"The development of techno-sciences has become a means of increasing disease, not fighting it."
I've always wondered why Victor chose to use his scientific knowledge to create a new being. After discovering how to animate a previously lifeless being, why didn't he wake up his mother? Why didn't he reinstate her life? Why didn't he realize that a relationship between a man and a woman is also a means of creating and animating a[n always new] life? Why did he take bits and pieces of different beings to create an entirely new one? Why didn't his conscious step in earlier? Why didn't he question himself and his motives? "Certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to remain in the society of men!" is said by- of all people- Elizabeth in response to Justine Moritz (61). Why did Victor not recognize the same? Why did he increase the disease and not fight it?
Victor is a slave to himself and his ego. The proof is seen everywhere- after reading a letter sent to him from another, he never commiserates or empathizes. The man can't sympathize with anyone- especially the monster. After creating the monster, Victor runs away into nature... and his thoughts of the monster are that of fear and loathing. He takes no personal responsibility whatsoever: "When I thought of him, I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation" (60). "I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head..." (112). What makes Victor feel "guiltless"? Yes, he admits often that he was the "true murderer," but he does not seem to believe it (57, 59, 61). Instead, he seems to say it for dramatic effect. What makes him think that he is truly guiltless? His unwavering ego.
When he and the monster are face to face, Victor asks, "why do you call to my remembrance circumstances off which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author?" (67). The obvious answer is "because you're responsible for these circumstances," but it's ridiculous to respond at this point. Either way, it's all about him. Although he cannot five sympathy, he fully expects sympathy... Of the monster, "you have made me wretched...you have left me no power..." (67). Marsha, Marsha Marsha!!
An interesting moment of sanity occurs during Victor's imprisonment, during supposed bouts of "madness." He shouts, "I am the cause of this- I murdered her. William, Justine, Henry- they all died by my hands" (128). Why does it need to be "madness" in order for Victor to admit his guilt? Why is he absolved of it when sane? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Or maybe, in this situation, his ego is removed, leaving him able to admit- in all honesty- his guilt.
Mostly, I ask why Victor can't empathize with the monster. The easy answer would be that the monster is the "other," and Victor is acting as the more dominant party. It is his lack of empathy and sympathy that starts his entire journey- if he had though ahead to the consequences of his actions, things would have turned out differently. If he had been able to put himself in the monster's place, things would have turned out differently. It is obvious now that he could not, and I feel it is his ego to blame. In that way, I find that the development of the techno-sciences has become a means of increasing disease because of the human ego. Not enough empathy and sympathy- thinking outside of and beyond oneself. Shelley seems to be saying this, exploring with, "Victor couldn't do it and look what happened to him."
Victor, Victor, Victor.
V is not for Victory.
A weekly conversation between 12 graduate students using Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" and its model of monstrous hybridity to explore the equally monstrous, equally hybrid field of literary theory. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Further Considerations of Race Identity Contextualized Within the Literary Canon
I am posting this question separately from my response for the week as this post may address less specifically this week’s theoretical readings. I wish to pose a broader cultural question, though it does ultimately come back to our texts.
We as students of a master’s program in English study Literature in English. We of course do in our curriculum address texts written in foreign languages but primarily read these texts as translations in English. The philosophical approaches—the theory—is primarily a western philosophical tradition. There are of course exceptions to this, but primarily the Master’s in literature in English is the study of Western texts through Western philosophical approaches. For the curriculum we follow—and just look at the Master’s Exam Reading List--our texts are heavily focused on British Literature even to the exclusion in many cases of the U.S. American literary tradition. For another example, consider that in the Spring just one course in “American” literature is being offered.
But as we begin to discuss racial identity in literature in English, I believe it is worth noting at least for a short moment the differences historical context between Britain and the United States and race relations.
Both the United States and Britain have served as colonial powers; for Britain, that first meant the Americas and then later Africa, India and the Pacific. U.S Colonialism began with the Monroe Doctrine, a presidential edict declaring the Caribbean and American continents the purview of the United States and warning off European powers (though largely ignored) and later expansion into the Pacific. Both nations are guilty of the atrocities associated with colonial exploitation.
However, racial minority identity in the United States and Britain has a different relationship to the white dominant culture. Britain is overwhelmingly white—92% white compared to about 70% in the United States; and while roughly 12% of the United States identifies as black, only about 2% of Britain does. Moreover both nations have a complex but uniquely different history with slavery which has fundamentally influenced race and race relations.
