Who Is The Real Monster In 'Frankenstein'?

The ending of 'Cleopatra and Frankenstein' is a poignant blend of heartbreak and quiet resolve. Cleo, an artist grappling with her identity, finally leaves Frank, the charismatic but emotionally distant ad executive. Their whirlwind marriage, built on passion but lacking depth, crumbles under unmet expectations. The final scenes show Cleo in Paris, reclaiming her artistry, while Frank stares at her unfinished portrait—realizing too late what he lost. The novel doesn’t tie things neatly. Frank’s self-destructive habits linger, and Cleo’s future is uncertain but hopeful. Their love was a collision of two flawed people, more destructive than nurturing. The last pages dwell on solitude, not reconciliation, leaving readers with a raw, lingering ache about modern love’s fragility.

I’ve spent a lot of time with annotated editions of classic novels, and 'Frankenstein: Annotated for Scientists, Engineers, and Creators of All Kinds' is one that stands out. This version, edited by David H. Guston, Ed Finn, and Jason Scott Robert, is packed with annotations that explore the scientific and ethical themes of the novel. While the primary focus is on the text and its commentary, it does include some illustrations. These aren’t lavish, full-page artworks but rather historical and scientific images that complement the annotations. For example, you’ll find diagrams of early electrical experiments, anatomical sketches from the 19th century, and even some of the original artwork from early editions of 'Frankenstein.' These visuals help ground the novel in its historical context and make the scientific discussions more tangible. If you’re looking for a version of 'Frankenstein' with more traditional illustrations, like those you’d find in a graphic novel or heavily illustrated edition, this might not be the best fit. The annotations are the star here, and the images serve as supplementary material. That said, the inclusion of these visuals adds depth to the reading experience, especially for those interested in the intersection of literature and science. The book is a fantastic resource for anyone who wants to dig deeper into Shelley’s work, and the illustrations, though sparse, enhance that exploration.

In 'Frankenstein,' both characters, Victor and Walton, share a strong thirst for knowledge and uncharted territories. They're like moth to a flame, drawn to their specific passions—Victor's obsession with creating life, and Walton's determination to reach the North Pole. Despite their divergent aspirations, they embody the Romantic ideal of reaching for the unknown. They're both isolated by their endeavors, pushing away relationships for their pursuits. Lastly, they both learn the bitter truth: some knowledge and goals may come at a high price, exacting a heavy personal and emotional toll.

Isolation in 'Frankenstein' is a double-edged sword. Victor isolates himself to create the Creature, but this seclusion warps his mind, making him obsessive and detached from humanity. The Creature, abandoned and alone, becomes a mirror of Victor’s neglect. His isolation breeds rage and a desperate need for connection, which society denies him. Both characters spiral into destruction—Victor through guilt, the Creature through vengeance. Shelley shows how isolation fractures identity and fuels despair.

I've noticed 'Cleopatra and Frankenstein' resonating deeply with readers, especially millennials and Gen Z. The novel blends raw emotional honesty with dark humor, dissecting modern relationships in a way that feels both brutally real and strangely poetic. Its unflinching portrayal of love, addiction, and mental health strikes a chord in our post-pandemic world where people crave authenticity. The characters are flawed yet magnetic—Cleo's artistic fragility clashes against Frank's self-destructive charm, creating a dynamic that’s impossible to look away from. The prose oscillates between lyrical and jagged, mirroring the turbulence of their relationship. Social media plays a role too; TikTok book clubs obsess over its quotable lines about doomed romance and existential dread. It’s the kind of book that demands to be discussed, argued over, and read twice.

'Cleopatra and Frankenstein' centers around two magnetic yet flawed souls whose collision feels both inevitable and catastrophic. Cleo, a 24-year-old British artist, drifts through New York with a painter's sensitivity and a self-destructive streak—her brilliance obscured by her reliance on alcohol and fleeting relationships. Then there's Frank, a wealthy advertising exec twice her age, whose polished exterior masks a void he tries to fill with Cleo's vibrancy. Their whirlwind marriage becomes a mirror for their insecurities: she seeks stability, he craves youth, and neither realizes they\'re using each other until it's too late. The supporting cast amplifies the chaos. Zoë, Cleo's pragmatic best friend, serves as the voice of reason, while Frank's ex-wife Eleanor lingers like a shadow of his past failures. Quentin, Cleo's estranged father, reappears with his own regrets, complicating her search for belonging. These characters aren't just background; they're catalysts, pushing the central pair toward moments of clarity—or deeper denial. The novel's genius lies in how it makes you root for Cleo and Frank even as you watch them unravel.

Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' is a brutal takedown of unchecked ambition. Victor Frankenstein's obsession with creating life blinds him to the consequences. He stitches together a creature from corpses, fueled by ego and scientific curiosity, but the moment it breathes, he abandons it. The real danger isn’t the monster—it’s Victor’s refusal to take responsibility. His ambition isolates him, destroys his family, and leaves a trail of bodies. The creature’s violence stems from neglect, not inherent evil. Shelley shows how ambition without ethics turns progress into tragedy. The book’s warning is clear: playing god has a body count.

Victor abandons his creation in 'Frankenstein' because he's horrified by what he's made. The moment the creature opens its eyes, Victor sees not a triumph of science but a monstrous abomination. His dream of creating life turns into a nightmare as he realizes the sheer ugliness and unnaturalness of his creation. He flees because he can't face the consequences of his ambition, the living proof of his hubris. The creature's appearance triggers an instinctive revulsion in Victor, making him reject it instantly. This abandonment sets the stage for the tragedy that follows, as the creature, denied guidance and love, becomes the monster Victor already believes it to be.