Frankenstein

I recently re-read Frankenstein, which was not an obvious thing for me to do. The why of that is interesting, and it turned out to be a really good experience.

At DragonCon last year, I went to a talk by Bernie Wrightson. He’s an old horror comics illustrator who’s been around since the late sixties. He did a series of illustrations for Frankenstein, which Marvel published in the early eighties. He’s done a lot of good stuff, but this was probably his best-known work. It was a labor of love, done in his spare time, the 47 illustrations taking him seven years to complete. He was talking about that and mentioned that Dark Horse comics was re-releasing it in the fall. The original came out when I was in high school. I didn’t own it, but I remember seeing it, and the illustrations were gorgeous. I figured it was worth owning for those, so I asked the folks over at Big Planet comics to grab me a copy when it came out. I remember the original printing as being a flimsy trade paperback. It was a good size, but it felt like a big comic book. That was what I was expecting.

That’s not what showed up. The new edition is simply awe-inspiring. It’s this huge, black tombstone of a book: 9” by 12”, heavy-duty hardback, weighs about four pounds. It’s covered in velvety-soft cloth and has an oval cameo of the Creature on the cover. It has a wide ribbon bookmark sewn in. It even has really thick paper; it feels like some sort of parchment. The illustrations are as good as I remembered. They’re black and white; amazingly, obsessively detailed. I know they’re pen and ink, but they look like old engravings or woodcuts, all fine cross-hatching. It is hands-down the most beautiful book I own, and probably that I’ve ever seen. The whole thing feels weirdly anachronistic, which suits it perfectly. They just don’t make books like this anymore.

It emphasizes everything about the experience of reading that is more than just the words. It’s the weight of the book, the texture of cover, the stiffness of the pages. This is a book that demands a certain respect. You can’t riffle through the pages or jam it in a coat pocket. You can’t fling it across the room without worrying about what it’s going to land on. It sets the tone of the whole experience before you’ve read a word. I can’t imagine reading this on a Kindle; it would not be the same. It’s gothic horror. It’s not supposed to be clean, sleek and shiny, with a sophisticated yet intuitive user interface. You want to have, somewhere in the back of your mind, an element of physical intimidation. You want that little inner voice reminding you, “Wow, if I drop this, it will break my foot.”

I’ve read Frankenstein before, for our Spooky Book Club. We mostly hated it, and spent our discussion time roundly abusing it. It’s old, written in 1818. Books of that time were just not like they are now. The language and sensibilities are really kinda alien. It’s hard to read; it feels stilted and ill-paced. The plot hinges on a number of ridiculous coincidences. Our protagonist is wildly dramatic and overwrought, and makes a number of poor life decisions. So I had meant to just buy it for the art, but having this artifact made me want to take another stab at reading it. Clearly, somebody loves this story and thinks it’s worthwhile. The introduction by Steven King is brief but persuasive. He says much the same thing that Bernie Wrightson did: Yes, it’s flawed, but come to it on its own terms, and you’ll find that it’s amazing in its own way.

They’re right. I really enjoyed it. Part of it is the book itself; it really does change the experience. The illustrations give it a vividness and physicality; they bring the wordiness back down to earth. But a lot of it is the language. I was better prepared for it this time around. I’ve read more old books since then - Dickens and Brontë. They’ve gotten me a little more used to that sort of language, pacing, and characterization. I’ve also read some modern historical fiction which mimics the feel well, particularly Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. That one also teaches you a bit of patience; it’s not a book you read if you’re in a rush.

That’s a key. When I read Frankenstein for book club, I had to get through it before the meeting, and ended up rushing it. You can’t do that. You can’t rush it. This is long attention-span reading. You have to just sink in and let it wash over you. Once you come to terms with that, it really is good.

That’s something I need to be reminded of occasionally. This is supposed to be reading for enjoyment. I should be savoring it, not rushing through it like I’m trying to tick off another item on my to-do list. It’s one thing if I want to skim through non-fiction, something I’m reading for work or school, that’s fine. But this is what I’m doing to relax. It’s not like cramming more books into my schedule makes me more relaxed.