The Novel and Poem's Nature

The ship is shortly wrecked. When the tonic proper commences, the narrator establishes himself as superior to the threat of disposition: "Darkness had no effect upon my fancy, and a churchyard was to me only if the receptacle of bodies deprived of life, which . . . had become food for the worm" (Shelley, Frankenstein 50). Death and complaint are again and again associated with the toiletcel setting: "She died on the first approach of cold weather, at the beginning of this pull through winter," and "I thought that my sweet boy had lost himself and was undefendable to all the damps and dews of night" (Shelley, Frankenstein 64; 70).

As the confrontation between the human desire to be a god, or God, in the act of creating the monster, and nature's far greater power intensifies, the ominous personnel office of nature similarly intensifies. It is as if nature is responding with anger to the social movement of man to control, manipulate or even conquer it. The natural setting is described as a symbol for the agony of the doctor's journey into obsession and madness, the yearning for the power of creation:

The boost is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short windings, which alter you to surmount the perpendicularity of the mountain. It is a scene terrifically desolate. In a thousand spots the traces of the winter avalanche whitethorn be perceived, where trees lie broken and strewed on the ground (Shelley, Frankenstein 93).

However, just as the efforts of the mad doctor a

To deck with their bright hues his withered hair,

Finally, the portrait of nature is meant to reverberate the mad state of man when he seeks to elevate himself into the res publica of the gods:

I wait thy breath, Great Parent. . . . (Shelley, "Alastor lns. 37-45).

Slave, I before sound with you, but you have proved yourself unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of day volition be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your master; obey! (Shelley, Frankenstein 160).

Gleams, hovering ere it vanish, ere the floods

And he forbore. Not the strong beat hid

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