Frankenstein - According to

AUTHOR’S
INTRODUCTION TO THE STANDARD NOVELS EDITION (1831)
     
     
    The
publishers of the Standard Novels, in selecting Frankenstein for one of
their series, expressed a wish that I should furnish them with an account of
the origin. Well my own account stands at £3.10. ‘How I, then a young girl,
came to think of and dilate upon so very hideous an idea?’ The answer is I was
kinky and pretty bent and was smoking the stuff. It is true that I am very
averse to bringing myself forward in print; I would rather bring myself
sideways. In writing this book, I can scarcely accuse myself of a personal
intrusion; I always get someone else to do it.
    It
is not singular that, as the daughter of two persons of distinguished literary
celebrity, I should very early in life have thought of writing, and I did. I
was two. My dreams were at once more fantastic and agreeable than my writings.
In the latter I was a close imitator — in other words, a little bloody cheat.
What I wrote was intended at least for the human eye, so I had to look around
for one-eyed readers.
    I
lived principally in the country as a girl and passed considerable time in
Scodand. I won the Junior Women’s Haggis Hurling Championship. I discovered
nothing was worn under the kilt; everything was in working order. But my
residence was on the dreary northern shores of the Tay where I met the poet
William McGonigal who wrote:
     
    THE
RAILWAY BRIDGE OF THE SILVERY TAY
     
    Beautiful
railway bridge of the Silvery Tay
    With
your numerous artists and palaces in so grand array
    And
your central girders ivhich seem so high
    To
be almost towering to the sly
    The
greatest wonder of the day
    And
the great beautification to the River Tay
    Most
beautiful to be seen
    Near
by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
     
    Beautiful
railway bridge of the Silvery Tay
    That
has caused the Emperor of Brazil to leave his home far away
    Incognito
in his dress
    In
view as he passed along en route to Inverness.
     
    Beautiful
railway bridge of the Silvery Tay
    The
longest of the present day
    That
has ever crossed over a tidal river stream
    Most
gigantic to be seen
    Near
by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
     
    Beautiful
railway bridge of the Silvery Tay
    Which
will cause great celebration on the opening day
    And
hundreds of people will come from far away
    Also
the Queen most gorgeous to be seen
    Near
by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
     
    Beautiful
railway bridge of the Silvery Tay
    And
prosperity to Professor Cox who has given £30,000 upward and away
    To
help erect the bridge of the Tay
    Near
by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
     
    Beautiful
railway bridge of the Silvery Tay
    I
hope that God will protect the passengers by night and by day
    And
that no accident will befall them while crossing the bridge of the Silvery Tay
    For
that would be most awful to be seen
    Near
by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
     
    Beautiful
railway bridge of the Silvery Tay
    And
prosperity to Messrs Bouche and Groat
    The
famous engineers of the present day
    Who
have succeeded erecting the railway bridge of the Silvery Tay
    Which
is unequal to be seen
    Near
by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
     
     
    My
father was an ambitious man
    ‘Hurry,’
he’d say, ‘Hurry and get a literary reputation if you can’
    So
I wrote Hamlet
    And
was hailed by the nation
    The
first prize was Victoria Station.
     
    It
was a pleasant region where, unheeded, I would commune with creatures of my
fancy; I fancied elephants but there were none in Scotland. I wrote then in the
most common-place style — ‘Cor blimey Fred, ya got a big willy, s’truth.’ I
could not figure to myself that romantic woes or wonderful events would ever be
my lot; but I was not confined to my own identity — I used to black up myself,
beat a tom-tom and pretend to be a Zulu.
    My
husband, however, was from the first very anxious that I should prove myself
worthy of my parentage and enrol myself on the page of fame. He was forever
inciting me to obtain a literary reputation. ‘Hurry,’ he’d say, ‘Hurry and get
a literary reputation and enrol yourself on the page of fame.’
    We
visited Switzerland and became neighbours of Lord Byron, who was writing the
third canto of Childe Harold. By the time he had written the tenth canto
of Childe Harold , the Childe was 35.
    Some
volumes of ghost stories, translated from the German into French, fell into our
hands. Someone pushed them and we caught them. There was the History of the
Inconstant Lover, who, when he