Frankenstein critical analysis evaluation essay
In Part Two, Ellen Moers and U.C. Knoepflmacher take "Biographical Soundings." Since its first appearance in the New York Review of Books and subsequently in her own book, Literary Women, Moers's essay, "Female Gothic," has gained wide acclaim, but I find it disappointing. Her general conception-- Frankenstein as "a woman's mythmaking on the subject of birth" (p. 81 )--sounds plausible enough, but most of the parallels between Mary Shelley's physical children and her brainchild are not clearly articulated or supported. Moreover, she succumbs to some of the pitfalls of biographical criticism--the tendency to offer psychological analysis in place of textual analysis and to stretch a story to fit the author's life. The central birth metaphor leads to some forced and tenuous parallels. After the Creature's "birth," though the agency of woman is conspicuously absent, the fully-grown, eight-foot being suffers from "deficient infant care" (p. 81) Why stress "the motif of revulsion against newborn life" (p. Xl) if, by Moers's own later admission, Mary Shelley "rejoiced at becoming a mother and loved and cherished her babies as long as they lived " (p. 82). "Death and birth," Moers pronounces, "were...as hideously intermixed in the life of Mary Shelley as in Frankenstein's 'workshop of filthy creation'" (p. 84). She details the births and deaths in the Shelley circle but fails to relate them specifically to the novel. The only solid parallel--Mary Shelley's dream in 1815 that her dead baby revived and her dream in 1816 that "the pale student of unhallowed arts" animated his creature--is unoriginal
COINCIDENT FRANKENSTEIN 300B SET AMPLIFIER
Ten years ago there was a dearth of scholarly criticism on Mary Shelley; now she is much in vogue, and every conceivable critical handle is being applied to her first novel. The current collection, though attractive, thought-provoking, and useful in many ways, falls short of being a solid and lasting contribution to the burgeoning scholarship on Frankenstein. Perhaps some of the best essays in it could be combined with selected older studies and published in one of the classic series such as "Norton Critical Editions" or "Twentieth Century Views."
In Part Three, Kate Ellis, Lee Sterrenburg, and Peter Dale Scott examine wider contexts of self and society. Ellis, in her essay "Monsters in the Garden: Mary Shelley and the Bourgeois Family," echoes Knoepflmacher's concern about divided selves; but she attributes this psychic imbalance to "the defects of domesticity" (p. 13)--specifically, to the family's insularity and to the rigid separation of male and female spheres of activity (p. 140). Frankenstein has a number of veritable ambivalences, but Mary Shelley's attitude toward the traditional family is not one of them. Percy Shelley's 1817 Preface commends the novel for its display of "the amiableness of domestic affection" and nothing in the work seriously undercuts that claim: in fact, his wife's revisions confirm this emphasis. Mary Poovey has called attention to the fact that many of the changes in chapters one, two, and five have the primary effect of idealizing "the domestic harmony of Victor's childhood."7 Using the 1831 text, Ellis nevertheless sees mainly a subversive critique of the family. For example, she construes Walton's expedition as an attempt "to find for himself and all mankind a substitute for domestic affections" (p.128). She leaves him an "exile from the home hearth [driven] deeper and deeper into isolation" (p. 125)--a misleading picture that ignores his resolve to return home. Similarly, Victor's manifestly idyllic childhood as the idol of two doting and ever-present parents is deprecated as a stifling, insulated bourgeois existence that fosters and perpetuates divided selves. In contrast to these "flawed models of socialization" (p. 126), the De Lacey household is said to exemplify a "limited Paradise Regained" (p. 25). Although the cottagers abruptly quit their home and are mentioned no more, Ellis contends that "they are the only family that perpetuates itself into the next generation" (p. 138). Ellis's bias in favor of spirited women like Safie causes her to misprize the submissive ones like Caroline, Elizabeth, and Justine. Knoepflmacher rightly declares that "in fiction as in life [Mary Shelley advocated] the renunciatory virtues of an Elizabeth-Justine" (p. 113). Her novels are replete with cloying but sincere idealizations--Idris and Perdita in The Last Man (1826), Katherine in Perkin Warbeck (1830), Lady Santerre and Cornelia in Lodore (1835), and Alithea and Elizabeth in Falkner (1837).