Certain fiction writers know the substance of what they are writing long before they begin the mechanical process of writing it. That inspiration can be a character, a setting or a plot. For Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein it was a dream that turned into a task to transform that nocturnal ghost image into a long tale. Since most readers are already familiar with the character of Frankenstein long before they pick up the book, we can be almost like Shelley when we read it from the beginning; tracing along and enjoying or laboring, praising, or criticizing, the way she structures the novel. This letter structure evokes realism, with its source somewhere off the page. It quite likely must have come from subconscious structures of realities already perfected in her mind.

Frankenstein is astounding for its transformation from Shelley’s simple dream to the frame-like structure and incorporating several of its contemporary philosophical ideas into a whole. The authority that Shelley writes engages the reader enough to listen seriously to a fable that would otherwise not been given as much attention had that command over the character and story not been present. For instance, in the opening paragraph, the character of Robert Walter reels us in with his increasing confidence in the success of his undertaking, yet he doesn’t tell us what exactly that is first. It is a masterpiece from a writer who knew how to dig deep beyond mere suspense and dread and would ultimately play into a fear far worse than just blood and gore – the powerful desire that we mortals own for playing god despite our un-godlike capacity to fully realize what we’re doing.