This novel takes a single thread - the relationship between creator and creation - and ties it into a ghastly, believable knot. <br/><br/>While I longed for some deeper characterisation, perhaps a scene or two of relief from the relentless unhappiness of Frankenstein's tale - these changes would have detracted from the crisp, believable tone and relentless pace. <br/><br/>Frankenstein is not a doctor - merely a young man driven by ambition and, later, love for his family. His monster is one of the most ambivalent beings I have encountered in fiction. It was impossible to know whether to pity or revile him. Their fates entwined in the arctic sea, I felt relief for the end of their miseries, rather than sorrow at their passing.<br/><br/>This novel is remarkable for its chilling plausibility, and for the mood of hopeless melancholy it captures. The real monster, perhaps, is the depression that haunted its author, Mary Shelley, and which pervades every page of this classic.