Or is he? As in the early chapters of Mary Shelley's careful revisions for the 1831
edition where we find her intent on accentuating the link between Victor's statements
and the exhausted, fanatic sufferer rescued by Walton's crew, this proviso may be
inserted to suggest the opposite of its import, that the man who utters it is, or
has been, mad. At the very least the statement raises the question of wherein the
truth lies, in scientific evidence or in psychological experience.

Walton's science here is demonstrably false, particularly in respect to the time in
which he writes his letter (mid-December), when at this latitude the sun is visible
for only seven hours of the day. At midsummer, of course, the phenomenon over which
he enthuses is true.

From Chapter 20 of Oliver Goldsmith's novel (1766), where Parson Primrose's son George
recounts his misadventures across the continent of Europe.

Wooden-hulled ships before the age of steam were vulnerable to innumerable hazards
in the arctic and, given the length of such expeditions, required ample storage space
for provisions.

This constitutes something of a misreading of the kinds of experiments Erasmus Darwin
recounts in the first of his Additional Notes—"Spontaneous Vitality of Microscopic
Animals"—appended to The Temple of Nature. Probably Mary Shelley is taking figuratively,
as a kind of macaroni, the literal meaning of "vermicelli," tiny worms—what Darwin
calls "microscopic animalcules." Still, although she humorously exaggerates the kind
of spontaneous generation that drew scientific speculation in the early years of the
nineteenth century, it is important to recognize how seriously such experiments were
taken. Here, for instance, is the initial sentence of Darwin's "Conclusion":

{8} There is therefore no absurdity in believing that the most simple animals and
vegetables may be produced by the congress of the parts of decomposing organic matter,
without what can properly be termed generation, as the genus did not previously exist;
which accounts for the endless varieties, as well as for the immense numbers of microscopic
animals.

Percy Bysshe Shelley also cites Erasmus Darwin in the first sentence of his Preface
(I:Pref:1) to the 1818 edition.

Johnson in his 1755 Dictionary defines a charnel house as "The place under churches
where the bones of the dead are reposited" and a vault as simply "a repository for
the dead." By the latter Victor Frankenstein probably means to distinguish a mausoleum.
Body-snatching or grave-robbing, a means of supplying cadavers for medical experiments
and instruction, was a source of great anxiety in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
It was, of course, a criminal activity.

So entwined are the fortunes of Victor Frankenstein's Creature and vampires in twentieth-century
popular culture, that to many it comes as a shock to realize that Bram Stoker's Dracula
dates from three-quarters of a century after Mary Shelley's novel. And yet, the subject
matters were entwined from the beginning. The story that Lord Byron vowed to produce
for the Gothic competition of the summer of 1816 was to be called The Vampyre. In
the end he dropped it, and the account was picked up and finished by John Polidori,
Byron's personal physician during this summer, who then published his novella with
the same title as that used by Byron so as to increase its circulation.

Vampires were rather new on the literary scene at this point: general legendary knowledge
about them actually stemmed from a single source, the incorporation of a vampire in
Robert Southey's exotic and very popular oriental romance, Thalaba the Destroyer (1801).
Although the figure appears in only one stanza, it afforded Southey the opportunity
to show off his learning in a ten-page note. Since Percy Shelley was greatly enamored
of this poem, even reading it aloud to Mary and Claire Clairmont on successive evenings
in September 1814, there is little doubt that Mary had this account in mind in drawing
upon vampire imagery for Frankenstein.

There is an unmistakeably strong resonance here of the final lines of Percy Bysshe
Shelley's "Mont Blanc," lines 139ff., written during the summer of 1816 when Frankenstein
was begun. Since the early chapters were conceived at this time, the reflection of
this particular poem would seem purposeful. That the greater part of Volume 2 of the
novel takes place below Mt. Blanc should reinforce the sense one has of a thematic
kinship between these two works.

At this point Clerval has been in Ingolstadt for a full year. Some months earlier,
as the previous paragraph indicates, he had been introduced by Victor to the "several
professors of the university." Here, as elsewhere (I:3:10), Mary Shelley quietly underscores
the ease with which Victor shirks his family duties.

Mary Shelley seems to have an adolescent's sense of what constitutes the "decline
of life." When we are introduced to Alphonse Frankenstein, a man who remained unmarried
for at least another two years after his decision to wed and and who then had three
children across a timespan of sixteen years, he seems as yet not to have begun the
decline attributed to him here. His delay in marriage is shared by Victor who finds
numerous reasons for postponing his nuptials with Elizabeth Lavenza. That this is
a family trait Mary Shelley wishes to accentuate rather than the reflection of some
antiromantic convention of her own or of her time is indicated by the case of Felix
De Lacey, who falls deeply in love at a young age.