It is a great treat to be able to study something I love in college. I fully believe that the authors and books that will be canonized are those that span the academic and reading worlds: those read on the summer beach and in the classrooms, those on top of the NYT Bestsellers and the stack of Books in the University bookstore. Most books are one or the other. Aside from teaching, my best collegiate experiences have been with studying things I already liked.
Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley’s Frankenstein is one of those experiences for me. I have, since first reading it, consistently placed it near the first books thought of when the word “favorite” or “best” comes into play. This semester, my final in college, I finally read Frankenstein again, and this time in a classroom. Needless to say, I am enjoying it immensely.
However, an interesting thing happened the other day. Creed and I agreed that Frankenstein was one of the greatest novels ever written in the English Language. Creed. The man who disagrees with everything I say. Among other aspects, I love him dearly for that. Whenever Creed is around, there is never a dull conversation: he and I disagree regularly. But we agreed. Not only on something literary, but something specific. So let the waters rise.