The study of literature in English through the lens of racial identity (and later post-colonial theoretical approaches), raises a normative concern of where and how do these theories fit contextually within the western philosophical approaches that are so inherently dependent on white males. Barbara Christian goes as far as to say that “there has been a takeover in the literary world by Western philosophers from the old literary elite” (2128). Is minority literature in English marginalized because of an overt racial prejudice or because of a broader prejudice against non-British literature? Is the preference of British literature in the study of literature in English determining a preference for white literature? Or put another way, is deemphasizing American literature also having the effect of marginalizing non-white contributors to the body of literature?
When Henry Louis Gates states that “We must learn to read a black text within a black formal cultural matrix” (Gates 2435), is he addressing all black literature or a specifically American black literature? Gilroy attempts to address the issue by suggesting “it is hard to wonder how much of the recent international enthusiasm for cultural studies is generated by its profound associations with England and the ideas of Englishness” (2560).
British literature must obviously be part of literature in English. However, while the intimate familiarity the English speaking world has with Shakespeare or to a lesser degree Milton or the Bronte sisters or Dickens, can the same be said for American authors within the literary traditions of literature in English. Can it be any surprise that a nation so wholly white as Britain produce so little in the way of minority literary texts?
The more fundamental question then is, can, given the diversity of historical context for race and racism in the United States and Britain (and other English speaking, English writing nations), can there truly be a universal theoretical approach for race identity and if so what are those limitations? Is there a universal blackness, or are race identity theorists attempting to create “absolute, universal standards for human achievement, norms and aspirations” recast from a minority perspective (Gilroy 2562)?
We as students of a master’s program in English study Literature in English. We of course do in our curriculum address texts written in foreign languages but primarily read these texts as translations in English. The philosophical approaches—the theory—is primarily a western philosophical tradition. There are of course exceptions to this, but primarily the Master’s in literature in English is the study of Western texts through Western philosophical approaches. For the curriculum we follow—and just look at the Master’s Exam Reading List--our texts are heavily focused on British Literature even to the exclusion in many cases of the U.S. American literary tradition. For another example, consider that in the Spring just one course in “American” literature is being offered.
But as we begin to discuss racial identity in literature in English, I believe it is worth noting at least for a short moment the differences historical context between Britain and the United States and race relations.
Both the United States and Britain have served as colonial powers; for Britain, that first meant the Americas and then later Africa, India and the Pacific. U.S Colonialism began with the Monroe Doctrine, a presidential edict declaring the Caribbean and American continents the purview of the United States and warning off European powers (though largely ignored) and later expansion into the Pacific. Both nations are guilty of the atrocities associated with colonial exploitation.
However, racial minority identity in the United States and Britain has a different relationship to the white dominant culture. Britain is overwhelmingly white—92% white compared to about 70% in the United States; and while roughly 12% of the United States identifies as black, only about 2% of Britain does. Moreover both nations have a complex but uniquely different history with slavery which has fundamentally influenced race and race relations.
The study of literature in English through the lens of racial identity (and later post-colonial theoretical approaches), raises a normative concern of where and how do these theories fit contextually within the western philosophical approaches that are so inherently dependent on white males. Barbara Christian goes as far as to say that “there has been a takeover in the literary world by Western philosophers from the old literary elite” (2128). Is minority literature in English marginalized because of an overt racial prejudice or because of a broader prejudice against non-British literature? Is the preference of British literature in the study of literature in English determining a preference for white literature? Or put another way, is deemphasizing American literature also having the effect of marginalizing non-white contributors to the body of literature?
When Henry Louis Gates states that “We must learn to read a black text within a black formal cultural matrix” (Gates 2435), is he addressing all black literature or a specifically American black literature? Gilroy attempts to address the issue by suggesting “it is hard to wonder how much of the recent international enthusiasm for cultural studies is generated by its profound associations with England and the ideas of Englishness” (2560).
British literature must obviously be part of literature in English. However, while the intimate familiarity the English speaking world has with Shakespeare or to a lesser degree Milton or the Bronte sisters or Dickens, can the same be said for American authors within the literary traditions of literature in English. Can it be any surprise that a nation so wholly white as Britain produce so little in the way of minority literary texts?
