The Time Machine - Things that stay the same

"I think that at that time none of us quite believed in the Time Machine. The fact is, the Time Traveler was one of those men who are too clever to be believed: you never felt that you saw all round him; you always suspected some subtle reserve, some ingenuity in ambush, behind his lucid frankness. ... [T]he Time Traveller had more than a touch of whim among his elements, and we distrusted him." (12)

"The Journalist, too, would not believe at any price, and joined the Editor in the easy work of heaping ridicule on the whole thing." (15) 

H.G. Wells has been lauded for his uncanny ability to predict new technologies before they were actually developed. Obviously not all of the inventions he wrote about have come to pass (including time machines), but he did predict atomic bombs, World War II, genetic engineering and lasers. I would also argue, however, that H.G. was a gifted social observer. In the above paragraph, for example, we see a depressingly accurate description of the state of human relations in our own time. With so much cleverness in the world today, who can be trusted?

Perhaps the strength of Wells's social observations is not in prediction, but in observing aspects of the human condition that stubbornly endure. Technological developments have changed the scope of human life, but core issues remain. 

One of the details of the Time Machine that I find remarkable is how the story does not end. The story does not end in a grand revolution, with the Time Traveller helping the Eloi defeat their carnivorous masters. Rather, the Time Traveller escapes with his life, leaving behind a burning forest and many dead in his wake. Could it be that H.G. is critiquing the tendency to retreat to one's own personal affairs and concerns? Is this the beginning of an idea that could rightly be called chronopolitanism, an extension of cosmopolitanism? After the Time Traveller leaves the time of the Eloi and Morlocks, he goes far forward to witness the end of the world, as if witnessing cosmic destruction is just something to entertain the idly curious. Perhaps H.G. Wells is suggesting that technological improvements do not change a man, and that improving the human condition will take something more. The fact that Wells's subtle social commentaries still ring true suggests that once again, he was right.

Frankenstein Pt. 2 - Creation

If you type "create" in a youtube search box, you'll find tens of millions of hits. The variety of how-to videos on youtube is stunning. Videos range from the very practical "how to create and sell a phone app with no coding skills" to the highly philosophical "how to create a mind." Popular topics include "how to create a song in less than five minutes" and "how to create your ideal life." If there's anything we could conclude from these search results, it's that human beings are undoubtedly creative beings, and the extent of their creative power is endless. Humans create things to make money, to find meaning in life, or to simply kill the time. In fact, humans are so busy creating things that they rarely pause to consider the meaning and extent of their creative actions.What does it mean to create, anyway? Is there anything to be gained from this kind of inquiry? Mary Shelley seems to think so, and after reading her novel, I agree with her. So, without further ado, here's what I learned about creation while reading Frankenstein; or The Modern Prometheus.

Creation Doesn't End at Creation (The Two-Creations Theory, or the Sociology of Creation)

What did Viktor Frankenstein create? Did he create a monster? Arguably, yes, but that came later. Originally, Frankenstein creates... a thing. It's eight-feet-tall and male and has a vague human form. Immediately, however, he abandons his creation, calling it a "wretch," "monster," "daemon," and "fiend." Yikes. The poor creature goes off on his own and learns how to live by spying on a small family of cottagers, while Frankenstein has a long series of narcissistic and melodramatic breakdowns for several years. The creature quickly realizes that he is hated by everyone with eyes to see, but this does not bring him down, initially. He is on a quest to find a place in the world, and he nurtures hope that he can someday be accepted into society.

The point of this is to argue that the creation of "Frankenstein's monster" happened in two parts. First, his physical form was created and brought to life. At this point, however, he was not a "monster." He was a bizarre and ugly creature, but his identity as "monster" was created upon his rejection from society. Do we have any reason to believe that the creature was naturally disposed to malignancy?  No, we don't, and that's Mary Shelley's big point. The monster was a monster not out of essence, but because Frankenstein and the other people in the story made him a monster. 

What is a "monster" anyway? The interpretation suggested in the novel is that a "monster" is anything that is deemed unworthy or unacceptable in society. A "monster" is not a thing with an evil essence, but a socially created identity. Interestingly, Frankenstein's creation ends up becoming the very thing which others believed him to be initially. This is not the result of accurate labeling, however, but self-fulfilling prophecy.

It is telling that Frankenstein gives no name to his creation. What are names for? Among other things, they signify one's belonging within society. Scientists give names to new discoveries as a way of bringing the thing into the human world. Artists similarly name their creative works. In the Book of Genesis, Adam named all of the animals, signifying their importance. The namelessness of Frankenstein's creation signifies its complete isolation from society. Even enemies have names, yet he does not. Ironically, the real world wanted to bring Frankenstein's creation into human society, and began calling it erroneously by the name "Frankenstein."

