That nature should affect a person’s disposition is not an uncommon idea, and certainly not uncommon in Gothic literature. Mary Shelley’s famous protagonist, Victor Frankenstein, has an interesting connection to nature that is often overshadowed by his monster’s own… issues… with nature. Victor is at odds with his surroundings, having been somewhat different than his peers since his childhood, and it does not seem a stretch of the imagination to suppose that his fixation on messing with nature, culminating in his famous act of creation, would put him at increased odds with his natural surroundings. One scene in particular showcases this; in chapter six of the first volume, Victor’s journey to Geneva contains separate scenarios of natural imagery at almost direct conflict with each other, and instead of feeling what most people would feel at each given natural setting, Victor seems to invert the expected and what is “normal.”

First, Victor contemplates the lake at Lausanne, and initially, “the calm and heavenly scene” – the sublime – restores him to some degree, which one would normally expect at such a pretty sight, but this is Victor Frankenstein we’re talking about, and the reader already knows enough about the protagonist to know that this momentary calm can only be followed by a storm. As Victor nears Geneva, he looks upon the “bright summit of Mont Blanc,” and feels as though it is mocking at his unhappiness. Leave it to Victor Frankenstein to have his own King Lear moment and assume that all of nature is focused on him. He mentions that his beloved country at first fills him with delight (again, as one would expect) but this is soon overshadowed by “grief and fear” as he draws closer to his home (70, in my book). These scenes of serenity and light would be reflected in most people, but they make Victor only that much more aware of his woe.

Then follows the gloomy nature scene, distinctive of the Gothic, taking form in the coming night and arriving storm. Understandably, with nightfall Victor feels “still more gloomily” and foresees himself becoming “the most wretched of human beings.” Normal, right? However, when the storm finally hits, it is almost as if Victor draws strength from it, or at least comfort. He considers it a “noble war in the sky,” which is a beautiful way of characterizing the externalization of the war within his soul. How he feels in his heart and soul is finally mirrored in what he sees around him; the internal matches the external. Where most people would flee and find shelter, Victor, for a moment, finds that the storm “elevated [his] spirits,” and it is only the arrival of his creature that lowers them again (71).

This scene is important because of the fact that it emphasizes not only Victor’s separation from society, but also the warring emotions within himself. The first setting accentuates the disparity in its light beauty and Victor’s heavy heart, whereas the latter setting mirrors and emphasizes said heaviness. Victor feels out of place in the sublime, and at home in the Gothic.

Soon after his creation, after Victor Frankenstein fled his apartment in horror, the monster himself wandered out into the cold woods. The monster recounts this moment to Victor saying: “feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat down and wept” (Shelly 121). In a novel filled with allusions, this particular reference to Psalm 127 struck me as an interesting insight to the monster’s predicament. The monster’s story had a few similarities to the Israelites’ in Psalm 137: both the monster and the Israelites sit near a running body of water when they “wept,” both parties felt despair at being outsiders in a foreign and inhospitable land, and both the Israelites and the monster desire violent revenge on their enemy.

Psalm 137 begins: “By the rivers of Babylon- there we sat and there we wept when we remembered Zion” (Ps 137:1). In this Psalm, the Israelites, captives in a strange land, lament the loss of their land and the diaspora of their people.  In Frankenstein, the monster tells Victor that after he entered the “forest near Ingolstadt” he “lay by a brook resting from [his] fatigue” (Shelly 121). The monster, like the Israelites, has sat down at the side of a river and begins to lament his situation.

The Israelites thought that they were God’s chosen people, but the fall of Jerusalem led them towards feelings of isolation and doubt. Like the Israelites, the monster finds himself alone in an unknown place. The monster recounts his earliest memories by telling Victor, “It was dark when I awoke; I felt cold also, and half-frightened as it were instinctively, finding myself so desolate” (121). Throughout the novel, the monster seems to have no proper home. He lives with the DeLaceys for a while, but even then his lodgings are outside the house and in secret (125). Victor repeatedly tells his audience that he couldn’t access the deep recesses of wilderness where the monster lived, that the monster lived in the most inhospitable places. How similar then, must the monster have felt, to the Israelites who thought themselves snatched from the land of milk and honey and forced to wander the wilderness once again after the fall of their kingdom?