The more fundamental question then is, can, given the diversity of historical context for race and racism in the United States and Britain (and other English speaking, English writing nations), can there truly be a universal theoretical approach for race identity and if so what are those limitations? Is there a universal blackness, or are race identity theorists attempting to create “absolute, universal standards for human achievement, norms and aspirations” recast from a minority perspective (Gilroy 2562)?
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Limits of New Theoretical Approaches
Henry Louis Gates claims “We must learn to read a black text within a black formal cultural matrix as well as its ‘white’ matrix” and that it is “necessary because the existence of a black canon is a historically contingent phenomenon” (Gates 2435). Is Gates calling for the creation “together with itself, organically, one or more strata of intellectuals which give it homogeneity and awareness of its own function” (Gramsci 1002)? Is he calling to cast off the anxiety of influence of a white male canon, or does he accept that black literary theory and black traditions can and should coexist with the Western tradition?
Henry Louis Gates also serves as a faculty member at Harvard University, a renowned educational institution, but one that has also served as a launching platform for the privileged white male. As a faculty member at an institution of the State, can he truly be considered part of an emergent culture bringing about “new meanings and values, new practices, new significances and experiences” (Williams 1431)? Has Gates simply become a component of the dominant culture?
Barbara Christian suggests that “because those who have effected the takeover have the power…first of all to be published, and thereby to determine the ideas which are deemed valuable, some of our most daring and potentially radical critics…have been influenced, even coopted, into speaking a language and defining their discussion in terms alien to and opposed to our needs and orientation” (Christian 2129). Christian is referring to the limitations of theoretical approaches of studying literature. That is, once more approaching Bloom’s anxiety of influence and posing the question of how to create a new approach within the limitations of the existing theoretical approaches. She explains that new “literary critical theory is as hegemonic as the world which it attacks” (2129). Existing theoretical approaches then are ensuring “the subjection to the ruling ideology” (Althusser 1339). How then can theorists resist the dominant culture of existing academia? Is it possible to, as Gates suggests, develop a specifically black literary theoretical approach within the limits of the existing academic structures or are all theorists all limited by existing academic structures?
Henry Louis Gates also serves as a faculty member at Harvard University, a renowned educational institution, but one that has also served as a launching platform for the privileged white male. As a faculty member at an institution of the State, can he truly be considered part of an emergent culture bringing about “new meanings and values, new practices, new significances and experiences” (Williams 1431)? Has Gates simply become a component of the dominant culture?
Barbara Christian suggests that “because those who have effected the takeover have the power…first of all to be published, and thereby to determine the ideas which are deemed valuable, some of our most daring and potentially radical critics…have been influenced, even coopted, into speaking a language and defining their discussion in terms alien to and opposed to our needs and orientation” (Christian 2129). Christian is referring to the limitations of theoretical approaches of studying literature. That is, once more approaching Bloom’s anxiety of influence and posing the question of how to create a new approach within the limitations of the existing theoretical approaches. She explains that new “literary critical theory is as hegemonic as the world which it attacks” (2129). Existing theoretical approaches then are ensuring “the subjection to the ruling ideology” (Althusser 1339). How then can theorists resist the dominant culture of existing academia? Is it possible to, as Gates suggests, develop a specifically black literary theoretical approach within the limits of the existing academic structures or are all theorists all limited by existing academic structures?
The Language We Speak When We Theorize about the Creature
In "Talking Black: Critical Signs of the Times," Henry Louis Gates calls for the use of Afro-American language--the same vernacular that Alexander Crummell decried as "inferior" in the nineteenth century--in order preserve black "critical tradition" and avoid losing identity and legitimacy at the hands of Euro-centric universality and hegemony. To theorize about the Afro-American experience in the language and terms of the white master's narrative would, as Gates implies at the end, strip theory of its blackness.
Shelley's text offers competing linguistic narratives: the novel's empowered and universal narratives--the portions narrated by Walton and Frankenstein--and the creature's narrative. Even the title, "creature," that we use to identify the being makes its narrative essentially "other." The creature begins its narrative (I use the very 'name' that I have just insisted is used by Walton and Frankenstein to alienate the creation because I find myself trapped in their narrative's universalizing discourse) by recalling its origin, and it says "It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original aera of my being" (68). In this line, the creature asserts its own legitimacy by referring to itself as 'I' and claims ownership of its own existence with the phrase 'my being.'
