You know you read a great book when you put it down and feel simultaneously exhausted and satisfied; slowly recover from a state of stupor, of near unconsciousness and insensibility as you recollect what you've just experienced. You cannot help but utter a word of satisfaction in that moment and recall the similar ones that took place before. It may sound cheesy and cheap but I think all readers can relate to this feeling. It's those moments that make it impossible to stop reading (though extremely rare - at least for me, there are not more than 10 books that have succeeded in making me feel that way Frankenstein by Mary Shelly included.)
At first, I decided to read this book in expectation of finding something scary or at least of understanding all the praises given to it. Funny story, I, even now, still haven't seen any adaptation of although super famous as it is. I also have never had anyone recount the story to me. Basically, besides the title - which is the name of the creator of the monster, I knew nothing about the book.
After finishing Frankenstein, now I can certainly say that this book is nothing like what I expected. In my humble opinion, this is not a scary book, I'm sure anything by Stephen King is at least 10 times more likely to make you hold in your pee at night than this book. For me, it's more depressing and haunting than scary. The book deals a lot with human condition and the question on goodness and evilness. The last few chapters are absolutely brilliant. It broke my heart seeing this inescapable circle of vengeance and sufferings that both the monster and his creator sank into till the day of their death. Each of the two thinks their sufferings are superior to the other's and so does their best to make their rival feel the same way. We cannot help but partly feel pity and slightly disgust. The book closes with Walton's last sight of the monster and rouses a bunch of questions in the readers: What are the causes of evil acts? Are we inherently good? Are we inherently evil? And if so, who's to blame? Ourselves or the society's shits that tainted us? The monster or the creator?