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am 26. März 2012
Achtung. Hierbei gilt zu beachten, dass es sich offenbar nicht um 1818 veröffentliche OriginalVersion handelt, sondern um die 1831 überarbeitete Version handelt.
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am 2. September 2015
Victor grew up reading the works of Paracelsus, Agrippa, and Albertus Magnus, the alchemists of the time. Toss in a little natural philosophy (sciences) and you have the making of a monster. Or at least a being that after being spurned for looking ugly becomes ugly. So for revenge the creature decides unless Victor makes another (female this time) creature, that Victor will also suffer the loss of friends and relatives. What is victor to do? Bow to the wishes and needs of his creation? Or challenge it to the death? What would you do?

Although the concept of the monster is good, and the conflicts of the story well thought out, Shelly suffers from the writing style of the time. Many people do not finish the book as the language is stilted and verbose for example when was the last time you said, "Little did I then expect the calamity that was in a few moments to overwhelm me and extinguish in horror and despair all fear of ignominy of death."
Much of the book seems like travel log filler. More time describing the surroundings of Europe than the reason for traveling or just traveling. Many writers use traveling to reflect time passing or the character growing in stature or knowledge. In this story they just travel a lot.

This book is definitely worth plodding through for moviegoers. The record needs to be set strait. First shock is that the creator is named Victor Frankenstein; the creature is just "monster" not Frankenstein. And it is Victor that is backwards which added in him doing the impossible by not knowing any better. The monster is well read in "Sorrows of a Young Werther," "Paradise Lost," and Plutarch's "Lives." The debate (mixed with a few murders) rages on as to whether the monster was doing evil because of his nature or because he was spurned?
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am 17. Januar 2010
We all know the monster, stitched together from dead body parts, with a screw through its neck; its image has penetrated popular culture like few others have - it is a true classic. So what can one say?

Frankenstein or the new Prometheus is a fascinating read. First of all, it is totally romantic - full of descriptions of nature and the effect on the protagonists minds. It is filled to the brim with introspect, monologues about feelings and such fare, so whoever can't endure this old-fashioned style might be put off a bit. It also excels (which, as far as I know is typical for Mary Shelley) in the description of subtle nuances in the relation between the novels characters. So it is quite far from the monster mash that some might expect - but for me it was chilling to the bone. The slow build up of the main story, which is ingeniously warped in multiple layers of narrative, the fragile relation between creator and his creation that slowly turns to ultimate doom and above all the powerful vision of a force of nature set free among humankind by the naivete of a young, technically ingenious mind for me conjured up images and thoughts that are there to stay.

The book works on so many levels. As a commentary about parenthood (and the relation of the sexes), as dark omens of the then coming industrial age, of the balance between power and wisdom, the effects of loneliness, the inner workings of human society. Most of the truly great novels offer us a new perspective on human nature - on ourselves. This one does for sure. And for sure it is a really great novel.
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am 4. Dezember 2013
Ich musste mir das Buch für den Englisch Leistungskurs kaufen und meine begeisterung hielt sich in Grenzen, aber sobald angefangen habe ich es in wenigen Tagen durchgelesen, ein echt toller Klassiker!
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am 3. März 2010
What begins as a possibly interesting book (and the basic story - a man creates a being which rebels against him - is appealing) turns into a long-winded epistolary novel: Robert Walton writes to his sister of his journey to the North Pole during which he meets Victor Frankenstein who in turn recalls his life story, the story of creating a so-called "daemon" who also goes on to tell not only his story but that of a family he lived near. The form is not particularly well executed and even contains complete letters.

The style is rather naive and one feels Shelley has simply looked up alternative words in a thesaurus and used them regardless of their suitability.

The story is convoluted, full of unbelievable coincidences and verbose - although one should perhaps take into account that the book was first published in 1818. Surprisingly enough, the "monster" is created and disappears again within just a few pages.

The characters are shallow and it is hard to sympathise with the character of Victor Frankenstein - moreover one feels more compassion for the monster he has created.

What was initially to be a short story should have really stayed that way. The expansion to a novel has, in my opinion, made the story tiresome and weak.

All-in-all, this is not a book I would ever recommend: discursive and painfully prolonged.
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