Ethan Frome is the ultimate landscape tragedy.
So few people realize the fault is often in the landscape, not the character, or even the situation. Take Edith Wharton's story of failed relationships in the snow.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Bailey's Books Presents: Frankenstein
It's funny, I never really thought about how much Frankenstein is about the failure of friendship.
It seems as if it is a book about friendship, and alienation, and how they are somewhat juxtaposed, or that friendship is some sort of remedy to alienation.
But let's look at it, shall we? Justine is the perfect example of the failed friendship. There she is, looking to please the family, looking to do what society wants, and for this she perishes.
What about Victor, creating the monster to keep him company? We can see where that led. And Robert Walton, so excited to be friends with Victor.
It's actually entering into friendship with Victor that is the kiss of death for so many of his companions, and the monster says as much. Leading the reader to conclude that some people were meant to be alone, ultimately.
Why do we only choose to see the good in friendship, anyway? Why don't we see the opportunities for pain, for cruelty, for loss of self? Everyone is so quick to see the good in friendship, and the way only love will end up hurting. I think it's not unlike the way so much psychological analysis points fingers at parents, but not siblings. Think of the siblings as the friends -- they do damage, too.
I see Mary Shelley's novel as an exploration of the dark side, not of the self, but of the friend.
It seems as if it is a book about friendship, and alienation, and how they are somewhat juxtaposed, or that friendship is some sort of remedy to alienation.
But let's look at it, shall we? Justine is the perfect example of the failed friendship. There she is, looking to please the family, looking to do what society wants, and for this she perishes.
What about Victor, creating the monster to keep him company? We can see where that led. And Robert Walton, so excited to be friends with Victor.
It's actually entering into friendship with Victor that is the kiss of death for so many of his companions, and the monster says as much. Leading the reader to conclude that some people were meant to be alone, ultimately.
Why do we only choose to see the good in friendship, anyway? Why don't we see the opportunities for pain, for cruelty, for loss of self? Everyone is so quick to see the good in friendship, and the way only love will end up hurting. I think it's not unlike the way so much psychological analysis points fingers at parents, but not siblings. Think of the siblings as the friends -- they do damage, too.
I see Mary Shelley's novel as an exploration of the dark side, not of the self, but of the friend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