Surely, the story could have ended differently. The creature could have clung to his hope of being a part of society and refused to become that which people made him out to be (but really, he only ever knew pain and rejection, so I don't really blame him). Alternatively, someone could have accepted him someday and looked past the label of "monster." I'm reminded of the story of The Elephant Man, wherein one doctor treats a horribly deformed man whose life has been never-ending alienation and grief his whole life like a worthy human being . The point here is that if you can say "it could have been different," then there is a good chance that you are dealing with social constructions of some sort. So many stories have happy endings when traditional definitions of "monsters" and "daemons" crumble and new ages of tolerance and compassion are ushered in (an extreme example of this is found in the film Warm Bodies). Of course, Frankenstein is a tragedy because this doesn't happen.

The idea that creation happens in two parts--physical creation and meaning creation--says a lot about creativity in everyday life. Consider, for example, how much of the internet is dedicated to reviews and ratings. Are these systems not actively engaged in creation? Are they not deciding what does and does not belong in society? Even the act of consumption has creative aspects, because reception and rejection alter the meaning of a thing.

These two parts of creation are not equal, however. Physical creation is, in most cases, highly immutable and final. Physical creation of a thing can be concluded. Meaning creation, however, is infinite and everlasting. Meanings of things are always made, remade, and challenged. In our everyday lives, we are constantly creating and recreating meanings and identities of the world around us. Furthermore, these often imperceptible, taken-for-granted creations carry huge implications for how we act in the world. These meanings matter, because they guide human action, for better or for worse.

One way to think about Frankenstein is that it reveals the mundanity of monsterhood. The truth is, there are monsters in most people's lives. Some call them illegal immigrants. Others call them capitalist fat cats. Others call them Muslisms. You get the picture. Whenever you find yourself secretly wishing that someone or some group of people didn't exist, pause for a moment, because you've just created a monster. Some might call you the real monster, but then they will just have created a monster too. Our country is full of monsters, and creating them seems to be a veritable industry in itself.

All this talk of the social construction of monsters can be taken too far. There might be some cases in which identifying something as monstrous might be a good idea. I think of the rabid dog in To Kill a Mockingbird, for instance. Rabies kills! A lot! In terms of fatality rate, rabies is one of the most deadly diseases on the planet. The point of this discussion is not to dismiss all existing definitions as false and dangerous, but to destabilize our taken-for-granted assumptions about the world. Mary Shelley challenges us to reconsider what it means to be a monster -- she doesn't force us to deny their existence altogether. 

Creation and Responsibility

Another way to consider the discussion of creation is in terms of responsibility. Mary Shelley provides us a creation story in which responsibility for the creation was all but abandoned. And yet, no one creates in a vacuum! Viktor Frankenstein's refusal to take responsibility for his creation ultimately leads to the deaths of everyone he holds dear, including his father, best friend and wife. This is an extreme example, but it brings up an important point. Ethical creation demands responsibility of the creator. Creation pursued solely for the self-aggrandizement can have tragic consequences.

Admittedly, the responsibility is a difficult concept today, when so many things are created in parts, bit by bit across an entire society. Little, isolated actions create cars and holocausts. Isolated individuals do not see their role in creation, and yet, they are creators nonetheless. In Frankenstein, Viktor Frankenstein was the main creator, but, all of those people who rejected and cursed at his creation also played parts as creators. We are all active creators. We are all responsible for the creations of this world. 

What do you think? Do creations have "true" inner essences? Is there a self-contained, complete meaning behind every creation, or are creations assigned meaning, as discussed above? Are there limits to the ability of human beings to create meaning? What responsibility do creators have for their creations?

Frankenstein Pt. 1 - Introduction

I don't think I have ever seen a Frankenstein movie all the way through, but I've seen enough clips and pictures to know that Frankenstein's monster is big and dumb and has an impossibly squarish head and huge electrodes in his neck. Furthermore, I know that Viktor Frankenstein is a horrifyingly mad scientist who cackles maniacally and wears big black gloves. Thank you Van Wilder. Actually, now that I've read the original story, I can say that that's pretty much all wrong. The book and the characters are much more interesting than the silly images that resurface every October, and the details I once thought were essential are either inaccurate or are liberal interpretations. So, as an introduction, here are a few facts about Frankenstein that don't get much attention:

