Mary Shelley is the pioneer of science fiction, the grandmother of horror, the idol for many generations of women aspiring to become author, or simply to have a voice, and of many authors of all genders in the centuries following her publication of Frankenstein. We wouldn’t have our spine-chilling horror, boundless science fiction or any of the juicy psychological thrillers we do today without her. It is only fair that I talk about Frankenstein in the month of October, given its creepy insight into the human psyche and depths of human desires and experiences.

Frankenstein is more than a simple book written by a woman, a feat that is a wonder and achievement in itself given the time period. Publishing was an industry dominated by men until the late-19th century and women in the 1800s would often, if they could, get works published under an male alias or family name as to get their work seen. Mary Shelley was eighteen when she started writing Frankenstein, twenty when she published it in 1818, and her name was included in the second edition published in Paris in 1821. So, to put it clearly, she was a young woman of twenty when she got Frankenstein published and twenty-three when her work was accredited to her in the second edition.

It is well known among those with knowledge of Lord Byron, Percy Byshee Shelley and Mary that in 1816, the year without a summer, which is a fascinating story all on its own, the trio stayed at Byron’s Villa Diodati on Lake Geneva. Due to the poor weather, they stayed inside and passed the time reading and not long into the stay a little competition was suggested – they would each write a ghost story. Mary’s idea took a few days to truly form but when it did it was something spectacular. Mary utilised the elements of a Gothic novel and the Romantic movement in her work and produced a novel that still proven the test of time. Also, as a little bonus fact about that summer, Byron’s work, though small fragments at the time, centred around vampiric legends he’d heard around the Balkans. It was picked up by John Polidori who published The Vampyre in 1819 which serves as an origin point to the vampire romances we’ve seen for centuries now. That’s two integral horror-based concepts created by this little collection of authors during this abysmal summer (1818 is a year you most definitely should look into).

But back to Mary Shelley and her Frankenstein.

Frankenstein is a work that delves into the depths of what it means to be human, what it means to be alive, and the throes of emotion that often hide the truth of what we feel and think. It is a story of creation, realisation, regret and profound grief. It understands so many ideas and beliefs that still prove to be true in our modern society today. The significance of beauty. The narrow-mindedness of an individual blinded by emotion and ambition. It is a story told from multiple sources, utilising multiple mediums of storytelling in the use of letters within the text, and it accurately portrays men by simply being a story where men happen to play a significant role. There is nothing Mary does to denote Victor or any of the narrators as a man in the sense that their thoughts need to prove their identity. They simply are. It’s something I greatly appreciate about her work – the fact she is a capable writer who has a profound understanding of her characters regardless of the fact they are the opposite sex.

Many leading figures in science fiction and horror attribute Mary Shelley as not only an inspiration but as the rightful progenitor of the science fiction genre. She’s got a good rep and regardless of the voices that continue to denounce her importance as a pinnacle in the genre and in publishing altogether, she will continue to stand as a icon and legend for all. I implore you, no matter who you are, to read Frankenstein and do yourself a favour. You will not regret it one bit.