The creature is engaged in reflection--it has already been incorporated by society's hegemonic language when it speaks of its origin. Though the use of 'I' and 'my being' is empowering, language has divorced the creature from its authentic identity; that "originial aera" which the creature can no longer remember represents a time of purity and originality prior to the creature's baptism into the English "matrix." A pure recollection of those moments, re-presented without the knowledge the creature gained after being appropriated by the rest of society's existing culture, would "defamiliarize" readers--including Frankenstein and Walton--but would preserve the true "integrity" of the creature's experience and history.
Thus, my questions: "How does the creature engage with language in a way that still preserves some of his true identity? In other words, what "perversions" of the language work to actually save the creature's cultural integrity? Do our discussions of the text work only to perpetuate the essentializing process first undertaken by Victor's narrative? How can we discuss the text in a way that lends the creature more legitimacy?
Shelley's text offers competing linguistic narratives: the novel's empowered and universal narratives--the portions narrated by Walton and Frankenstein--and the creature's narrative. Even the title, "creature," that we use to identify the being makes its narrative essentially "other." The creature begins its narrative (I use the very 'name' that I have just insisted is used by Walton and Frankenstein to alienate the creation because I find myself trapped in their narrative's universalizing discourse) by recalling its origin, and it says "It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original aera of my being" (68). In this line, the creature asserts its own legitimacy by referring to itself as 'I' and claims ownership of its own existence with the phrase 'my being.'
The creature is engaged in reflection--it has already been incorporated by society's hegemonic language when it speaks of its origin. Though the use of 'I' and 'my being' is empowering, language has divorced the creature from its authentic identity; that "originial aera" which the creature can no longer remember represents a time of purity and originality prior to the creature's baptism into the English "matrix." A pure recollection of those moments, re-presented without the knowledge the creature gained after being appropriated by the rest of society's existing culture, would "defamiliarize" readers--including Frankenstein and Walton--but would preserve the true "integrity" of the creature's experience and history.
Thus, my questions: "How does the creature engage with language in a way that still preserves some of his true identity? In other words, what "perversions" of the language work to actually save the creature's cultural integrity? Do our discussions of the text work only to perpetuate the essentializing process first undertaken by Victor's narrative? How can we discuss the text in a way that lends the creature more legitimacy?
The Other in White Hegemonic Society
Grace Ghazzawi
Introduction to Graduate Literary Theory
Dr. Larry Lyons
November 22, 2010
The Representation of “The Other” in White Hegemonic Society
Representation of “the other” in an established society emerges as a topic of comparison between Gloria Anzaldua’s excerpts from Borderlands and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. In Anzaldua’s various essays, portrayal of a person of mixed ancestry into the world of white hegemonic rule is detailed. These ideas, then, of the entrance of an “other” into the dominant white society are paralleled in Shelley’s Frankenstein. Both authors challenge the manner in which society views outsiders, and the notion that, in attempts to create an identity of their own, “the other” must transcend the borders and boundaries that are oppressing their development. However, problems undoubtedly arise, in that through challenging the patriarchal white conventions (Anzeldua, 2099), it is difficult to accomplish anything other than an increasing sense of animosity between these two, different factions. It is because of this sense of entrapment, due to their inability to be visible in society, and the coinciding difficulty in advancing the status and acceptance of “the other” that the respective experiences of such othered individuals become exceedingly important. Both Anzaldua’s works in Borderlands and Mary Shelley’s commentary in Frankenstein, depict the harsh realities of living as “the other” in society, and moreover, the manner in which the constraint of such factions by the dominant class alters the sense of self of these individuals, ultimately making them feel invisible in the society they are attempting to assimilate into.