During the Babylonian captivity, the Israelites felt isolated from God and from the seat of his majesty- the Temple. In Frankenstein, the monster repeatedly bewails his feelings of loneliness and seclusion. The monster says that, “Increase of knowledge only discovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was” and later asks Victor to create a female monster to keep him company (145, 156). The allusion to Psalm 137 shows how, like the isolation from God and the Temple felt by the Israelites, the monster’s separation from society has led him towards misery and hatred.

Psalm 137 ends with the Israelites looking forward to the children of their captors being “dashed upon the rocks” (Ps 137:9). In this aspect, the allusion to Psalm 137 seems to foreshadow the monsters own actions towards Victors family, including the murders of William, Clerval, and Elizabeth.

The monster and Victor both have first memories in the natural world that shape them quite profoundly – Victor has his lightning storm, with the complete destruction of a tree, and the monster has his fire, which warms him while it destroys and burns. Victor’s lightning storm is sublime, for he is in awe of as much as he is terrified by its destructive power. It is beautiful, untamed nature. The monster’s fire is in contrast, for although nature can make fire, it is generally thought of as a tool of man. And like men, it is capable of both good and bad, life and death.

Victor’s lightning storm was first witnessed by him when he was fifteen years old (Vol. I, Ch. I). It ended in a tree’s ruin; “nothing remained but a blasted stump.” Victor was enraptured by this happening, that he went into the science field because of his wish to understand its complete destruction. He wanted to create something equal to the grandeur of the storm, which was why he valued alchemy over natural philosophy (Vol. I, Ch. II). In his mind’s eye Victor only saw that storm, and natural philosophy seemed to attempt to explain the realities of it when what he wanted was “boundless grandeur” to emulate. The next lightning storm Victor relates to us is in Vol. I, Ch. VI, when he sees the monster for the first time since the night he created him. Victor still sees the sublime in the storm, that it is “beautiful yet terrific,” but the destruction he sees this night comes from the creation he made in his dreams of majesty. His monster, a being himself created from other beings destroyed, is here at the scene of his first murder. Victor succeeded in his grand scheme – he made a monster amazing in its impossible life and terrifying in its complete destruction. And it will teach Victor the understanding of complete destruction, by killing all those who are dear to him (except brother Ernest, but that’s a different issue). Victor will become the “blasted tree” that first ignited him so (Vol. III, Ch. II), destroyed by his own inspiration.

The monster’s fire is a different matter, though it affects him similarly. He came upon his first fire during his wandering days, when he was discovering his senses and vulnerabilities. He came upon a fire “which had been left” by humans (Vol. II, Ch. III), so a human tool left in nature. He was “overcome with delight” and joy, but touching it brought him pain. “How strange, [he thinks], that the same cause could produce such opposite effects!” He has learned the dichotomy of flame – to save and to hurt. The same can be said of men, he later learns with the DeLaceys. Men could be “so virtuous, and magnificent, [and] yet so vicious and base” (Vol. II, Ch. V). He wondered at the DeLaceys virtue, and grew to loathe their vicious disgust at his appearance. He used his fire to destroy their cottage, where fire had once kept him and the family safe (Vol. II, Ch. VIII). He used man’s tool to destroy, which was the catalyst for his becoming destruction himself. We’ve already talked about he destroys Victor – he is Victor’s lightning bolt, glorious and fatal all at once – but the monster also destroys himself. Just like fire will eat and eat until it extinguishes itself, the monster continued to destroy and destroy, until by the end his “insatiable passion” of rage has left him tired and purposeless (Vol. III, Ch. VII). He resolves to end his life in fire, and will burn himself to ashes to rid the earth of him.

This is Victor and the monster’s relationship with their most defining memories, and I’d like to end with a quick comment on the adaptations of Frankenstein I am more familiar with. In all versions of Frankenstein that I know (since this is my first time reading the book), the monster was created with lightning, and the monster feared fire. While the actual science behind the monster’s creation was purposefully vague in the book, I think that film adaptations of it, which focus on the creation, are right in giving the monster life through lightning, because lightning was Victor’s original inspiration for his lofty goals, and the monster eventually became the lightning that destroyed Victor himself. Similarly, the films I have seen often have the monster as a far simpler creature, who would thus be scared of fire, which brings pain. In these versions I remember, the monster was no murderer, at least not on purpose. A fear of the tool that can be used to destroy fits a monster who is not the destruction his book-self is. The book and the film adaptations are vastly different, but these two big symbols, I think, are done justice.

