How Does The Theme Of Revenge Manifest In 'Frankenstein's' Characters?

Heathcliff’s revenge in 'Wuthering Heights' is like a wildfire—it consumes everything, including himself. After Catherine’s betrayal, his love turns into a burning need to punish everyone who wronged him. He manipulates Hindley, ruins Edgar, and even torments the next generation. But here’s the twist: his vengeance doesn’t bring him peace. Instead, it isolates him, leaving him haunted by Catherine’s ghost. His revenge is tragic because it’s rooted in love, but it destroys everything he touches.

Amy’s revenge in 'Gone Girl' is a scalpel-sharp deconstruction of performative marriage. She engineers her own disappearance not just to punish Nick’s infidelity, but to expose society’s voyeuristic hunger for 'tragic white women' narratives. Her diary—a weaponized fiction—mimics true-crime tropes, manipulating media and public opinion to paint Nick as a wife-killer. The 'Cool Girl' monologue isn’t just rage; it’s a manifesto against reducing women to manicured fantasies. Even her return is revenge, forcing Nick into a lifelong role as her accomplice. Their marriage becomes a grotesque theater piece, revenge served not with blood but with eternal mutual entrapment. For similar explorations of marital rot, watch 'Marriage Story' or read 'The Girl on the Train'.

In 'Origin', identity is a battlefield between legacy and evolution. Langdon’s pal Edmond Kirsch—this billionaire futurist—embodies the tension: he’s a tech messiah preaching post-humanism while secretly craving immortality through his AI creation, E-Wave. The book dissects how institutions like the Church or academia force people into ideological cages—Bishop Valdespino clings to dogma, while Kirsch’s atheism masks his god-complex. Even E-Wave’s 'birth' scene mirrors human identity crises: programmed for logic, it yearns for creative purpose. The Palmarian Chapel’s hidden symbols? They’re not just clues; they’re mirrors showing characters their fractured selves. Kirsch’s murder isn’t just a crime—it’s a metaphor for society’s fear of redefining what 'human' even means.

Reading 'Walden', I was struck by how Thoreau turns solitude into a profound exploration of self. He doesn’t just live alone; he uses isolation as a tool to strip away societal distractions and connect deeply with nature. His cabin by the pond becomes a sanctuary where he observes the rhythms of the natural world—the changing seasons, the habits of animals, the stillness of the water. This solitude isn’t lonely; it’s liberating. Thoreau finds clarity and purpose in being alone, arguing that society often distracts us from understanding our true selves. His reflections on solitude also challenge the idea that humans need constant companionship. He writes about the joy of self-reliance and the peace that comes from being fully present in the moment. For Thoreau, solitude is a deliberate choice, a way to live authentically and thoughtfully. This theme resonates deeply in today’s fast-paced world, where we’re constantly connected yet often feel disconnected from ourselves. If you’re intrigued by this, 'Into the Wild' by Jon Krakauer offers another perspective on solitude and self-discovery.

Lisbeth's entire existence is a rebellion against systemic betrayal. Her childhood trauma—being institutionalized by a corrupt system that protected her abusive father, Zalachenko—fuels her distrust. The 'tattoo' incident with Bjurman isn't just personal violation; it's proof that institutions weaponize vulnerability. Her revenge isn't emotional—it's calculated. She hacks Bjurman's computer to expose him, mirroring how secrets were used against her. When Zalachenko resurfaces in 'The Girl Who Played with Fire', her arson against him isn't mindless rage—it’s erasing a symbol of state-sanctioned evil. Even Mikael’s well-meaning interventions feel like betrayal, reinforcing her lone-wolf ethos. Larsson frames her revenge as survival in a world where trust is currency, and she’s bankrupt.

In 'Charlotte’s Web', the theme of sacrifice is woven deeply into the narrative, particularly through Charlotte's actions. Charlotte, a spider, devotes her time and energy to saving Wilbur, a pig destined for slaughter, even though it means putting her own life at risk. She spins words into her web to make Wilbur famous, ensuring his survival. This act of selflessness is profound because Charlotte knows she won’t live to see the results of her efforts. Her ultimate sacrifice—giving her life to save Wilbur—showcases the power of love and friendship. This theme is further highlighted by Wilbur’s care for Charlotte’s egg sac, ensuring her legacy lives on. The story teaches us that true sacrifice isn’t about seeking reward but about giving everything for someone else’s happiness. Another layer of sacrifice is seen in Fern, who initially saves Wilbur from being killed as a runt. She nurtures him with love and care, even though she eventually has to let him go to the farm. This act of letting go is also a form of sacrifice, as Fern prioritizes Wilbur’s well-being over her own attachment. Through these characters, 'Charlotte’s Web' beautifully illustrates how sacrifice can be both heartbreaking and transformative, leaving a lasting impact on those who experience it.

In 'The Graveyard Book', family is a central theme, but it’s not the traditional kind. Bod’s family is murdered at the start, and he’s adopted by the ghosts of the graveyard. This unconventional family shapes his identity and values. The ghosts, like Silas and Miss Lupescu, become his guardians, teaching him life lessons and protecting him. The graveyard itself feels like a home, a place where he belongs despite its eerie nature. Bod’s journey is about finding where he fits in, and the graveyard family provides that sense of belonging. The contrast between the living and the dead highlights how family isn’t always about blood but about the bonds we form. For those who enjoy stories about found families, 'Coraline' by Neil Gaiman also explores similar themes of belonging and identity.

In 'The Secret', self-discovery is a journey of aligning your thoughts with your desires. The book emphasizes that understanding your true self is about recognizing the power of your mind. It’s not just about positive thinking but about deeply connecting with your inner aspirations. The process involves visualizing your goals and believing in their inevitability. This theme resonates with me because it’s a reminder that self-awareness is the first step toward manifesting your dreams. For those who enjoy exploring similar ideas, 'The Power of Now' by Eckhart Tolle offers a profound take on self-awareness and living in the present moment. Another layer of self-discovery in 'The Secret' is the idea of gratitude. By appreciating what you already have, you open yourself to more abundance. This practice helps you uncover your true desires and align with them. The book suggests that self-discovery isn’t a one-time event but a continuous process of growth and alignment. It’s about peeling back the layers of doubt and fear to reveal your authentic self. This theme is empowering because it shifts the focus from external validation to internal fulfillment.