The four others were dark-eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin and very fair. Her hair was the brightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of her face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none could behold her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent, and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features.
The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She was not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a German and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with these good people to nurse; they were better off then. They had not been long married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their charge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory of Italy—one among the schiavi ognor frementi, who exerted himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its weakness. Whether he had died or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria was not known. His property was confiscated; his child became an orphan and a beggar. She continued with her foster parents and bloomed in their rude abode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.
When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of our villa a child fairer than pictured cherub—a creature who seemed to shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter than the chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his permission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their charge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed a blessing to them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They consulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza became the inmate of my parents’ house—my more than sister—the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and my pleasures.
Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my pride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to my home, my mother had said playfully, “I have a pretty present for my Victor—tomorrow he shall have it.” And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on her I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only.
I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.
As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a merchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a proud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts, therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship and was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin the world again through his credit and assistance.
Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a merchant’s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.
His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that there was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support her in her adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw and by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to support life.
Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving her an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her, and she knelt by Beaufort’s coffin weeping bitterly, when my father entered the chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who committed herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend he conducted her to Geneva and placed her under the protection of a relation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.
There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted affection. There was a sense of justice in my father’s upright mind which rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love strongly. Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to set a greater value on tried worth. There was a show of gratitude and worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the doting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her virtues and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace to his behaviour to her. Everything was made to yield to her wishes and her convenience. He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is sheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and benevolent mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. During the two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after their union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change of scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders, as a restorative for her weakened frame.
From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born at Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained for several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother’s tender caresses and my father’s smile of benevolent pleasure while regarding me are my first recollections. I was their plaything and their idol, and something better—their child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on them by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in their hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled their duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed towards the being to which they had given life, added to the active spirit of tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined that while during every hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience, of charity, and of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord that all seemed but one train of enjoyment to me.
For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a daughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five years old, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they passed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent disposition often made them enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my mother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a passion—remembering what she had suffered, and how she had been relieved—for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the afflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale attracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the number of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in its worst shape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother, accompanied by me, visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife, hardworking, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to five hungry babes. Among these there was one which attracted my mother far above all the rest. She appeared of a different stock. The four others were dark-eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin and very fair. Her hair was the brightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of her face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none could behold her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent, and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features.
The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She was not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a German and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with these good people to nurse; they were better off then. They had not been long married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their charge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory of Italy—one among the schiavi ognor frementi, who exerted himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its weakness. Whether he had died or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria was not known. His property was confiscated; his child became an orphan and a beggar. She continued with her foster parents and bloomed in their rude abode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.
When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of our villa a child fairer than pictured cherub—a creature who seemed to shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter than the chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his permission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their charge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed a blessing to them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They consulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza became the inmate of my parents’ house—my more than sister—the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and my pleasures.
Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my pride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to my home, my mother had said playfully, “I have a pretty present for my Victor—tomorrow he shall have it.” And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on her I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only.
