Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) is one of the most misrepresented novels in literary history. Popular culture reduces it to a horror story about a mad scientist and his terrifying creation, yet a deeper reading reveals a profound critique of ambition, exclusion, scientific ethics, and the power of social labelling. The statement “Frankenstein wasn’t the monster” invites a critical examination of who, Victor Frankenstein or his creation, truly embodies monstrosity.
This analysis will argue that Frankenstein is not merely a gothic horror but a philosophical and ethical inquiry into power, responsibility, and the social construction of monstrosity. It will also consider alternative interpretations, including the idea that Victor himself is a victim of a culture that prioritises scientific ambition over moral responsibility. Finally, it will explore the dangers of social labelling, urging us to always ask:
Who do we call monstrous? What evidence do we use to justify it? And what do we stand to gain from doing so?
1. The Creature as the Oppressed Other: Who Decides What is Monstrous?
From the moment of his unnatural birth, Frankenstein’s creature is abandoned, reviled, and denied humanity. Yet, rather than inherently monstrous, he begins as a blank slate—tabula rasa—shaped entirely by his encounters with a world that fears and excludes him. His experience reflects historical and social patterns of oppression, where those deemed other—whether by race, class, disability, or appearance—are cast as dangerous and unworthy of inclusion.
Exclusion and Otherness
Shelley’s novel resonates with postcolonial and marginalisation theories. Anne K. Mellor (Mary Shelley: Her Life, Her Fiction, Her Monsters, 1988) argues that Shelley critiques the societal structures that label certain beings as monstrous simply because they do not conform. This aligns with Frantz Fanon’s observations in Black Skin, White Masks (1952), where he describes the psychological effects of being cast as the other in a world structured by exclusion.
Key evidence: The creature learns language, ethics, and love by observing the De Lacey family. When he attempts to integrate, he is violently rejected, reinforcing his status as an outcast. His descent into vengeance follows only after these repeated betrayals.
This raises a critical question: Who decides what is monstrous? The creature’s supposed monstrosity is based entirely on human perception—his grotesque appearance overshadows his intelligence, emotional depth, and desire for connection. This is a warning against the danger of mislabelling those who are misunderstood, different, or inconvenient to the social order.
The novel forces us to re-examine how ‘monstrosity’ operates in our own time—who do we apply it to today? Criminals? The mentally ill? Refugees? Political adversaries? Shelley reminds us that exclusion and fear often create the very behaviours that are later condemned.
Furthermore, disability studies scholars such as Rosemarie Garland-Thomson (Extraordinary Bodies, 1997) highlight how historically, individuals with physical and cognitive differences have been demonised in literature and society. The creature’s suffering mirrors the stigma of physical difference—his exclusion is not a result of his actions but of his non-normative body. In this light, Frankenstein becomes a critique of how societies construct monstrosity through visual difference rather than moral failure.
2. Victor Frankenstein: A Portrait of Hubris, Neglect, and Systemic Pressures
Victor Frankenstein embodies the dangers of unchecked scientific ambition without moral responsibility. His initial desire to "play God" leads him to transgress natural limits, yet his greatest failing is not creation but abandonment. His rejection of his creature is immediate and absolute, setting the stage for the suffering that follows.
Victor as the True Monster? Or a Victim of Systemic Pressure?
Key evidence: Upon seeing his creation, Victor exclaims:
“Breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room.” (Frankenstein, Chapter 5)
Rather than taking responsibility, Victor spends the novel either fleeing or blaming fate for his misfortunes. His refusal to engage with the creature, even after it learns speech and seeks understanding, demonstrates his moral failure.
However, an alternative interpretation suggests that Victor himself is a victim of systemic pressures. Scholars such as Paul Cantor (Creature and Creator: Myth-making and English Romanticism, 1984) argue that his downfall represents the cost of pushing beyond human limitations. This aligns with Romantic anxieties about industrialisation, scientific progress, and the dangers of Enlightenment rationalism—where figures like Prometheus (a key allusion in Shelley’s subtitle The Modern Prometheus) are both visionary and tragic.
Thus, while Victor is certainly negligent, his character also invites sympathy as a man destroyed by a system that rewards unchecked ambition while punishing its consequences.
3. Shelley’s Feminist Lens: Abandonment, Creation, and Power
Mary Shelley’s personal experiences also shape Frankenstein’s themes of abandonment and neglect. As the daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft, a pioneering feminist, Shelley was acutely aware of society’s marginalisation of women and their intellectual contributions.
Frankenstein as a Feminist Critique of Male Power
Victor’s rejection of his creation can be read as a symbol of patriarchal neglect, mirroring how women’s intellectual and creative labour were often dismissed in Shelley’s time.
The creature’s plea for a female companion, which Victor denies him, reflects male anxiety over women’s autonomy and reproductive power.
This suggests that Frankenstein is not only about science but about power, who controls creation, who is allowed to exist, and who is erased from history.
4. The Creature’s Humanity vs. Victor’s Indifference
One of Frankenstein’s most profound ironies is that the creature, though unnatural, displays greater emotional depth than his creator. He craves companionship, learns morality, and ultimately demonstrates remorse, qualities we associate with humanity.
Key evidence: The creature’s final words:
“I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and exult in the agony of the torturing flames.” (Frankenstein, Chapter 24)
His self-awareness and choice to remove himself from the world contrast sharply with Victor’s lifelong refusal to accept blame. In this sense, the creature is more human than the man who created him.
But if the creature is more human than his creator, what does that say about the way we define humanity itself?
5. A Final Question: Who Are We Calling Monsters Today?
Shelley’s Frankenstein is a complex moral, philosophical, and social critique rather than a simple gothic horror story.
This analysis expands the discussion by:
Engaging with postcolonial and marginalisation theories (Fanon, Mellor)
Examining scientific ethics and bioethics (Haraway)
Considering Romantic critiques of industrialisation (Wordsworth, P.B. Shelley)
Engaging with disability studies and bodily exclusion (Garland-Thomson)
Interrogating the very nature of monstrosity—who we label as ‘monsters’ and why
Final Thought:
Before we accept any label of "monstrosity," we must always ask:Who do we call monstrous? What evidence do we use to justify it? And what do we stand to gain from doing so?
Are monsters born, or are they created by those who refuse to see them as human?
Shelley’s Frankenstein remains a warning against unquestioned labels, systemic exclusion, and the dangers of neglecting those we fear.
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