Who would have thought that a sweet-looking girl could have conceived one of the most iconic horrors in the history of literature? A tale so haunting that it makes the reader quiver with every turn of the page. The details—created with superb artisanship—make the reader believe the story Is Alive! The way she details Frankenstein’s glowing eyes and his decrepit and cadaverous skin made it difficult for me to eliminate such grotesque images from my mind for days. (Sometimes, those yellow eyes would haunt me at night.) Furthermore, Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein, uses prose that is almost as lyrical as her lover’s poetry, in order to create a more enjoyable, as well as chilling, story.

Yet as jaunting as Shelley may be for the most part, at times it seems—at least to me—that she is unfathomably sympathetic with the horrific monster Frankenstein. Occasionally, as I read a couple parts when Shelley would describe the monster’s sufferings and unrequited love, a sort of pathos would soften my heart towards Frankenstein to the extent where he almost became human.

Mary Shelley captivates the mind of the reader to the point where the reader wishes the novel never to end, yet simultaneously desires the terror to terminate. Frankenstein makes the reader believe that every creak of the floor is the footstep of the monster, coming for him or her. This is a definite must-read for horror-junkies.