Ms. Frankenstein?

I recently went to hear Quiara Alegria Hudes speak about her new novel, “The White Hot”. Ms. Hudes is best known for her play “In the Heights”, and the subsequent film screenplay, as well as for her memoir “My Broken Language”. She was also the screenwriter for Lin-Manuel Miranda’s animated movie musical “Vivo”.

Ms. Hudes explained that she wanted the chief protagonist in her novel to be an anti-hero, someone you rooted for despite a series of questionable life decisions. In crafting this character, she looked to other anti-heroes in literature. She cited the works of Toni Morrison as especially influential, then added that she also drew inspiration from Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein”.

I was a bit taken aback by the reference to “Frankenstein”, as I never considered the good doctor or his progeny as anti-heroes. It was what Ms. Hudes said next, however, that really blew me away. Very matter-of-factly she opined that “Frankenstein” was about motherhood, but that Mary Shelley had to make the two main characters men because the times would not accept the story if they had been women.

Ms. Hudes moved on, but I was stopped dead in my tracks. The Frankenstein story has been ubiquitous throughout my life. I was first introduced to it through the James Whale 1931 movie when I was about 10 and my sister insisted that we watch the Saturday evening creature feature. I was entranced then and have remained so.

I have read Shelley’s book at least 4 or 5 times, always finding additional nuance and depth. It took me a few readings to appreciate how the story structure, with a lost man being chased across an arctic landscape narrating his plight, infuses the plot with tension. I also grew to grasp the subtlety in the character of the “creature”.

In addition to reading the book, I consumed every Frankenstein movie version I could find. From the Whale sequel to his original, “The Bride of Frankenstein”, through all the lesser Universal progeny, such as “Son of Frankenstein” and “The Ghost of Frankenstein”. Then there were the more modern takes, such as Kenneth Branagh’s 1994 film “Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein”, which stuck to the structure of the novel, and the stage version with Benedict Cumberbatch and Johnny Miller alternating roles.

There are also lighter takes, such as “Young Frankenstein”, which I consider the ultimate movie parody and one of my all-time favorite films. Silly offshoots, such as “The Munsters” and “Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein”, while not as clever, were also devoured. In all, Wikipedia lists 469 known feature films, 236 short films, 93 TV series and 394 TV episodes that feature some version or interpretation of Frankenstein, and while I have not seen most of them, I have seen many.

In just this last year, I reveled in Guillermo de Toro’s magnificent Frankenstein, which followed the novel’s lead, but added its own refinement to both the maker and his creation. I also saw Hammer productions 1957 “The Curse of Frankenstein”, in which the monster is nothing but. In addition, I read Christopher Moore’s “Anima Rising”, which uses the “Bride” as the main protagonist, somehow plopped down in 1890’s Vienna and hooking up with Gustav Klimt.

It seems with every distillation of the story a new interpretation emerges. Is it a warning that there are, or should be, limits to scientific exploration? Is it an admonishment against playing God? Is Shelley telling us that monsters are not born, but made? Is it a plea to celebrate difference rather than fear it? Is it a Christian allegory, with the creature as a stand-in for Satan?

As far as I know Shelley never provided a guide to her intent. There is, however, a clue in the subordinate clause in the title. The full title of the novel is “Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus”. While that should be helpful, it creates more questions than it answers.

Quick reminder. Prometheus was a Titan who defied Zeus by stealing fire from Olympus and giving it to humans. That gift was a mixed bag. It can be viewed as the dawn of independence from the Gods for us mortals and the birth of civilization. But Prometheus fate was a warning against the dangers of unbridled human striving. After all, Prometheus punishment for his theft was to be bound to a rock for eternity, having his liver eaten by an eagle, only to grow back so that it could be eaten again the next day.

Assuming that Baron Frankenstein was the stand in for Prometheus, the punishment for his arrogance is clear. After all, he is doomed to being pursued by his creation through the most inhospitable landscape on earth. Just like for the Titan, there is no respite. But what was the Doctor’s gift to mankind? Are we to see his experiments in fabricating life as a boon to humanity akin to fire? That seems farfetched in light of the outcome. Somehow, I just can’t make the analogy work.

Considering these questions and the comments made by Quiara Alegria Hudes I realized that I should look into who exactly Mary Shelley was, something I am ashamed to say I have never done. When I have thought of her at all, I have pictured Elsa Lanchester in Whale’s “Bride”, coyly telling the manic duo of Percy Bysshe Shelley and Lord Byron that there was more to the initial story. In my mind she might as well have been an anonymous scribe. She was anything but.

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (nee Godwin) was the daughter of political philosopher William Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft, whose 1792 book “A Vindication of the Rights of Women” was and remains of seminal importance in the struggle for gender equality. Unfortunately, Wollstonecraft died when Mary was 11 days old. She was raised by her father, and her stepmother, who, in classic fairy tale fashion, purportedly favored her own children to Mary. What is non-refutable is that Mary hated her stepmother.

Mary and Percy Bysshe began seeing each other when she was 16 and he 21 and already married. The couple ran away, fleeing Mary’s family. She soon became pregnant, having a girl who did not survive. Over the next few years, she had a son who lived but also experienced the premature death (aren’t they all) of three other children.

Even this criminally brief and incomplete synopsis of what was an extraordinary life, reinforces Hudes’ argument that “Frankenstein” was more of a personal statement than I ever considered. Perhaps the Doctor did not want to play God, but mother. At any rate, his journey clearly reflects the psychological complexities of parenthood. It is highly improbable that Shelley, with her complicated history, wasn’t aware of this.

Like all great art, Frankenstein stands up to multiple interpretations. It is why the story has remained a cultural touchstone for over 200 years and withstood variations, both good and bad. Considering it in light of Shelley’s personal circumstances just adds another very intriguing wrinkle. It may be time to pick the book up once again.

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