Dracula I

This blog began with the gothic genre (August, ‘09) and several posts on Frankenstein. A year later I found myself reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897) because it came as a free e-book on my Barnes & Noble Nook.

Frankenstein is more true to the original gothic form because the “monster” escapes after leaving a trail of destruction. Dracula is himself destroyed in the end of his novel and thus aligns with the detective story, which was invented by Edgar Allen Poe earlier in the 19th century. The gothic tale, of course, was also a favorite form for Poe.

Both forms typically begin in a familiar (if perhaps ominous) setting in ordinary reality. Then there is an encounter with the irrational—a crime, monster, supernatural event, violent act, or other frightening, unexplainable occurrence—followed by a suspenseful struggle between the forces of the rational “good” and the irrational “evil.” The gothic “horror story” typically ends with the rational protagonist barely escaping destruction or ending up either dead or insane. In either case, the irrational “evil” is still at large. In the detective story, the rational detective solves the crime and the irrational perpetrator is captured, punished, or killed.

Dracula is finally destroyed, not by a “detective” in the classic sense but by a group of well-meaning men, including a vampire expert and a doctor, who, like the classic detective, eventually outsmart him and track him down. One of the young men dies in the struggle, however, and his wife has already been turned into a vampire and herself destroyed by the band of vampire hunters, including himself.

Though Dracula is destroyed, the world is hardly free of vampires, so, while the novel ends with the defeat of one irrational “evil,” there is still a lot more of it lurking out there, as in the traditional gothic form. The reader is thus left with an unsettling combination of reassurance that there are “experts” who can destroy “evil” and terror that they can never put a final end to it.

Both the gothic tale and the detective story pit the irriational against the rational, and both forms embody an ongoing debate over human nature. Are we rational animals, whose higher thinking ability can save us from our destructive irrationality? Or, will our lower, animal nature always reassert its power over our rational selves? (see next post).

Frankenstein III

One way to read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is as a cautionary tale ("this is what could happen if you don't watch out"). If families and other social institutions do not provide the proper care and nurture, cultivation, education, support, humane treatment, and love, democracy as a form of government that empowers "common people" will lead us to ruin. Another way to read the novel, however, holds out little hope for any form of government and projects a dark, tragic vision of human destiny.

Victor Frankenstein is raised with every advantage: loving parents, money, eduction, etc.; yet, despite the qualms of his own conscience, he cannot resist the temptation to pursue his "experiment" of creating human life in the laboratory. His curiosity and boundless desire for knowledge get the better of his good judgement, and the result is the "monster" he cannot control.

To what extent does Frankenstein's "monster" anticipate the Freudian Id of pent up desire, power-seeking, aggression, hostility, fear, anger, and self-gratifying psychic energy? Could the novel be read as a kind of Freudian allegory in which Dr. Frankenstein represents the Ego; his
"monster," the Id; and characters such as his father; his friend, Cherval; and his saintly fiance, Elizabeth; represent the Superego? Is the Freudian theory of a selfish, destructive Id driving the human psyche a modern version of Original Sin?

To what extent does the novel reinforce the Darwinian view that humans evolved from animals and that our brute, animal limbic system is always lurking beneath the surface of our "civilized" facade? The biological construction of a "reptilian brain stem" returns us to the symbolism of the Fall and Original Sin.

While Freud allows for "civilization" keeping us in check, insofar as it succeeds, we are doomed to a psychic life of constant inner conflict and frustration. Similarly, while evolution holds out hope for human progress, we never fully transcend our animal nature. What does this portend for any form of government? Democracy runs the risk of anarchistic chaos and mob violence; authoritarian rule puts the whole nation at the mercy of the power-hungry egos and potentially
destructive neuroses of a few leaders, possibly only one ruthless dictator.

Does the novel present a vision of human tragedy that is unreedemable? Or is the act of writing and publishing the novel an expression of hope that, with proper warning, we can save ourselves?

Oh, and what about that theme of globalization mentioned in the first blog post? What's that about? See the next and final Frankenstein blog post.