Cuprins
List of Illustrations
About Longman Cultural Editions
About This Edition
Introduction
Table of Dates
Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818)
Volume I
Volume II
Volume III
from Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus (1831)
M. W. S.’s Introduction
Some Additions to Robert Walton’s first letters
Some Additions and Revisions to Victor Frankenstein’s Narrative
Victor’s childhood and the adoption of Elizabeth–Victor’s enchantment with occult science and his encounter with modern science–Victor’s departure for University of Ingolstadt–Clerval’s straits–Victor meets Professors Krempe and Waldman–Victor’s health suffers–Elizabeth’s report on Ernest Frankenstein–Clerval’s lament for William–Victor’s anguish over Justine and William–Victor’s continuing agony–[Creature’s story of framing Justine]–Victor’s plans for a second creature–Clerval’s imperial ambitions–Victor’s apprehensions for his family, his longing for oblivion–Victor’s secret
Contexts
Monsters, Visionaries, and Mary Shelley
Aesthetic Adventures
Edmund Burke on “the Sublime and the Beautiful”
Mary Wollstonecraft on Burke’s genderings
William Gilpin on “the Picturesque”
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere (1798)
Mary Wollstonecraft, from Maria, or The Wrongs of Woman: Jemima’s story
Mary Godwin (Shelley), from her journal of 1815: the death of her first baby
Percy Bysshe Shelley, from Alasto; or, The Spirit of Solitude
Mary Shelley, with Percy Bysshe Shelley, from History of a Six Weeks’ Tour: Alpine scenery
Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mont Blanc
George Gordon, Lord Byron
from Manfred, A Dramatic Poem
from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto the Third: Alpine thunderstorm
Leigh Hunt, from Blue-Stocking Revels, or The Feast of the Violets
Dr. Benjamin Spock, from Baby and Child Care
The Story-Telling Compact
George Gordon, Lord Byron, A Fragment
John William Polidori, The Vampyre
God, Adam, and Satan
Genesis: chapters 2 and 3 (King James Bible)
John Milton, from Paradise Lost
William Godwin, from Political Justice
George Gordon, Lord Byron, Prometheus
William Hazlitt, remarks on Satan, from Lectures on the
English Poet
Percy Bysshe Shelley
from Prometheus Unbound
from A Defence of Poetry
Richard Brinsley Peake, Frankenstein, A Romantic Drama in Three Acts
Reviews and Reactions
[John Wilson Croker], Quarterly Review, January 1818
[Walter Scott], Blackwood’s Edinburgh Review, March 1818
(Scot’s) Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany, March 1818
Belle Assemblée, March 1818
British Critic, April 1818
Gentleman’s Magazine, April 1818
Monthly Review, April 1818
Literary Panorama, June 1818
Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, March 1823
London Morning Post, reviews of Peake’s Frankenstein, July 1823
George Canning, remarks in Parliament, March 1824
Knight’s Quarterly Magazine, August 1824
London Literary Gazette, 1831
[Percy Bysshe Shelley, posthumous], Anthenæum, November 1832
Frankentalk: “Frankenstein” in the Popular Press of Today
Further Reading and Viewing
About Longman Cultural Editions
About This Edition
Introduction
Table of Dates
Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818)
Volume I
Volume II
Volume III
from Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus (1831)
M. W. S.’s Introduction
Some Additions to Robert Walton’s first letters
Some Additions and Revisions to Victor Frankenstein’s Narrative
Victor’s childhood and the adoption of Elizabeth–Victor’s enchantment with occult science and his encounter with modern science–Victor’s departure for University of Ingolstadt–Clerval’s straits–Victor meets Professors Krempe and Waldman–Victor’s health suffers–Elizabeth’s report on Ernest Frankenstein–Clerval’s lament for William–Victor’s anguish over Justine and William–Victor’s continuing agony–[Creature’s story of framing Justine]–Victor’s plans for a second creature–Clerval’s imperial ambitions–Victor’s apprehensions for his family, his longing for oblivion–Victor’s secret
Contexts
Monsters, Visionaries, and Mary Shelley
Aesthetic Adventures
Edmund Burke on “the Sublime and the Beautiful”
Mary Wollstonecraft on Burke’s genderings
William Gilpin on “the Picturesque”
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere (1798)
Mary Wollstonecraft, from Maria, or The Wrongs of Woman: Jemima’s story
Mary Godwin (Shelley), from her journal of 1815: the death of her first baby
Percy Bysshe Shelley, from Alasto; or, The Spirit of Solitude
Mary Shelley, with Percy Bysshe Shelley, from History of a Six Weeks’ Tour: Alpine scenery
Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mont Blanc
George Gordon, Lord Byron
from Manfred, A Dramatic Poem
from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto the Third: Alpine thunderstorm
Leigh Hunt, from Blue-Stocking Revels, or The Feast of the Violets
Dr. Benjamin Spock, from Baby and Child Care
The Story-Telling Compact
George Gordon, Lord Byron, A Fragment
John William Polidori, The Vampyre
God, Adam, and Satan
Genesis: chapters 2 and 3 (King James Bible)
John Milton, from Paradise Lost
William Godwin, from Political Justice
George Gordon, Lord Byron, Prometheus
William Hazlitt, remarks on Satan, from Lectures on the
English Poet
Percy Bysshe Shelley
from Prometheus Unbound
from A Defence of Poetry
Richard Brinsley Peake, Frankenstein, A Romantic Drama in Three Acts
Reviews and Reactions
[John Wilson Croker], Quarterly Review, January 1818
[Walter Scott], Blackwood’s Edinburgh Review, March 1818
(Scot’s) Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany, March 1818
Belle Assemblée, March 1818
British Critic, April 1818
Gentleman’s Magazine, April 1818
Monthly Review, April 1818
Literary Panorama, June 1818
Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, March 1823
London Morning Post, reviews of Peake’s Frankenstein, July 1823
George Canning, remarks in Parliament, March 1824
Knight’s Quarterly Magazine, August 1824
London Literary Gazette, 1831
[Percy Bysshe Shelley, posthumous], Anthenæum, November 1832
Frankentalk: “Frankenstein” in the Popular Press of Today
Further Reading and Viewing
Caracteristici
- Contains the complete 1818 edition of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, with a provocative introduction to Mary Shelley and her novel, and helpful footnotes that identify sources, references, and allusions.
- A sample of the 1831 revision, the adoption of Elizabeth Lavenza by the Frankensteins, provides a contrast to the rejected creature, replete with overtones of racial thinking and class prejudice.
- Table of dates presents Mary Shelley's life and the development of Frankenstein in relation to key historical events and publications during the age.
- Texts from Shelley's Romantic contemporaries in the section on "Monsters, Visionaries and Mary Shelley" provide the contexts for allusions, references, and collateral productions, such as Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, Wollstonecraft's Story of Jemima from Maria, Mary Shelley's journal entry on the death of her baby, Percy Shelley's poetry, Byron's poetry, and Dr. Spock on "Baby and Child Care."
- Selections from 14 contemporary reviews of the 1818 novel, including those by Sir Walter Scott and Percy Shelley, reveal the reviewers' shock and the popularly held belief that "only a man could write this novel.”
- An entire section on the connection between Frankenstein and Milton's Paradise Lost in "Milton's Satan and Romantic Imaginations" demonstrates the complex references to Milton's work throughout the novel. The selections include Paradise Lost and the chapter in Genesis (1-2) from the Old Testament, along with Shelley's contemporary Romantics on Satan: Godwin, Byron, Keats, Hazlitt, Percy Shelley, and DeQuincey.
- An extensive bibliography provides direction for further reading, including the history of stage and cinematic interpretations.
Caracteristici noi
- "Frankentalk," a unit on the durability of Frankenstein in the popular press, discusses everything from national budgets and genetic engineering to cuisine and fashion statements.
- Containsthe complete text ofRichard Brinsley Peake’s Frankenstein, A Romantic Drama, the first stage version of Frankenstein in 1823.
- New selections in "The Story-Telling Compact" focus on the ghost-story, featuring Byron’s A Fragment and Polidori’s The Vampyre , which inspired Bram Stoker’s Dracula.