Here's Frankenstein, summarized:
Let’s talk about Frankenstein, which is often misunderstood as a book about a green guy with neck bolts who grunts a lot and doesn’t understand fire. That is wrong. The big guy is actually Frankenstein’s Monster, and the book is actually about DOCTOR Frankenstein, a man who makes extremely questionable life choices while pretending he's doing science.
The story begins with a dude named Victor Frankenstein, who is basically what happens when a liberal arts student reads one too many Hot Science Monthly magazines and decides, “Hey, I should make a man out of corpse parts! What could possibly go wrong?”
So Victor does the obvious thing: robs graves, steals body parts, assembles them like a meat-based IKEA project, and zaps it with lightning. Lo and behold, IT WORKS. And the instant it comes to life, Victor does what any responsible scientist would do—he screams, panics, and runs away, leaving his eight-foot-tall zombie-thing alone in the lab like a rejected science fair project with abandonment issues and biceps.
Now, the creature (who never gets a name, which is frankly rude) tries really hard to be friends with people. Unfortunately, every time he goes outside, villagers react like someone brought a chainsaw into a petting zoo. He gets chased, screamed at, and generally treated like he’s made of radioactive barbed wire. It’s not great for his self-esteem.
Eventually, he finds a nice blind guy in a cottage and thinks, “This is it. My moment.” But the man’s family comes home, sees a massive dude made out of recycled humans in the living room, and they respond by attacking him with pitchforks, torches, and jazzed-up feelings.
Now angry, heartbroken, and extremely eloquent for someone sewn together from spare body parts, "the monster" goes back to Victor and says, “Okay, here’s the deal. You made me. I’m lonely. Make me a girlfriend or I will make you lonely. Permanently.” He drives a hard bargain.
Victor, who by now has the emotional stability of damp toast, agrees. But then halfway through building the lady monster, he panics (again), tears her apart, and throws the pieces into the ocean, which is exactly the kind of behavior that leads to awkward down votes from vengeful science experiments.
The monster then goes full revenge mode, killing Victor’s friends, family, dog, houseplants—basically anyone who ever gave him side-eye. Victor swears eternal vengeance and chases the monster all the way to the Arctic, where both of them nearly freeze to death, because plot.
Eventually Victor dies, probably from a lethal combination of guilt, frostbite, and monologue fatigue. The monster finds his body, has a very dramatic moment, and then walks off into the snowy wasteland to die alone, because nothing says literary depth like emotional devastation and frostbite.
So that’s Frankenstein: a cautionary tale about science, hubris (whatever that is), loneliness, and why you should never skip therapy in favor of reanimating corpses.
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