Project 2

"I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They produced in me an infinity of new images and feelings…"

 

"The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature."

​

––Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818)

​

The first time I read Shelley’s novel, I leaned into the experience. I took up the book in the late hours of the night, reading in the dark, allowing the “infinity of new images and feelings” to stream through my imagination. In the text, Dr. Frankenstein’s creature learns about human history and experience through reading. He grapples with the difficulty of his existence stemming from his immensely grotesque appearance which prevents him from acceptance into the world of human society––further alienating him from love, care, and respect.

​

I first read Frankenstein in the summer of 2023 while attending the UMass Oxford Summer Seminar for a course on Jane Austen. We took a break from the likes of Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion, picking up Shelley’s novel while we thought of Austen’s contemporaries. I had never read it in high school, but I felt myself to be well familiar with the premise of the story. I’d expected to read of the bolt-in-neck, square-faced, green, and groaning monster from the movies, cartoons, and Halloween parties that represented him.

​

I was transformed by the narrative, its characters, and its language. Indeed, I cannot truly “describe to you the effect” of a work such as this. It was a novel that lifted itself from reality. I was horrified by the portrait of the creature––his hideous “shriveled complexion” and the terror he wrought on his creator. Other times, I was nearly left to tear-jerking emotion at the words of the creature––the elegance and eloquence of his language as he attempts to bring the doctor toward sympathy and compassion during their first encounter:

​

"How can I move thee? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a favourable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and compassion. Believe me, Frankenstein: I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity: but am I not alone, miserably alone? "

 

Any notions of Frankenstein’s creation I had brought with me before reading the text were soon dismantled. My Oxford professor strongly insisted we consider Frankenstein’s creation not as a monster, but as a creature––a being. The creature was to be sympathized with in its unfortunate and tragic existence but also disdained for ruining the life of his creator. It was not simply the black-and-white tale of a vile and terrorizing “wretch”, but a story that combined elements of horror with a great amount of sensitivity, entertainment, and humanity. The novel sparks awe in the way that it captures the essence of very real human emotions through this supernatural lens.

​

The time I spent in Oxford strongly affected me and my academic career. Leading up to that moment, I struggled to feel entirely fused with my identity as an English major at UMass. Then, perhaps in my way of over-romanticizing Oxford’s historic cobblestone streets, I began to admire more and more my place in the humanities. Impactful works as Frankenstein can be used to remind me of my journey in school as an English major. The challenges, the questions, the confusion, the joy––all these culminated in my great appreciation of being an English major.

Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.

 

The start of my college experience was strained with confusion. I felt the anxiety of leaving my lifelong friends at home and being on my own to make new ones. There also sat the question of my major. What would I want to do? What would turn into a career? Like many others, this question plagued me. I have struggled with indecision all my life. I had enough difficulty choosing what to eat each day, and making the final choice of one path was horrifying. I struggled greatly in my first year of college, feeling unhappy with my choice of school and still as lost as ever regarding my choice of a major. I underwent some drastic changes. I would transfer to UMass Amherst and then take a semester off during the pandemic due to feeling as though I was making no progress at all toward a major. Time was moving, but my academic growth felt idle. The idea of my major sat before me lifeless. I was to take on the role of Dr. Frankenstein, inciting some spark of life into what was cold, limp, and languid.

​

"With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet."

 

During my first semester on campus in Amherst, I entered as a Journalism major. I understood well my passions for literature and film, but I had a deep-rooted refusal when considering these for my major. This was likely due to a sense of guilt associated with the humanities and the immediate conception of not being able to find a stable career streamlined right after graduation. It was narrow-minded, but I transposed my love of reading and writing to something that seemed more feasible. I took several journalism classes and enjoyed them. However, I still felt as though something was missing. I began to realize that I was depriving myself of what I felt I loved best; what I felt enriched me. I eventually declared myself an English major in the Spring of 2022.

…by the small glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.

 

I was already halfway done with my college career at the time of choosing English, and I had only taken one course in the major. As a result, I think that my time as an English major suffered from a lack of developmental growth within the field. I had to move quickly through my requirements, and some had already been filled previously by Journalism and Film Studies courses that were able to extend to English. I was already nearing the end of college, and I was struggling to feel like I was identifying with the major I had picked.

​

With the few actual English classes I would be taking, I didn’t think of myself as a part of the major. I had the passion, the love of reading and discussing literature, but I did not know professors––I didn’t know anything about a concentration. It was a major that I sometimes did not feel confident in, that I even may have felt shame over in comparison to my other friends. However, I trusted my passion for the topic and relied on the decision that I had made. Comparison was easy to others with more professionally “feasible” degrees, ones that would immediately birth a career in some industry. Yet, I still knew there was not much else that would make me happy. I could not envision myself doing something I did not feel stimulated by. I decided to treat my English major as if it were my own Frankenstein creation. I would nurture it, understanding that what I would get out would be dependent on what I put in, rather than condemning and avoiding the spoils of my creation as the doctor does.

​

"As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and condition. I found myself similar, yet at the same time strangely unlike the beings concerning whom I read, and to whose conversation I was a listener."

 

What influenced the change of these sentiments was Adam Zucker’s introductory course on Shakespeare. It is a course continually talked about, and for good reason. I had not felt myself to be particularly impacted by Shakespeare during high school. In this course, though, showing up to class was something I looked forward to each time. Works like Hamlet and The Winter’s Tale incited the same sense of appreciation and transcendence for art and humanity as the books that I had praised throughout my youth. I found the same feelings of wonder when Hamlet encounters the ghost of his dead father, who commands him to take vengeance on his uncle who has killed him: “Murder most foul, as in the best it is; / But this most foul, strange and unnatural.” (Hamlet 1.5.27-28) Professor Zucker’s intense love and passion radiated toward his students; it felt impossible to not feel the same respect and love for the language of these immense stories. This class seriously inspired me.

​

I was then lucky enough to find the next level of Zucker’s course, Advanced Shakespeare, being taught the very next semester. The class was much more rigorous and invited a group of passionate students that made for thoughtful class discussions on Shakespeare’s plays. This was a key moment in feeling integrated with my peers and with my place as an English major. Despite joining as late as I did into the major, I was able to connect my love of literature with those who felt the same. It started feeling fulfilling and rewarding. I was gaining a sense of security in the major, despite not knowing my path after graduation. I trusted that my love for what I was doing would help carry me to some career path that was meaningful to me.

​

Going to Oxford that very summer and reading works such as Frankenstein and Emma further helped incite the feeling of satisfaction and joy with what I was dedicating myself to. I realized how imperative it was that I invest my energies into what makes me feel motivated and inspired. I was interested in these classes which delved into difficult discussions about the language and themes of challenging books. Having this experience abroad with such wonderful and like-minded peers was what really cemented my feeling of placement into my major. This is helping me now, back in Amherst, and in the sunset of my undergraduate career.

​

There is something about the way art transcends reality––how it becomes larger-than-life while also expressing what is meaningful about being human––that affects me deeply. Stories I have read in my studies such as Frankenstein or Hamlet make me grateful for my academic path and the journey that I’ve taken toward becoming an English major. These kinds of works are honest. Authors like Shelley are sincere in the way they approach serious and emotionally demanding ideas. We sympathize with the suffering of the creature but are resentful and horror-struck as he terrorizes his creator. Shelley prompts us to consider things like human development and procreation on top of her captivating narrative. It is this quality of literature that makes me feel a sense of fulfillment in my schoolwork. It completes me. Being an English major helps me deepen my understanding of the world around me, and my place in it. I am grateful for what I do.

​

"He sprung from the cabin-window, as he said this, upon the ice-raft which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance."