Book Review: Frankenstein
- Seoyeon Kim
- Apr 14
- 2 min read
Apr 14, 2026
Seoyeon Kim
What if the real monster is not the one who is created, but the one who creates?
Frankenstein is often remembered as a dark gothic tale about a scientist and his terrifying creation. However, Mary Shelley crafts something far more complex: a novel that quietly unsettles the reader by refusing to give clear answers. Instead, it leaves behind questions, about humanity, morality, and responsibility, that feel uncomfortably relevant.
At the center of the story is Victor Frankenstein, a man driven by an intense desire to transcend natural limits. His scientific ambition leads him to create life, yet the moment he succeeds, he turns away in horror. From here, the novel does not simply follow a narrative of good versus evil, it begins to blur those lines.
The creature, often labeled as a monster, is perhaps the most thought-provoking character in the novel. Initially, it is not violent, but curious. It observes, learns language, and longs for connection. Through its hidden life near the De Lacey family, it develops a deep understanding of human emotions, kindness, and rejection. And yet, every attempt to enter human society ends in fear and violence directed at it.
At this point, the novel becomes quietly debatable. Is the creature inherently monstrous, or is it shaped by the way it is treated? Is Victor a victim of his own ambition, or the true source of the tragedy?
Shelley does not answer these questions directly. Instead, she structures the novel through layered narratives, Victor’s story, the creature’s voice, and even Walton’s perspective, forcing the reader to constantly shift sympathy. At times, Victor appears justified in his fear; at others, his abandonment feels undeniably cruel. Similarly, the creature’s actions grow increasingly violent, yet they are rooted in profound loneliness and rejection.
This tension is what makes Frankenstein so compelling. The novel does not tell you what to think, it invites you to decide. It challenges the reader to confront uncomfortable ideas: that intelligence does not guarantee morality, that creation without responsibility leads to destruction, and that society itself can play a role in shaping what it fears.
The theme of isolation runs deeply through every character. Victor isolates himself in pursuit of knowledge. The creature is isolated by appearance and rejection. Even Walton, writing from the Arctic, reflects a quieter form of loneliness. In each case, isolation becomes not just a condition, but a force that distorts judgment and amplifies suffering.
What makes this novel especially striking is how modern it feels. Written in the early 19th century, it anticipates contemporary concerns about scientific ethics, artificial intelligence, and the consequences of innovation without accountability. Yet it never becomes a simple warning, it remains a question.
Ultimately, Frankenstein is not a story you simply read and finish. It lingers. It makes you reconsider who deserves empathy, who holds responsibility, and whether those two things always align.
And perhaps that is its most unsettling achievement:
By the end, you may no longer be certain who the monster truly is.