Nature plays a large part in the novel Frankenstein. There are numerous instances of the characters in nature and images of sublimity. The characters’ reactions to nature both reveals something about the character and human nature.

When the monster is telling his story, he notes several instances of nature and his reaction to nature. He has different responses to nature. At one point, after he is beaten and is wondering the woods. He becomes enraged at nature because it is mocking him: “the cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their branches above me” (pg. 149). However, there are also moments where nature calms him. He notes, “The pleasant sunshine, and the pure air of day, restored me to some degree of tranquility” (pg. 149). By the monster reacting this way to nature, he is revealing his morality.

Victor, too finds solace in nature despite the harshness of it. In the end, while he is traveling and searching for the monster, he endures harsh weather and a difficult journey. However, it is also the weather that he finds consolation in. He says, “Sometimes, when nature, overcome by hunger, sunk under the exhaustion, a repast was prepared for me in the desert, that restored and inspirited me” (pg. 204). He also notes, “when all was dry, the heavens cloudless, and I was parched by thirst, a slight cloud would bedim the sky, shed the few drops that revived me, and vanish” (pg. 204). Despite nature causing him hardships, he finds consolation from it.

At the end of the novel, Walton has different reactions to nature as well. While the monster finds calmness in nature, and Victor finds solace, Walton finds adventure and excitement from finding a piece of nature that remains untouched: “I shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world never before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted by the foot of man” (52). However, by the end of the novel, he finds trepidation and helplessness. At the end of the novel, when he is traveling the cold sea, “the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were heard at a distance, as the islands split and cracked in every direction. We were in the most imminent peril; but, […] we could only remain passive” (pg. 215). While he was in immense danger, he didn’t feel like he could do anything.

The characters have different reactions to nature; each character even has different reactions depending on his surroundings or the weather. This images and reactions show different sides of human nature. Nature brings out the monster’s morality by showing he can feel tranquil and calm in the midst of nature. Victor, too finds solace in nature despite the hardships he endures because of the weather. Walton first finds both excitement and helplessness from exploring nature.

Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein implements many elements of the gothic genre in order to enhance her horror story. The two elements that animate this genre within the text the most are isolation of characters and the dark, gloomy settings where they are isolated. Shelley also incorporates scenes containing a sublime nature (i.e. Mont Blanc scene) in order to make the monster appear more bizarre; however the scenes where he appears in a gothic setting provide a greater sense of terror for the reader, and increases the reader’s sense of his looming presence and vengeful spirit.

A scene where this incorporation is most powerful occurs in Volume III, Chapter 3 (174-175 Broadview). Victor sits alone in his lab on an island in Scotland, and after some internal contemplation, comes to the conclusion that he must take a stand and refuse the monster a companion. Yet to understand the significance of this setting, one must consider the events leading up.

In Volume I, Chapter 6, Victor has returned to the scene of the crime where his brother William was killed. “It was completely dark… I saw lightnings playing… The storm appeared… The heavens were clouded… I soon felt rain… its violence quickly increased” (8). The scene clearly holds a dark, gothic tone to it. “A flash of lightning illuminated the object” (9). This is the first time Victor has scene the monster since he created it, and considering this is where the murder happened, Victor instantly understands that his creation is an evil murderer.

Moving forward to Volume II, Chapter IX, the monster makes a promise to Victor. “I shall watch their progress with unutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are ready I shall appear” (159). This statement indicates to Victor that the monster will always be looming about, watching him. As Victor advances in the story, the reader always feels Victor’s own sense that he is being watched.

Returning to Victor’s lab, we encounter the monster when Victor looks up, and “by the light of the moon, the daemon at the casement… his countenance expressed the utmost extent of malice and treachery” (174). The monster perches above Victor, watching over him as if he were god. The “light of the moon” description is a key element in this gothic setting, and causes the monster to appear more looming. Victor must recall seeing the same object by the lightning earlier in the storm. And the fact that the monster is faithful to his promise gives him an omnipresence that makes him all the more terrifying.

The monster is a more effective character when he appears in these dark and gloomy settings. Sure, there is a sense of awe and grandeur when Victor encounters him on Mont Blanc amidst the beauty of nature. But the monster is Victor’s tormenter; a demon to haunt him until he has his vengeance. The essence of this horror is only captured when the monster appears in the gothic nature.

