A Monstrous Education: the Embedded Narratives of Frankenstein

In the fifth chapter of volume two , in my edition of Frankenstein, the monster learns everything from the history of empire to means of mercantile distribution, such as the “division of property, [the] immense wealth and squalor of povery,” and the societal social stratification along lines of “rank, descent, and noble blood” (122). In the second volume, the story of Frankenstein’s monster, narrated by the monster itself, can be conceived as an embedded text, which Mieke Bal describes as “a complete story with an elaborate fabula,” a fabula being “a series of logically and chronologically related events that are cause or experienced by actors” (Bal 5, 57).

This embedded text within Frankenstein works as a counter narrative to Victor Frankenstein’s narrative of apathetic science, which shows how logic displaced from social or historical empathy has disastrous consequences. Whereas Victor is concerned with the “new and almost unlimited powers” to be acquired by scientific thought, the monster engages with Milton’s Paradise Lost, marveling at the “different and far deeper emotions” that it excited” (Shelly 57, 132). This is not to say that the monster’s narrative is without problematic elements, as the monster describes its education relating to the “slothful Asiatics,” compared to “the stupendous genius and mental activity of the Grecians” (122).

However, as a precocious observer of society in modernity, the monster narrative provides a realistic picture of humanity’s ethical dualism: noting how man “appeared at one time a mere scion of the evil principle, and at another as all that can be conceived as noble and godlike” (122). As the monstrous narrator understands himself as an outsider, it acts as a physically disfigured tabula rasa, noting how “sorrow only increased with knowledge” (123). In the monster’s narrative, the knowledge found within books leads to a comprehensive enlightenment, an enlightenment that must attest to the wealth of human truths: both divine and depraved.

Peace

—Nathaniel Schwass

Sources:

Bal, Mieke. Narratology: Introduction to the theory of narrative. University of Toronto Press, 2009.

Nature Calls to Gulliver

“I had been for some hours extremely pressed by the necessities of nature; which was no wonder, it being almost two days since I had last disburdened myself.  I was under great difficulties between urgency and shame.  The best expedient I could think of, was to creep into my house, which I accordingly did; and shutting the gate after me, I went as far as the length of my chain would suffer, and discharged my body of that uneasy load.  But this was the only time I was ever guilty of so uncleanly an action; for which I cannot but hope the candid reader will give some allowance, after he has maturely and impartially considered my case, and the distress I was in.  From this time my constant practice was, as soon as I rose, to perform that business in open air, at the full extent of my chain; and due care was taken every morning before company came, that the offensive matter should be carried off in wheel-barrows, by two servants appointed for that purpose.”

Swift, Jonathan (2012-05-12). Gulliver’s Travels (Timeless Classics) (pp. 24-25). Saddleback Educational Publishing. Kindle Edition.

 

There’s plenty to say about how ridiculous the subject matter of this quote is, and how its vulgarity crosses a line of propriety which Robinson Crusoe stays well behind. Describing “the necessities of nature” is not something about which Crusoe would go into detail, and its treatment here does a lot to demonstrate Gulliver’s silliness as a protagonist. However, I want to focus not on the absurd content of this passage, but on how its narrative style both distinguishes Gulliver’s Travels from Robinson Crusoe and satirizes the realist fiction novel.

On the one hand, Gulliver’s over-exaggerated politeness and self-excusing, like when he says “I cannot but hope the candid reader will give some allowance, after he has maturely and impartially considered my case, and the distress I was in” seems to mock the distant, realist tone of novels like Robinson Crusoe. But it also emphasizes the ridiculousness and vulgarity of the events that are transpiring by drawing more attention to it, rather than breezing through it or emitting discussion of these sorts of topics entirely. Thus, the narrative intervention here differentiates Gulliver’s tale as one that actively engages with the absurd rather than ennobling the main character, his journey, and his self-development, as does Robinson Crusoe.

Gulliver does offer an explanation for the inclusion of this event, in that he “would not have dwelt so long upon a circumstance that, perhaps, at first sight, may appear not very momentous, if I had not thought it necessary to justify my character, in point of cleanliness, to the world; which, I am told, some of my maligners have been pleased, upon this and other occasions, to call in question.”

In this instance, as well as in other occasions in which he addresses readers within the text, Swift satirizes realist fiction by drawing attention to the “fiction” part: this move takes the reader out of the state of suspended disbelief which is necessary to immerse oneself in Gulliver’s world. Robinson Crusoe includes reflections on his self-discovery and spiritual development, but a large chunk of the novel is written in journal form. This keeps the reader submerged within the world on Crusoe’s island. Swift’s addresses, pardons, and explanations to readers which fall outside the scope of the immediate story remind us that Gulliver’s is, in the end, just a story.

Thus, both the events of the story and its narrative flourishes distance Gulliver from respectable protagonists like Robinson Crusoe while satirizing the entire genre of realist fiction.