The shift in pronouns here (from "its" to "he") is telling but hardly indicative of
a sudden sense of human identification between Victor and his Creature. Instead, to
denominate the Creature a man allows Victor immediately to fix moral blame upon him.

The monstrous is further mystified, not just as a zombie, who has come by black magic
into a false and unnatural vitality, but also as a demon, a supernatural embodiment
of evil. The progression is thus from the wretched (alienated) to wretch (marginally
human) to monster (inhuman) to demon (antihuman). And howsoever the Creature is named
or names himself, as he will richly illustrate in the second volume (especially II:5:17
and II:7:7), so he becomes.

The theme of dejection is a significant component of "dark" Romanticism. The most
influential exploration of it in the canon of British Romanticism is that found in
"Dejection: An Ode" by Coleridge, whose "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" has already
figured in the structure of the novel (I:L2:6). Of the major Romantic poets (besides
Percy Bysshe Shelley), Coleridge seems to have had the greatest impact on Mary Shelley's
writing in Frankenstein.

In her revisions Mary Shelley seems intent to plant certain elements crucial to the
plot very early in its exposition. In this case Victor Frankenstein's resuscitation
in the short term is balanced by an awareness of the underlying debility of his physique.
Later on, both in his autobiographical account and, afterwards, when Walton resumes
the narrative, he will manifest symptoms that a nineteenth-century reader would identify
with consumption—that is to say, tuberculosis.

Walton begins his journey to the pole almost at the dark of the year, an ominous sign.

Although there have been several deaths already confronted in the novel—those of Walton's
cousin (I:L1:4), of Caroline's father (I:1:5), and of Elizabeth's mother (I:1:7)—this
is the first that is not simply reported, but is enacted before the reader. That Caroline's
death is a consequence of selfless nurture suggests that this is an expectation of
women that is not without danger. Mary Shelley could not have failed to recognize
that, in focusing so sharply on the death of Caroline Frankenstein as being brought
on by her stepdaughter, she was in some sense rehearsing the death of her own mother
Mary Wollstonecraft following her birth. Critics have likewise traced the novel's
twin emphases on responsibility and guilt to this crucial biographical detail.

This intermixture of day and night recalls the diction with which the chapter opened
(I:3:1) as well as Walton's description of his own educational drive (I:L1:3).

The customary term for such a faculty in literature of the Romantic period is imagination.
Yet, the connotations of Walton's diction do not aspire to such a level of import,
a "day dream" implying something less substantial than a reverie, which itself signifies
a mental state much less imposing than a vision. This implicit deflation of the power
or value of the imagination will become a thematic undertone in the novel.

In his earlier letter (I:L1:3 and note) Walton had also singled-out this faculty of
imaginative reverie. As there, the tone here is ambiguously self-critical, suggesting
something tenuous and escapist about Walton's flights of fancy.

This intellectual obsessiveness links Walton with Frankenstein as he pursues the secret
of life (I:3:3, I:3:9).