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Mary Shelley

A Dark and Stormy Night

Mary Shelley (then Godwin) and Percy Bysshe Shelley were visiting their friend Lord Byron in Geneva one rainy summer. With the weather against them, they decided to spend their time writing ghost stories for each other. Frankenstein is Mary Shelley’s submission to their contest, later published anonymously in 1818.
Victor Frankenstein, a strange but brilliant scientist, discovers a method of imparting life to inanimate matter. The Monster is thus born: a hideous, 8-foot-tall creature of muscle, speed, and intellect. Frankenstein’s rejection of his appalling creation sends it into a spiral of despair, and Frankenstein’s life is never the same.
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  • b4522549362delade ett intryckför 7 månader sedan
    👍Värt att läsa

    “ ‘Heaven for­bid! even if you were really crim­inal; for that can only drive you to des­per­a­tion, and not in­stig­ate you to vir­tue.

    “But this was a lux­ury of sen­sa­tion that could not en­dure; I be­came fa­tigued with ex­cess of bod­ily ex­er­tion, and sank on the damp grass in the sick im­pot­ence of des­pair.

  • Esteban Paredesdelade ett intryckför 6 år sedan
    👍Värt att läsa

    O el moderno Prometeo, es interesante el modo en que este supuesto Dios se aleja de su creación por miedo

  • Themba Moyakedelade ett intryckför 8 år sedan

    The birth of the gothic narrative was arguably bolstered by Shelley's 'Frankenstein'. Simply philosophically engaging when one considers how at its core is the question of whether the evil that's prevalent in the world was manufactured by inhumanity.

    We read it for the Southern African English Olympiad this year (2016) where we explored the leitmotif: The Darkness in Man's Heart.

    Simply fulfilling!

    p.s: I especial love the archaic diction - palatable.


  • syafiqahwithaQhar citeratför 4 år sedan
    The la­bours I en­dured were no longer to be al­le­vi­ated by the bright sun or gentle breezes of spring; all joy was but a mock­ery, which in­sul­ted my des­ol­ate state, and made me feel more pain­fully that I was not made for the en­joy­ment of pleas­ure.
  • exitlistshar citerati fjol
    the whole train of my pro­gress to­wards the cre­ation; the ap­pear­ance of the work of my own hands alive at my bed­side; its de­par­ture.
  • Ruslanhar citeratför 7 år sedan
    serpent to sting you,

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