“Frankenstein”

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

There are works of art that so saturate popular culture that, when you’re about to encounter the original for the first time, you fear they will have lost their impact. I’m happy to say that, in my experience, works like Michelangelo’s “David” or Leonardo da Vinci’s “Last Supper”, despite their appearance in everything from cartoons to cheap wall hangings to snow globes, retain their power to amaze.

I wondered, when starting “Frankenstein”, whether Boris Karloff, Abbott and Costello, and “The Munsters” had robbed it of its appeal. I needn’t hav worries: I found it a moving and human work. (And yes, I should have read it decades ago.)

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