1. The complete title is Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus. 
2. Viktor Frankenstein is the scientist. The monster is his creation.
3. The monster doesn't have a name.
4. The story is written in first-person point of view of three main characters and one or two other characters. It gets pretty crazy. At one point, you have a story within a story within a story within a story. It's basically the original Inception, but with fewer guns and more 19th-century melodrama. A lot more melodrama. I'm pretty sure that half the book was Frankenstein talking about how he felt abysmally depressed, then went out into nature, then felt happy for a while, then remembered how terrible his life was. This happened at least once a page. The pages were literally dripping with Frankenstein's tears. Literally. 
5. The monster narrates a significant portion (the heart) of the story. This is the best part, in my opinion. 
6. The monster speaks just as well as, if not better than, Viktor Frankenstein.
7. The story begins and ends in the Arctic. (It's basically a chiasmus in structure - ABCBA)
8. The story happens all over the place, including Germany, Switzerland, England, Scotland, France and even Russia. People just go places when they feel like it, because everyone just had limitless finances back then and nothing to do. 
9. The story covers several years. After the monster is created, he's on his own, learning how to live life for a couple years before finding Frankenstein again. Apparently, all he needs to survive are some roots, nuts and berries. 
10. The story makes a lot of social critiques, but it really centers on Frankenstein and his monster. There's no scene of angry peasants with torches and pitchforks out to hunt the monster. It's pretty much just Frankenstein who chases him.
11. The book was first published in 1818. Mary Shelley was 20-years-old at the time.
12. The idea arose in a "Ghost Story" contest between Mary, her husband, and some other famous peeps. Somehow Mary won, even though there is no ghost in the story. Whatever. These people were too laid back and rebellious to follow those kind of rules. 

Frankenstein tackles all kinds of big ideas, including creation, science, the role of women, human nature, participation in society, repentance, and procrastination so bad that you would rather reshape your moral framework to justify your procrastination, than simply do the thing that you should have done a long time ago.

In Part 2, I'll write about creation in Frankenstein. 

A Familiar Situation

You just finished reading a book.

You learned a lot from the book -- at least you think you learned a lot -- and you feel like what you read is somehow important. You feel pretty good about having read the book, and maybe you're a little sad that it's over. Most likely, you want to run and tell a friend about it, because isn't that what people who read meaningful books do? Like a toddler with a new favorite toy, you feel compelled to share your life-changing discovery with the world. So you go and tell your friend.

Before you pause to consider what will happen next, you blurt out to your friend, "I just read the most amazing book!" You say it with a smile, or maybe you are a little shy and you partially cloak your excitement. Either way, your friend turns to you and says, "Oh? What was it about?" Your smile immediately drops and your eyes go wide. You have no idea how to answer this question.

Crap! This book is so meaningful! At least, you think it is. Now you are not so sure, because you can't seem to give any basic details. You give it a go. If you just finished a novel, you give a terrible and overlong plot summary, during which you realize that the book actually sounds retarded when you describe it this way. You attempt to redeem yourself by shouting, "I know it sounds dumb, but it's so good!" If you just finished a nonfiction, you either spout off a few random facts and miss the central arguments entirely ("locust brains grow larger when they get together in a plague!"), or you describe the arguments with so much jargon that your friend is now thinking about what he/she ate for lunch, having experienced regret ten minutes ago for asking about the book, and having stopped feeling guilty about not paying attention nine minutes ago.

You wish that your friend had just read the dang book, because they obviously would be feeling the same things you are feeling if they had read the book, and then you could have spared you and them this awkward situation. Before you finish talking, you either mentally recommit to join a book club ("this time I really will!"), or you swear off all brainy literature and nonfiction for Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, and That New Book in the Checkout Line That Features Beefy Men and Seductive Women on the Front Cover. 

You feel like a failure as a reader, and you feel like you've let down the author because you're pretty sure that you've scared someone away from their book forever. You feel sad and lonely, so you pick up another book and start reading. Eventually you forget about your past failure and you are fully taken in by the new story. "Wow!" you think, "this book is so meaningful!"

***

This blog is dedicated to all those who see pieces of themselves in the cycle above.

I use these pages to practice writing about the things I read and study, because I strongly believe that you don't really know something unless you can convey its meaning to others in a way they can understand. The kind of knowing I'm talking about here is the bookish, nerdy kind. I wholeheartedly believe that you can be a master of some skill and be a terrible teacher, but when it comes to reading books and articles, I think the ability to talk about it is actually a pretty good measure of how much we learned. It's certainly not a good measure of how much we feel -- the frustration described above is a result of our feelings exceeding our ability to rationally justify them -- but I for one would like to be able to hold on to more than a collection of powerful feelings. I want books to change me through emotions, yes, but I also want to be able to use the books in the future, and you can't do that very well if you only remember how you felt.

Each post will include a very brief, accessible summary of the book, followed by a brief analysis. A single book will likely have multiple entries. There will probably be spoilers in the analyses, but I'll make sure to give warnings in advance. I'll try to be funny sometimes, because honestly, this stuff can get unbearably dull. I'll avoid talking about how much I liked or disliked the book, because that's the sort of shallow evaluation that I'm trying to go beyond. Finally, I'll encourage discussion by including a question or two in each post for interested readers to ponder and respond. I'll probably copy entries over to my Goodreads page too. If you've ever reached the end of a book and thought "Oh no, I'm on the last page and I still have no idea what this book is about," then this blog might be for you.

Reading is fun. Reading and thinking is fun and useful. So, fellow readers, let's get our thoughts together.