Frankissstein: A Love Story

A smart, satirical re-invention of Frankenstein, combining a contemporary tale of exploration into AI and cryonics with an imaginative take on Mary Shelleys original penning of her gothic novel in 1819. Despite a narrative that jumps back and forth between two centuries, this book is entirely seamless. It’s philosophical, political and witty all at the same time, covering hefty subjects (life after death, religion, soul, sex, identity, companionship, gender roles), and context-driven commentary (child mortality, anti-semitism, 19th century diseases, brexit, women’s rights, transphobia).

I’ll be honest, I absolutely did judge this book by it’s cover and assumed it wouldn’t be for me. I couldn’t have been more wrong! I love stories that are character-driven, where conversations both pin and string the plot line, and Winterson’s formatting (lack of speech marks, use of capitals) really hones in on each characters nuances without spoon-feeding the reader in anyway. Abrupt differences in style from Ron Lord - sex-bot salesman and businessman, to Mary Shelley - poetic, thoughtful, grief-stricken, are powerful tools in pulling the narrative thread together. I also loved that each section is broken up by a quote rather than chapter titles, holding space for reflection before diving back in.

Playing thoughtfully with science-fiction tropes and body horror, Winterson contrasts the gothic with fluorescent lighting, tech-x-po’s and geeks. In it’s contemporary setting, the protagonist is a transgender doctor with a significant love interest in Victor - a scientist determined to prolong life by eradicating the need for a body all together.

Have you no interest in the future? he said. The light of science burns brightest in a blood-soaked wick.

Transgender surgery is posited in context of re-designing the human form, in the same vein as prosthetic limbs or a hip replacement - human intervention in biology to enhance and improve. There is also a fair amount of emphasis placed on the doctors identity in light of his physical body, and how that determined his sexuality. I’ve read reviews that felt this is a fairly one-sided approach, and one too often - I’d be intrigued to see what the trans community thought of the characterisation. There is a trigger warning to be highlighted here too, with a short but graphic rape scene.

In Shelley’s chapters Winterson spends more time bringing her surroundings to life. We follow Mary as she runs from home to elope with her husband, starving through France and holing up in Switzerland, with mountainous backdrops and stormy skies. Class, politics, sex and ghost stories flow at the same rate as the cheese and wine, as the familiar story unfolds and Frankenstein is conjured. Later on, madness is also brought in as a thematic rope tying together descriptions of Bedlam with a contemporary Manchester-based underground laboratory.

our beings struggle in our bodies like light trapped in a jar, and our bodies struggle in this world as a beast of burden chafes its yoke, and this world itself hangs alone on its noose, strung among the indifferent stars.

In both the contemporary and 19th century narratives, there is a grand sense of potential in humankind - and yet, a desolate reflection on the insignificance of individual self; selves that are so easily lost as infants or through disease, accidents, intent or just lost to old age and decay - forgotten. This book is jam packed with concepts ranging from scientific possibility to Plato’s ideal forms. It considers gender fluidity and infant mortality in almost the same breath as sex robots and rebelling textile luddites. Without a skilful hand and clever structure, this book could easily have fallen into its own web - but it didn’t, and it’s phenomenal.

It’s raining. That’s what most people are thinking about. The size of our lives hems us in but protects us too. Our little lives, small enough to make it through the gap under the door as it closes.

Overall, I’d really highly recommend this book - even (or especially) if you don’t usually go for sci-fi. It’s original and clever, bringing humour into philosophical meanderings whilst playing with biographical fiction and adaptation. Don’t let the garish cover put you off like it did me, it hides a world of thought-provoking ideas. I’ll leave you with this most relatable quote…

I learned to drink wine in Italy, and I find it is excellent for the damp, for melancholy, and for writing.