Frankenstein II

While Frankenstein is well-known as a pop fiction classic, it has been read and studied extensively as a serious philosophical novel. My previous blog post explored the themes of religion, science, and human nature, suggesting that human nature is a particularly urgent cultural issue in an age of democracy when "common people" can vote and hold office. Could they be trusted to make responsible decisions? What kind of upbringing and education are necessary to insure that they will act wisely and virtuously?

Note how the family background of so many characters is described in some detail. Note that both Elizabeth and Justine are "adopted," raising, again, the issue of nurture vs. nature. In addition to being read as the "Creator," in a religious sense, of the creature, Victor Frankenstein can also be viewed as the "parent." What then are his responsibilities, not only for the act of creation itself but also for the proper care and cultivation of his creature?

Note the role of self-education as well as formal education in the novel. Note the role that books play, not only as literary allusions, but also as key elements in the education of the creature. His development parallels the process of human evolution-- from his animalistic experience of sensations and appetite through learning by trial and error, observation, and imitation; humanization by experiencing emotions and sympathy; language acquisition; and knowledge of human culture and history by reading. His capacity to learn and grow show his potential for greatness. Yet, his experience of rejection, abuse, and injustice twists this potential into destructive rage. All the elements of cultivation were there except parental guidance and humane treatment. ("I am malicious because I am miserable.")

This reading of the novel would suggest that democracy can be successful if family and society properly nurture and responsibly educate their citizens, but if those citizens experience neglect and mistreatment they will lead us to destruction.

There is, however, a counter-narrative in the novel, which returns us to the theme of Original Sin. Is all the nurture and cultivation in the world simply fated to be undone by our "monstrous" animalistic nature and our uncontrollable psychic aggression? See the next blog post.

Frankenstein I

In my first blog post I mentioned Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. As I was cleaning out my office this past week, I came across my notes from the last time I taught this work. While many are familiar with popular versions of the story in both print and visual media, I suspect few have actually read the novel unless they were assigned it in a college literature class. In the popular mind, Frankenstein is primarily known as an early scary horror story. Perhaps some are aware that popular images of the "mad scientist," whose clinical experiment gone wrong unleashes horror on the world, comes from Mary Shelley's imagination. No doubt she had her own sources, but her version has had the most lasting impact on popular culture.

Like most gothic romances, this one could be analyzed as a symptom of cultural anxiety, in this case anxiety about science, religion, human nature, the rise of democracy, even nascent globalization. Melodrama is often given a bad rap, but, as an expression of human psychology, it can be indicative of what lurks most urgently under the surface of ordinary social reality.

Note how the novel can be read as a re-enactment of the Fall (Paradise Lost is explicitly referenced). Like the Judeo-Christian God, Dr. Frankenstein creates an "innocent" human (who later wants a wife), full of potential for goodness and greatness, but who ultimately gets out of control and uses his freedom for destructive purposes (sin and evil). Once the creature becomes a monster, it is possible to view him as an allegorical Satan rebelling against his God. In this version of the Fall, however, Frankenstein (God) is held accountable for the monster he has created. At one point the creature says, "I am malicious because I am miserable." Earlier, Frankenstein (God) himself reflects on his own responsibility: "For the first time...I felt what the duties of a creator toward his creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I complained of his wickedness." Unlike the traditional doctrine of Original Sin (humans are sinful by nature), this version suggests that evil is the result of natural human goodness being corrupted by suffering, mistreatment, and ultimately lack of love. It is our social experience ("nurture" or lack thereof), not our inborn "nature" that determines our goodness and greatness (or lack thereof). The new science of human nature puts the religious doctrine of Original Sin into question.

Why should the issue of human nature be so anxiety-producing at this time in history (1818)? Could it be because the decline of traditional monarchies ("divine right") and the rise of democratic institutions put the fate of nations into the hands of "common people"? Were they capable of ruling responsibly or would they lead us to ruin? It might depend as much upon the quality of the society as upon any fixed human nature. In other words, human nature might be maleable and open to being shaped by parenting, by education, and by social experience.

It is no surprise then that issues of human growth and cultivation become major themes of the novel. See the next blog post.