“You gave me these emotions, but didn’t tell me how to use them....What of my soul? Do I have one?...Who are these people of which I am comprised? Good people...bad people? Did you know that I could play this (flute)? Does this knowledge reside in these hands...in this mind...in this heart? Who am I?”
Usually when we hear the name “Frankenstein”, we think of a B movie and creature. Eighteen-year-old Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel spoke of far deeper things, intimated in the original subtitle: “or, The Modern Prometheus.”
The 1994 cinema adaptation was of a more decidedly Shakespearean bent, centere...
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