I remember a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein we once had in the shop. I opened it and found a single line underlined in pencil: “I am malicious because I am miserable.”
I shelved it again, watched it disappear days later, and thought, "there goes another monster into the world."
Then I watched Guillermo del Toro’s film Frankenstein over the weekend. Wow. It took me apart bit by bit and somehow put me back together again.
Del Toro did what he always does best: He creates lovable monsters. Monsters who are stitched-together, a little broken, and misunderstood. Ones who make eye contact and suddenly you're the one who feels exposed.
I’ve always preferred stories that let me sit with a character instead of chasing a plot. (Series usually win for that reason.) But this one surprised me. The final scene between Victor and his creature caught me completely. It’s quiet, almost tender. A monster forgiving the man who made him. A creation giving grace to its creator, showing how to be human. It shouldn’t make sense, and yet it does.
Grendel lurking on the moors. Bertha Mason in the attic. Mr Hyde out after dark. Gregor Samsa on his back wondering how it came to this. Miss Havisham, of course... heartbreak and a highly flammable dress do strange things to a person. Because really, what makes a monster monstrous? The body, or the unbearable feeling that they might be too much like us?
Maybe that’s the oldest trick in storytelling: we invent monsters so that we can look without flinching, so that we can call the thing by another name. And sometimes (if we’re lucky), they forgive us for it.
We’re celebrating monsters this week. The stitched, the strange, and the ones who make us look twice and realise we recognise them. I’d love to hear about your favourite. I will select one lucky reader who will win a R100 voucher to spend in store on a book of their choice. Submit your answer here.