The Guide
August 2007
John
Lauritsen.
The
Man Who Wrote Frankenstein.
Pagan Press 2007.
Reviewed by Hubert Kennedy
We all know that the movie versions of
Frankenstein we
grew up with are caricatures of the novel Frankenstein.
What most of us don't know is that the book with which we're are all
familiar (well, some more than others) is itself a bowdlerized version
of the original novel, first published in 1818. It was published
anonymously and although there were several who guessed that the author
was the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, he himself credited his second wife,
Mary Wollenstonecraft Shelley.
Then in 1823, following the death of the
poet, Mary Shelley republished the work, now with her name on the title
page. It has since been nearly unquestioned that she was, in fact, the
author, and the book has gone through numerous editions, all with her
name on it. All libraries have so listed the book, while countless
papers and dissertations have been written that accept her authorship.
As the title of John Lauritsen's The Man Who Wrote
Frankenstein (Pagan
Press, 232 pages, $16.95) brashly alerts us, there's another
perspective. This a book by someone unafraid to go against accepted
opinion and the entrenched literary establishment. Lauritsen's
assertion is that the real author was indeed Percy Bysshe Shelley.
That is only one thesis of this
intriguing and very readable literary discussion of the novel. The
others are: “Frankenstein
is a great work which has
consistently been underrated and misinterpreted,” and
“Male love is the dominant theme of Frankenstein.”
The first thesis, that Shelley is the
novel's real author, is the one that will be most vehemently rejected
out of hand by those in the literary establishment. Paradoxically,
perhaps, it is the one that will most readily be accepted by a reader
with no vested interest in the “Mary is the author”
camp, i.e., authors of papers and books based on the assumption that
Mary Shelley is the author, professors who have taught this as fact for
many years, and many feminists delighted to have found a successful
sister. But “independent scholar” Lauritsen did not
just wake up one morning and decide to buck the establishment. His book
is based on a close and careful reading of all the pertinent documents
— and he is very persuasive, for he marshals his evidence in
a way that makes it hard to resist his conclusion. You do not have to
be an English scholar to see the force of his arguments — and
accept them.
One argument for Percy Bysshe Shelley's
authorship is based on the preface of the anonymous 1818 edition, which
Mary Shelley admitted was written by him. (The preface is included in
Lauritsen's book.) In it, the author describes the origin on the work:
I passed the summer of 1816 in the
environs of Geneva. The season was
cold and rainy, and in the evenings we crowded around a blazing wood
fire,and occasionally amused ourselves with some German stories of
ghosts, which happened to fall into our hands. These tales excited in
us a playful desire of imitation. Two other friends (a tale from the
pen of one of whom would be far more acceptable to the public than any
thing I can ever hope to produce) and myself agreed to write each a
story, founded on some supernatural occurrence.
The weather,however, suddenly became serene; and my two friends left me
on a journey among the Alps, and lost, in the magnificent scenes which
they presented, all memory of their ghostly visions.The following tale
is the only one which has been completed.
Now, Percy Shelley, Mary Shelley, Lord
Byron, Dr. John Polidori, and Claire Clairmont were together that
summer near Geneva. Lauritsen argues:
This is a dead giveaway that the
three persons in the ghost-story
contest (if there ever was one) could only have been Byron, Polidori,
and Shelley: three brilliant young men, who were already accomplished
writers. Although Shelley and Byron took a one-week tour around Lake
Geneva, they never journeyed together ‘among the
Alps.’ But Byron and Polidori did make an Alpine journey a
few weeks later.
Lauritsen, however, is more concerned
with the textual argument. He compares Frankenstein
(the 1818 edition)
with other writings known to be by Mary Shelley and shows —
convincingly, I think — that all those others are vastly
inferior, coming to the conclusion that she was incapable of writing
Frankenstein.
On the other hand, Lauritsen shows that
those who argue against Percy Shelley's authorship ignore the textual
argument (which Lauritsen thinks all-important) and base their
reasoning on the fact that the surviving parts of the original
manuscript are in Mary Shelley's handwriting. Lauritsen demolishes this
argument by pointing out, among other things, that she often copied for
her husband and also for other writers. Furthermore, there are
suspicious gaps in her notebooks.
Lauritsen's thesis that Frankenstein is
a “great work” may not be as readily acceptable,
since it depends on careful distinction of the original edition of 1818
from the 1823 edition — and all later editions —
which includes many revisions made by Mary Shelley and/or her father
William Godwin, all to the detriment of the novel, according to
Lauritsen. It is the original 1818 edition that Lauritsen claims as
“great” and we are invited to determine that for
ourselves. That edition has recently been reprinted and is also
available on the internet.
It is the third thesis — that
“Male love is the dominant theme of Frankenstein”
(the central part of Lauritsen's book) — which will strike a
chord in the hearts of gay men. Here, again, Lauritsen is persuasive,
especially where he shows that it is precisely this aspect of the novel
that was bowdlerized by Mary Shelley and/or her father. Where there may
have been ambiguities in the text that could refer to male love, their
removal in the later editions was — tellingly —
always resolved to the detriment of such an interpretation. (As used by
Lauritsen: “The term male love, whose linguistic heritage
goes back to classical antiquity, comprises sex, love, and friendship:
different aspects of one and the same phenomenon.”)
For example, Lauritsen points out that
Walton, who has rescued Frankenstein near the beginning of the novel,
falls in love with him, lays bare his feelings, and Frankenstein
responds:
One day I mentioned to him the
desire I had always felt of finding a
friend who might sympathize with me, and direct me by his counsel. I
said, I did not belong to that class of men who are offended by advice.
“I am self-educated, and perhaps I hardly rely sufficiently
upon my own powers. I wish therefore that my companion should be wiser
and more experienced than myself, to confirm and support me; nor have I
believed it impossible to find a true friend.”
“I agree with you,”
replied the stranger, “in believing that friendship is not
only a desirable,but a possible acquisition. I once had a friend, the
most noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge
respecting friendship.You have hope, and the world before you, and have
no cause of despair. But I — I have lost everything, and
cannot begin life anew.”
Lauritsen comments:
This is a profound and subtle
passage. When Walton lays open his desire
for a friend,he is asking Frankenstein to be that friend. Frankenstein
understands perfectly, and lets Walton know that he would reciprocate
if able, but cannot, because his own life is coming to a close. When
this is understood, the break in the final sentence is poignant. Walton
and Frankenstein have revealed themselves to each other as gay men,
using probing, indirect, and coded language — as gay men have
done for centuries and continue to do in the present.
In preparing the 1831 edition of
Frankenstein,
Mary Shelley (and/or her father, William Godwin)
demonstrated through bowdlerization that they grasped, and rejected,
the homoeroticism in the above passage. Their version:
I spoke
of my desire of finding a friend — of my thirst for a more
intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than had ever fallen to my lot;
and expressed my conviction that a man could boast of little happiness,
who did not enjoy this blessing. “I agree with
you,” replied the stranger; “we are unfashioned
creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than
ourselves — such a friend ought to be — do not lend
his aid to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a
friend, the most noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore,
to judge respecting friendship. You have hope, and the world before
you, and have no cause for despair. But I — I have lost every
thing, and cannot begin life anew.”
Lauritsen further comments:
Here Godwin and Mary have
destroyed the inner meaning of Shelley's
passage and ruined the cadences of his prose. Now Walton coldly desires
a “more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind,”
rather than a companion who would guide and sympathize with him.
Frankenstein's reply is no longer a sensitive expression of empathy,
but a verbose and preachy dispensation of platitudes.
Let this sink in: Mary Shelley and her
father did recognize the homoeroticism in the passage, and they
deliberately excised it.
As gay men, we can also readily
understand Victor Frankenstein's Creature, who feels his isolation so
strongly. We empathize with him in his search for the friend who would
be everything to him.
John Lauritsen has already shown himself
unafraid of controversy. Once again he has plunged into the fray,
unafraid to take on the establishment. This time I think gay readers
will rally to his side. The book is written in a lively style that is
easy and enjoyable to read. This welcome addition to the lore of
Frankenstein
can be heartily recommended.
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