When considering the landscape of gothic horror, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein stands as a monumental work, often prompting comparisons to other literary pieces within the genre. While debates arise about whether women pen superior horror narratives compared to men, a detailed examination of Frankenstein in contrast to Bram Stoker’s Dracula offers insightful revelations. This exploration delves into the thematic depth, character complexity, and enduring relevance of Shelley’s masterpiece when juxtaposed with Stoker’s iconic vampire tale.
Initially, Dracula might captivate with its suspenseful atmosphere and chilling premise. The opening chapters vividly portray Jonathan Harker’s terrifying ordeal as a captive in Count Dracula’s Transylvanian castle, immediately engaging the reader. Stoker masterfully crafts scenes laden with subtle eroticism, such as Harker’s encounter with the female vampires, adding a layer of forbidden allure to the narrative. Furthermore, Dracula is notably steeped in contemporary technology for its time, with characters frequently utilizing phonographs, telegrams, and engaging in discussions about scientific advancements. However, Stoker’s perspective on progress appears ambivalent. Figures like Van Helsing champion the importance of irrational belief systems, suggesting a deep-seated anxiety that over-reliance on rationalism, driven by rapid scientific progress, could leave humanity vulnerable to unseen, supernatural threats.
Anxiety permeates Dracula, which is expected in a novel designed to instill fear. However, Stoker’s anxieties are particularly concentrated around gender politics and Victorian sexuality. His worldview operates within a rigid patriarchal framework. Women are idealized as paragons of purity, their roles narrowly defined as passive vessels, exemplified by Lucy Westenra. Her character, even her name hinting at racial biases, is subjected to multiple blood transfusions – a symbolic violation performed by men attempting to exert control over her fate. Significantly, Lucy’s transgression lies in “inviting” the vampire into her space, highlighting a narrative where female autonomy is perceived as a dangerous vulnerability leading to suffering. This reflects the societal anxieties of the late 19th century, a period marked by the rise of the “New Woman” advocating for education and suffrage, challenging traditional gender roles. Simultaneously, masculinity is portrayed reductively, associating virility with participation in “manly games” and forming exclusive male fraternities. Dracula himself, with his nocturnal habits and “feminine” features, bears a superficial resemblance to figures like Oscar Wilde, feeding into contemporary anxieties about shifting gender and sexual norms. The defeat of Dracula becomes contingent on the collective virility of a group of men, deliberately excluding the intelligent Mina Harker from their strategic discussions, deeming her too delicate for the horrors they confront.
Beyond sexism, Dracula also reveals undercurrents of racism and classism. Stoker’s attempts at Cockney and Yorkshire dialects, coupled with stereotypical portrayals of the lower classes as comic relief, expose the prevalent social hierarchies of the time. While Dracula might retain some power to startle, particularly in cinematic adaptations, the novel itself often veers into melodrama, inadvertently becoming more comical and infuriating than genuinely terrifying for modern readers. It serves less as a chilling exploration of the undead and more as a reflection of late Victorian male sexual anxieties. Notably absent is any attempt to understand or empathize with Dracula’s character, reducing him to a purely monstrous entity.
This starkly contrasts with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Shelley, too, grapples with anxieties surrounding technological advancement, rooted in the Romantic era’s response to scientific ambition. Frankenstein questions the ethical implications of humanity wielding the power to create life, probing the limits of male hubris and the necessity of moral responsibility. These questions resonate even more profoundly today, contributing to Frankenstein‘s enduring appeal. Shelley’s unique perspective as a parent, deeply aware of the burdens and responsibilities of creation, permeates the narrative. Having experienced the loss of children and the arduousness of motherhood, Shelley infuses Frankenstein with a profound sense of moral obligation towards any sentient being brought into existence. The Creature in Frankenstein transcends a simple good versus evil dichotomy. He emerges as a victim of abandonment and societal rejection, his monstrous acts stemming from the pain inflicted by his creator’s abhorrence and neglect.
The Creature is a complex, multifaceted character. Shelley grants him agency and voice, allowing readers access to his inner world, his aspirations for connection, his profound anguish, and his growing despair. Much of the narrative unfolds through his perspective, fostering empathy and understanding. His experiences of social isolation become a lens through which to examine societal prejudices and divisions, reflecting the social realities the Shelleys observed during their travels across war-torn Europe. While his actions are undeniably horrific, the narrative compels us to understand the root of his monstrous behavior, born from a desperate need for acceptance and belonging. Ultimately, pity for the Creature overshadows pity for Victor Frankenstein, who remains self-absorbed in his lamentations, neglecting the profound suffering of his creation.
Shelley’s moral universe in Frankenstein presents monsters not as mere projections of societal fears but as beings intrinsically linked to humanity. They are “us” – existing on the margins, ostracized and feared, yet no more inherently evil than those who created and rejected them. Frankenstein suggests that societal monsters are self-made, and the path forward lies not in violent rejection and destruction, but in extending compassion and recognition to the “hideous and unknown” aspects within ourselves and others.
While Dracula operates as a thrilling melodrama, Frankenstein, despite being a product of its time, retains a haunting, contemporary resonance. It terrifies not through jump scares or supernatural thrills, but by forcing us to confront our capacity for creating monsters, both literally and metaphorically, and the dire consequences of our failure to acknowledge the monstrous potential within ourselves and society. Shelley’s work, in its profound exploration of creation, responsibility, and empathy, stands as a far more enduring and intellectually stimulating horror narrative than many of its contemporaries, including Stoker’s Dracula.
