What a bunch of drivel. The entire time Victor Frankenstein was doing one thing and saying something else. When his wife was killed, he knew it was coming, but he did nothing to prevent it. It was almost as if he was watching his life in third person. I struggled to empathize with Victor, which made reading this novel a slog. If only he had taken responsibility for something. Anything! The other thing I strongly disliked was the language. It was flowery and emotional. This is a novel about monsters and demons, not about how you feel, Mr. Victor. Pull your stuff together already, stop soliquizing, and do something about the monster. In the end, I was rooting for the monster. The protagonist was insufferable.