For much of the novel, the Creature in Frankenstein is shown as a menacing, violent character toward humanity. However, when the Creature is in nature, he appears to be much more docile than during his interactions with humans. The scene shortly after the Creature’s first experiences in nature provides a glimpse into the Creature’s future conflicting feelings about humanity and develops within him the desire to be heard.

In Volume II, Chapter III, the Creature begins his narrative about his life after leaving Victor’s apartment. After a day or two, the Creature experiences the cold for the first time: “I was a poor, hopeless, miserable wretch, I knew, and could distinguish, nothing; but, feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat down and wept.” In this instance, the Creature can’t do anything to combat the cold. This is a very different contrast from later in his story, such as when he tries to make William become his friend; the weather is something he can’t control.

Just after the Creature’s episode of self-pity, however, “a gentle light stole over the heavens, and gave [him] a sensation of pleasure.” Earlier, the Creature had described the sun as a reason to “shut [his] eyes,” but here he has a very different reaction. He describes it as “a radiant form,” and he watches it with “wonder,” both of which are common descriptions used in sublime nature scenes. Whereas the Creature had previously found nature to be harsh and uncontrollable, here he seems to find it enjoyable. This contrast in reactions to nature could be seen as a parallel to his relationship with humanity; while he vows to exact his revenge on all mankind, he also desires for companionship.

Sublime settings, as stated by Nancy Fredricks, “provide a space where the marginalized can be heard,” and later in the same scene we see the Creature reflect this literally. He listens to the birds, and tries to replicate their music: “Sometimes I tried to imitate [their] pleasant songs.” More than that, though, he tries to articulate his thoughts: “I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the uncouth . . . sounds which broke from me frightened me into silence again.” While the Creature is unsuccessful at fully expressing himself at this point, it’s interesting to see that he has the desire to speak and be heard before he has any concept of real speech. Of course, he does become able to express himself later, as demonstrated by his entire conversation with Victor—they are in nature, and the Creature is making himself heard by telling Victor his story and ultimately asking for a companion.

All of the Creature’s encounters with nature prove to be interesting in terms of his character. His first, however, is interesting because it not only foreshadows future events in regards to his interactions with humans, but it also demonstrates his desire as a marginalized being to be heard.

By the time she finishes dragging her main characters around the world, locked in a life or death chase and traps them in ice, Mary Shelley has lost all subtleties. The question of Victor’s duty drops all drama and he comes straight out with it: “I created a rational creature and was bound toward him to assure… his happiness and wellbeing. This was my duty” (Ch. 24). The question has been answered – creation begets responsibility to the creation from the creator.

Yet, what comes next spins the dial completely. “My duties towards the beings of my own species had greater claims to my attention,” Victor says (Ch. 24). While Victor does have an obligation to take care of the monster as his creation, he must look after his fellow man first. Victor refuses to create a “race of devils” in order to “buy [his] own peace at the price, perhaps, of the existence of the whole human race” (Ch. 20). But this refusal is not without bloodshed; Victor loses William, Justine, Henry, Elizabeth, and his father for doing so. He has to sacrifice his duty to the monster and to everyone he loves in order to protect everyone else.

Walton’s actions also reinforce the idea that one’s duty to mankind is primeval. Although it might appear to be the fulfillment of his quest, Walton’s primary duty is to secure the safety of his crew. This charge is complicated by Victor’s dying declaration for Walton to “undertake [his] unfinished work,” which bequeaths him with the duty of killing the creature (Ch. 24). These duties are in immediate conflict, as pressing on to kill the creature would place the crew in almost certainly fatal conditions. Therefore, Victor advises “the well balancing of what you may esteem your duties” (Ch. 24).

Walton’s choice is less blatant than Victor’s. Whereas Victor makes a conscience decision and carries this out through action, Walton’s choice is conveyed by his inaction. He consents to return to England in order to return his men to safety. When faced with killing the monster, the “duty of obeying the dying request of [his] friend in destroying his enemy, were now suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion” (Ch. 24). Considering that Walton has spent almost the entire story listening and scribing, conscious suspension of action is as much as we can expect from his character. It is certainly enough to serve as the “well balancing” of his duty to his crewmen as above that of his duty to Victor.

Man has a duty to those he loves and those he creates. He must nurture them and protect them, beyond anyone or anything, but the balance shifts when the stakes expand. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good when the fate of mankind hangs in the balance.