Frankenstein
by Mary Shelley
"be yourself" is such an evidently enticing idea that one rarely pauses to speculate what "self" is really about... until the matter arises that one could not be anyone, or anything, but himself.
such was the fate of Frankenstein's monster. there are many things to read into this book: a horror story with an unmatchable monster, a science fiction about mad scientists in blind pursuing of knowledge, an indictment of modern science, ... even an advocate for Rousseau's educaion theory.
but i couldn't help but drawn by the monster's absolute loneliness. his creator, Dr. Victor Frankenstein, loathed and abandoned him the moment he was created, his life since becoming a futile search for love, bitter rejection by all who set sight on him, and his brutal annihilation of everyone his creator ever loved. with all this, however, when he finally confronted his creator, all his wanted was a monstrous companion of his own kind. such a revealing moment. it turns out that individuality is secondary to group identity, without which, the monster, or we, could not have happiness or peace.
should have known this all along. after all, the genetic identity among human beings are >> 99%, while our individuality is the 1% "rest of the story".
i was a little disappointed by the writing style (seemingly amateurish) and the lack of action from page to page. by the time i closed the book, though, i was totally impressed by its originality and complexity.
