I recently saw and reviewed a stage adaptation of Frankenstein which re-invented Victor Frankenstein as Victoria and seemed to omit rather a lot of detail. I wasn’t sure though because, although I’ve seen at least six stage versions over the years, it was a long time since I’d read the book. Time then, to go back and remind myself what Mary Shelley actually wrote.

First published in 1818, the novel was revised by the author in 1831 and that’s the version most of us are familiar with today. It is, though, extraordinary to think that this one-off piece of sci-fi first appeared in the same decade as all six of Jane Austen’s Regency satires which are as full of bright light as Frankenstein is of brooding darkness. It probably isn’t completely facile to see this partly as a reflection of the two authors’ different circumstances. Austen lived in modest comfort all her life. Shelley, who eloped when she was 16, traipsed uncomfortably across Europe with Percy Bysshe Shelley, in exile and debt, giving birth to child after child, most of whom died. Aged 19, she wrote her novel in Switzerland in response to a challenge from Byron who was a neighbour. One adaptation I saw used that famous rainy day conversation as a framing device.

Mary Shelley’s own framing device gives us Captain Walton on a ship trying to reach the North Pole, surrounded by ice, mystery, danger and strange light. Then his men spot a peculiar creature heading away on a sledge. It is very large, otherworldly and frightening. Have they imagined it? Shortly afterwards they rescue Victor Frankenstein, imperilled on the ice. His huskies are exhausted and so is he. Eventually Frankenstein, who had been chasing the creature on the sledge, spends a week telling his story to Walton who confides it to his sister in letters. It’s a Russian Doll narrative – like Wuthering Heights, The Woman in White or many more recent novels by writers such as Victoria Hislop.

Victor Frankenstein is fascinated by what we now call science from childhood and, remember, this novel was written at a time of new revolutionary scientific thinking. Geologists were beginning to question conventional religious dogma about creation. Electro-magnetism was gradually being better understood. There were increasingly powerful microscopes and telescopes. And prodigiously bright Shelley was very well read. Eventually her protagonist builds a body and gives it “animation”. Of course it’s irresponsible. Once the creation (variously referred to in the novel as monster, fiend or daemon) is given life it is beyond Frankenstein’s control. He tells no one what he has done – until he confides in Walton on the ship in the Arctic.

Conveniently the Creation escapes and learns language – implausibly sophisticated language –  by spying on a newly impoverished family living in an Alpine hut. When he finally confronts his creator – dramatically on a glacier – and they repair to a hut to talk , he states his terms. The “monster” wants a female companion because he has feelings and needs. If these are not met he will revert to savagery and he has already shown what he’s capable of. Well, I’ll spare you the spoilers just in case, unlikely as it is, you don’t already know this story which has been made into more films than you can shake a stick at, including Guillermo del Toro’s new 2025 version. It’s a creation (in every sense) which just goes on giving.

What struck me though, on rereading now, is that Shelley was not writing screenplay inspiration for horror movies a century and three quarters after her 1851 death. Yes, it’s a “gothic” novel and the Creation terrifies everyone who sees it. The best stage version I ever saw, by the way, presented him as a huge puppet made of thick ropes for muscles. However, Frankenstein  also poses some pretty profound, ever topical questions.

Are we responsible for the actions of our own creations – our children, for example? If so, should believers in a conventional, omnipotent God blame him for all the evil in the world? What exactly do we mean by “humanity” and “humanness”? Is it morally right to destroy what you see as evil? Is company essential to human life? It’s even worth asking if Shelley’s Creation is actually real? Could he be Victor Frankenstein’s alter ego? It’s an interpretation which would make this novel an interesting precursor to Robert Louis Sevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886).

No wonder Frankenstein has been studied in universities all over the world, set for exams at every level and widely discussed in book clubs.

Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: The Diver and the Lover by Jeremy Vine

I had never read a Jilly Cooper novel nor seen any sort of dramatisation. It simply didn’t sound my sort of thing although I was aware of her “thoroughly good egg” status and admired her stoical work ethic. Then, when she died last month, I realised from the warm obituaries just how dearly loved and respected she was. So I decided it was time to throw my JC virginity (a fitting metaphor) to the winds and give her fiction a whirl. At random I picked Rivals which is definitely not to be confused with Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s similarly named 1775 play.

The titular rivals are two independent TV companies bidding for a franchise and there’s a complex network of upper crust characters who all know and fraternise (and the rest) with each other even when they’re on opposite sides in a vicious civil war.

Corinium is led by Tony Baddingham who is … well the clue is in the name.  Cf characters such as Trollope’s Doctor Filgrave or Sheridan’s Lydia Languish. Rupert Campbell-Black MP and cronies then set up Venturer to challenge Baddingham and co – all complete with dirty deals, spying, double agents with energetic bed hopping thrown in. In the midst of all this is media super star Declan O’Hara who is (more or less) faithful to his flighty actress wife and has something called integrity which rubs most of the people he works with up the wrong way.

Of course there’s a lot of sex. