1356

  • this glorious spirit This is the second time that Walton has referred to Victor Frankenstein as "glorious."
    Although less obviously allusive to Milton's characterization of Satan in Paradise
    Lost than the earlier reference (III:Walton:6 and note; see also I:L4:22), the verbal
    repetition serves to underscore with some finality the parallel with the fallen archangel.

    • 1362

  • The story is too connected Doubtless, Victor, who has in numerous critical situations been unwilling to explain
    his case for fear of not being believed, worries about how he can convey his deposition
    so as to produce conviction. Yet, once again, the language reminds us that we are
    in the midst of a narrative whose truth is totally dependant on the veracity of the
    narrator. Victor likewise makes much of its internal consistency to Walton as he begins
    the narration (I:L4:30). What this detail adds is the realization that Victor's is
    truly what Nathaniel Hawthorne termed a "twice-told tale," having, with the exception
    of its final chapter, been already rehearsed in the judge's chamber. The reiteration
    of such a tale of fatally transgressed boundaries recalls the context provided by
    the same sort of obsessive repetition in Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner."

    • 1361

  • Suddenly a heavy storm of rain descended Mary Shelley's readers might easily construe the storm as merely providing a conventional
    Gothic atmosphere in which to wrap the suspense of this long-awaited evening. But
    the storm functions more specifically as a leitmotif associated with the sublime power
    of nature, of forces beyond human control, and of the Creature. There actually are
    only two such Gothic storms in Frankenstein. The first was also set in the environs
    of Lake Geneva and occured as Victor, returning from Ingolstadt, sought out the scene
    of his brother William's death at Plainpalais. There in a brilliant flash of lightning
    he encountered the form of his Creature for the first time since the night of its
    creation. That scene in the sixth chapter in the first volume (I:6:20) thus operates
    as a symmetrical counterpart to this other storm of the sixth chapter of the third
    volume, anticipating the reemergence of the Creature into Victor's domestic idyll.

    • 1360

  • the numerous steeples of London

    Coming up the Thames, these late eighteenth-century travellers remark the objects
    that rise above the cityscape, which in general would have otherwise been limited
    to perhaps five or six storeys in height. In these circumstances the steeples of the
    London churches would have called attention to themselves, as they include many architectural
    masterpieces.

    • 1355

  • the spirits that I had invoked to aid me This observation strengthens Victor's faith in an unworldly sanction for his mission
    of destruction. Yet, the forceful egotism by which Victor empowers himself, justifying
    his actions as divinely decreed, also suggests what today we would call a megalomania.

    • 1363

  • St. Paul's

    In the eighteenth century the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral, after St. Peter's in Rome
    the largest structure in the world, dominated the London cityscape.

    • 1367

  • I generally subsisted on the wild animals In the vegetarian Shelley household this information would carry an implicit ring
    of false consciousness, as Victor charges himself with a solemn revenge for murders
    of human beings yet supports his mission by killing other sentient creatures. Readers
    will recall that, in contrast, the Creature is a strict vegetarian.

    • 1366

  • A deadly struggle would take place Although Victor is self-evidently no match in strength with his creature, he continually
    looks to a melodramatic struggle-to-the-death to resolve their conflict, thus substituting
    a simply physical resolution for one that might embody ethical or psychological justice.
    Once again, one may read here a female author's sense of the conventions of masculinist
    fictions, whether those of art or real life. (For other instances where Victor similarly
    falls back on physical competitiveness, see II:2:5, II:2:6, III:3:16 and III:3:17).

    • 1365

  • the strange chances that have lately occured Mary Shelley's diction indicates how deliberately she has plotted these "strange
    chances" to seem beyond the ordinary expectations of causality, whether in a human
    or a novelistic sphere. Such uncanny events are, however, a customary feature of the
    gothic novel, and it is at points like this that one feels that the author fully recognizes
    the heritage she is exploiting.

    • 1368

  • yet another may succeed Victor's complete self-contradiction in his last moments mirrors the novel's ambivalence
    over the conflicting claims of domestic retreat and aspiring self-assertion, which
    are in turn poles that themselves comprise a dialectical field over which Romanticism
    continually expresses much ambivalence. The particular terms of Victor's last utterance
    have a somewhat chilling effect: at what, a reader may well wonder, does Victor contemplate
    another's success? If in the realm in which he has failed, assuming the role of God,
    we may envision from Victor's experience a greater, even a catastrophic, failure.
    Even as he moves linguistically to open up possibility, the lingering effects of his
    example resist his optimism.
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