Review: The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein

Sometimes judging a book by its cover can not only be fun, but deadly accurate.

While trolling around Barnes and Noble grabbing everything in sight, I happened upon this retelling of the classic Mary Shelley novel by Peter Aykroyd. Having read the original telling some years ago I can say that I was never exactly enthralled by the familiar and frankly over-repeated story. What actually attracted me to the book was the dust jacket, which though simple, nonetheless caught my attention. So i took a chance and bought the book.

The book is a first person narrative, with Victor telling us his story beginning with a summary of his childhood in Geneva, moving to his experiences at Oxford and beyond. It is at Oxford where our protagonist first meets Percey Bysshe Shelley, a name that will play a major role in our book. The two of them, of a liberal mind, begin discourse on the subject of life, its origins and the possible means by which life has and is begun. This is a notion that will obviously stick with Victor and allow our story to be told, and as a result of these debates and meanderings between friends he begins the study of human anatomy.

All the while we are being introduced as well to Victor's fascination with the "electrical fluid." It is important to bear in mind the story is taking place in the 1800's, so electricity is obviously still quite a mystery and wonder to the general populous. Having seen a demonstration of the power of electricty performed by a very famous and very fictional scientist, Victor becomes obsessed with the notion that it is electricity that powers the human body.

In total secrecy, hidden even from his best friend Bysshe, Frankenstein begins his own experiments in electricty, performing them upon himself. By and by he moves on to experimentation on cadavers, which are explained in graphic detail. As a side note, the picture painted by the author reguarding these experiments is as creepy reading as I've ever experienced.

It is sometime, and many cadavers later that the scientist successfully reanimates an expired human form. He has found success much to his own horror. It is accuarate to assert that the moment the "creature" opened its eyes and fixed them upon the horrified doctor, he wished he never began his study.

The remainder of the book is his struggle to free himself from the guilt and horror of what he had done in raising the dead.

Having just read it, with it still fresh in my mind, I definitely recommend it for anyone who likes this sort of thing. I will not go so far as to say this is a great book by any means, but it is with out a doubt an interesting and gripping read. Written in period perfect prose, the book's only true flaw is the final few chapters. It becomes rather obvious in my opinion how the retelling is going to end, making the ending no less entertaining, but obvious stil

In summary: read it. Worth the time.

Anything but American.

A few weeks ago I was standing in a car wash waiting while they changed my oil and washed my 1998 Ford Limone, just browsing the hundreds of air fresheners that were inundating my senses. I happened upon an interesting tid-bit that I found rather amusing at the time. I noticed that there was a section of the airfreshener rack filled with freshy-hangy things shaped and colored like the flags of about ten different nations; Puerto Rico, Jamaica, Israel just to name a few that I specifically recall. I did not see a single American flag. Nor an empty space where it could have been. At the time I thought absoulutely nothing of it. Just passed if of as a quirk of mine that I should even notice something so insignificant to begin with.

As the days past I totally forgot about this little musing of mine, until I was driving to work in the gaping ass hole of New Jersey that its residents call Linden (it really is a gross city). I noticed en route to my palace of indentured servitude that there were flags flying on alot of the residences in the area, but none were American.

I know what you're thinking. What the hell is this guy talking about? Who cares?

Well you're right. Who cares?

That's the point.

I consider myself extremely well versed in all things American History. It's sort of a pet topic of mine in my reading, and in discussion. Several of the books pertaining mainly to the birth and growth of what we now know as the United States of America were written entirely from primary sources, and more to the point, many of them read like a journal. These books of which I speak, like 1776 by David McCoulough for example, emphasize the excitement and pride that was taken in this governmental experiment.

Over time, as a child does with a new toy, we as an entity have gradually began to lose our fervor for our American nation.

The Civil War can be called the ealiest example of that loss, although that is debatable.

Civil Rights is next, hand in hand with everyone's favorite policing action: the Vietnam War.

The government's handling of those two situations was sub-par at best. Enter disillusionment.

And then there was Nixon. In just a few short years he managed to nearly eradicate the reverence his office was held in. Enter contempt.

uh oh.

Somewhere in our 233 years of sovereignty we have lost our sense of National Pride, and I think I see a pattern.

It has come to a point now after so many lies, letdowns, and lame excuses that our people have lost their faith in their government. Which is ok! It happens to every nation! What scares me however is the notion that we have lost our faith in our nation. As a people as diverse as we are we need a common bond. Until this century the "Kulture Amerikana," as it were, was that bond. It has come to a point in this country where and Italian flag is just as common, if not more so, than the stars and bars.

But hey, at least I can get a Congolese air freshener.

Testing One Two...

I have finally done it. Through all the laziness and insouciance that pertained to my starting a blog i have finally broken.

To be frank, I have no specific topic about which I like to write, or would like to write. I'm really more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-while-writing-about-nothing kind of guy. Or more aptly put, I'm a spontaneous thinker who writes about everything?... I dunno.

At any rate, you can pretty much expect nothing but random, offencive, blunt trauma style writing from me. I'm overly opinionated and tend to be honest to a point. If you disagree with anything I say at anytime, tell me! Debate me! I love it! If you're offended by anything I say, well feel free to let me know, but expect no sympathy.

For right now, this is all i shall say. But keep coming back, as there are MANY things I'd like to interject my opinion on!