Anzaldua relates, in an essay entitled “La Encrucijada” the experience of existence in the midst of numerous crossroads. This notion then, introduces the idea that as “the other,” one has no place to really exist, no true characteristics to call one’s own. She states, “As a mestiza I have no country…I have no race. I am cultureless because…I challenge the collective” (2101). Anzaldua, being a mestiza, a person of mixed race, is unable to relate to any of the societal structures that bind individuals to one another and to a larger group. In her inability to find a country to call her own, a race that she can identify with, or a culture of which she is a member, Anzaldua finds herself in a sort of solitary confinement in the midst of society. Regardless of the vastness of the society in which she lives, without others to whom she can relate, she will be alone, othered, by those around her. Such, is also the experience of the creation in Frankenstein. As he is the only creature created in such an image, it becomes impossible for him to find the kinship that humanity thrives on. Furthermore, Frankenstein denies him a companion after he tells him he will create one, even furthering his desolation. In the same manner in which Anzaldua discusses that as a person of mixed lineage, she “suffers from excessive humility and self effacement, shame of self and self depreciation” (2103), the creation becomes self loathing due to his loneliness and his lack of acceptance from the society that he is thrust into. This notion then, that the manner in which an individual is treated by society affects their developmental psychology is a concept that can be attributed to the behavioral patterns of both Anzaldua’s mestiza/o and the creature created by Frankenstein. Due to the lack of acceptance, and their inability to exist anywhere but at the crossroads of society, these individuals are unable to develop an actual sense of self, knowing that, even in the chance that they do overcome their self depreciation, they will ultimately never be taken in by society.
In Frankenstein, the reader is shown, through the telling of the creature’s attempts to assimilate into society, the experience of “the other” in a white hegemonic society. The creature is not welcomed by anyone because of his immense differences that challenge the status quo. The differences of the creation force society to internalize the possibility of change, something which it clearly does not want to do. In a society that is wary of anything that will disrupt its balance, the creature becomes the manifestation of instability, the face of societal transformation, that it undoubtedly unwelcome. The creature is, as Anzaldua so eloquently relates, “an act of kneading, of uniting and joining that not only has produced both a creature of darkness and a creature of light, but also a creature that questions the definitions of light and dark and gives them new meaning” (2101). In the worlds presented in the works, where change is discouraged, and difference is viewed as the root of all evil, Frankenstein’s creation forces society to question these beliefs, in that, through his formation, he gives a new meaning to the concept of existence.
The emergence of “the other” in society challenges the way that said society functions, forcing it to reconsider the morals that it was built on. However, in societies like the ones examined in both Anzaldua’s works and Frankenstein, that preach their morality and humanity, it is interesting to note the lack of these qualities in their treatment of “the other.” Through their mistreatment of these factions in society, the truth behind the white hegemonic power is uncovered, solidifying the fact that their ideal society is one of inclusivity. This inclusivity forces all who are not part of the dominant social class into the borderlands, the outskirts of society, where they are forced into invisibility. Such mistreatment, shown in both Anzaldua’s works and Frankenstein, depicts how the dominant white culture is ultimately destroying “the other” by taking away their self determination and making them “weak and empty” (2105). However, if society welcomes instead of rejects “the other,” it will not only be adhering to the morals and standards of humanity that it alleges it attains, but it will allow for the creation of a new consciousness which would transcend the existing, destructive power structures in society, and instead, replace them with a culture who’s foundation is based on the acceptance of all, which would thus diminish the faction of “the other.”
Works Cited
Anzaldua, Gloria. “From Borderlands.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Peter
Sullivan. Norton: 2010. 2098-2109.
Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Ed J. Paul Hunter. New York: Norton, 1996.
Monologic, The Binary (again), and a call for a new kind of criticism
When reading Barbara Christian's, Gloria Anzaldua, and Henry Louis Gates, I couldn't help but think back to the Bloomian process of misprision, and to Deleuze and Guattari's concepts of "minority literature" and (yet again) the Rhizome.
Christian tels us that "the terms 'minority' and 'discourse' are located firmly in a Western dualistic or "binary" frame which sees the rest of the world as minor, and tries to convince the rest of the world that it it is major, usually through force and then through language, even as it claims many of the ideas that we, its 'historical' other, have known and spoken about for so long" (Christian, 2130). Yet again, we find that the Western Aborescent model of knowledge is oppressive and based in false binary logic.
Gloria Anzaldua seems to be calling for a Rhizomatic model when she says "A massive uprooting of dualistic thinking in the individual and collective consciousness is the beginning of a long struggle, but one tat could, in our best hopes, brung us to the end of rape, violence, and war" (Anzaldua, 2101).
I know I'm probably beating a dead horse (my last post had to do with the limitations of our tendency to organize knowledge in this way, and I'm pretty sure more criticism of binary thinking is coming up in our readings on New Historicism. Still, I can't help but point out this recurring theme.
