Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.
Its reputation precedes it, and I found it very disappointing.
My knowledge of Frankenstein comes from popular culture where Dr. Frankenstein is a maniacal madman (redundant, but whatever) who is creating a monster for evil purposes. Or at least for kicks. And that he loves his monster as his own creation.
However, that’s not how the book goes.
Instead, Dr. Frankenstein creates the monster (and we’re never told how) and immediately hates and fears it when it comes alive. Then he flees and leaves the monster to its own devices. The monster eventually learns to speak. And is like a superhuman — it is faster, stronger and more capable of surviving physical extremes than humans.
There is none of the lumbering giant that is portrayed in movies and TV shows.
Eventually the monster and Frankenstein reunite, after the monster has killed a few people.
Overall, the book isn’t that bad, and I can’t blame it for how the movie studios have recreated it.
And I guess I have only myself to blame for thinking it would be better than it was.
As you can tell, I’m back on the blogosphere after a very long hiatus. I shall strive to be more visible here.