Frankenstein

"Frankenstein" turned out to be a great novel, even though I almost bailed on it after the first hour. It doesn't really get going until page 28. Before that, we have a tedious author's introduction on how the story came about. Then, there's a preface. Then, there are a bunch of letters from some character who is definitely not Victor Frankenstein or the monster. And then finally, Frankenstein shows up and tells his tale.

I will say this about the monster: Man, does he have a good vocabulary. He's only been alive a few years when he starts talking to his creator, and he puts me to shame. Some words he used in his tale include: viands, recompense, imprecate, and scourge. He devours copies of Milton and Plutarch that he finds lying around. He may be a monster, but he is a monster of letters!

He's also grotesque, so grotesque that no one can look at him. The monster that we see in movies is ugly, but almost in a comical way. I found myself wishing I didn't have an image of Frankenstein's Monster in my head already when I read this. It felt like when you read a book that has been made into movie, and you can't help picturing the actor whenever reading about the character. (This can happen to me, even if I haven't seen the movie. For example, Freakin' Sean Penn almost ruined the book "All the King's Men," never mind the movie,  just because my copy had him on the cover.)

And so I wish I hadn't seen the monster before reading about him, and I found I envied his intellect more than his brute strength.