Christian moves from a discussion of Western dualism towards our tendency towards "monologic," which I believe is also related to the aborescent model of knowledge. She tells us that we have a "tendency to want to make the world less complex by organizing it according to one principle" (2134). Is this "one principle" the "seed" of the aborescent model? Should we move towards a more Rhizomatic model of knowledge? When I first read Deleuze and Guattari, I thought they were pretty out there, but I'm starting to find the problems that they point out everywhere I look. Christian would say that the powers that be suppress a more Rhizomatic model of thinking because "variety, multiplicity, eroticism are difficult to control" (Christian, 2134).
Henry Louis Gates Jr tells us that some black authors and critics, such as Alexander Crummell, felt that "mastering the master's tongue was the sole path to civilization, intellectual freedom, and social equality for the black person" (Gates, 2432). This would support the current social hegemony: "We must understand as well that the quest was lost, in a major sense, before it had even begun, simply because the terms of our own self-representation have been provided by the master" (Gates, 2437). Gates, however, believes that blacks should embrace rather than abandon the "black vernacular, the language we use to speak to each other when no outsiders are around" (Gates, 2437). Is his call for a new kind of criticism, departing from traditional Western criticism, a part of the Bloomian process of misprision? Does Gates believe in Deleuze and Guattari's idea that minority literature should be written in the major language, but that that language should be invested with the language and culture of the minor? Or does Gates call for an abandonment of the master language altogether?
That's all I've got for now. Hope everyone's having a great weekend!
Dan
Saturday, November 20, 2010
My Terror is Greater than Yours
Perhaps our race and ethnicity readings will influence us to consider that Victor Frankenstein’s creature is not as different as once believed. He contrasts the context of Victor’s world, but – as evidenced by this week’s authors – just because one is unlike their society does not mean their ingrained value is any less relevant or useful.
As the Norton introduction points out, “Anzaldua is arguing that our whole understanding of identity has to be revised. The old notion that we can know who we are by tracing our roots, by referring back to some stable point of origin, has to be abandoned. There is no pure, single source” (Norton 2097). So, as we segue from our discussions about gender into discussions about ethnicity and race, we may ask the question: does it matter how or what the creature was? Does the novel challenge us to “accept the doppelganger in your psyche” in an effort to see – and accept – the values inherent in the “other” (2104)?
In an attempt to logically piggyback on Vanessa’s insightful and astute paper below, Victor begins to feel sympathy and compassion for the creature because of his eloquent oratory, but cannot get past the way the creature looks. The two of them have so much in common, yet one of Victor’s primary reasons for rejecting the monster is not because of his mind, or his speech, but for his appearance. Are these not the basic principles of racism, xenophobia, and lookism (99)?
Within the novel’s reality, however, the creature was not a mestiza with any chance of connecting with his “roots,” Instead, he was a singular mutant tormented by the impossibility of finding his place, one who could never experience “a struggle of flesh, a struggle of borders” because he had no borders and wore flesh that would always remain untraceable (2099). Perhaps Victor’s terror of the creature was not as great as the creature’s terror of his rudderless drift; this perception makes Shelley’s novel that much more horrifying.
As the Norton introduction points out, “Anzaldua is arguing that our whole understanding of identity has to be revised. The old notion that we can know who we are by tracing our roots, by referring back to some stable point of origin, has to be abandoned. There is no pure, single source” (Norton 2097). So, as we segue from our discussions about gender into discussions about ethnicity and race, we may ask the question: does it matter how or what the creature was? Does the novel challenge us to “accept the doppelganger in your psyche” in an effort to see – and accept – the values inherent in the “other” (2104)?
In an attempt to logically piggyback on Vanessa’s insightful and astute paper below, Victor begins to feel sympathy and compassion for the creature because of his eloquent oratory, but cannot get past the way the creature looks. The two of them have so much in common, yet one of Victor’s primary reasons for rejecting the monster is not because of his mind, or his speech, but for his appearance. Are these not the basic principles of racism, xenophobia, and lookism (99)?
Within the novel’s reality, however, the creature was not a mestiza with any chance of connecting with his “roots,” Instead, he was a singular mutant tormented by the impossibility of finding his place, one who could never experience “a struggle of flesh, a struggle of borders” because he had no borders and wore flesh that would always remain untraceable (2099). Perhaps Victor’s terror of the creature was not as great as the creature’s terror of his rudderless drift; this perception makes Shelley’s novel that much more horrifying.
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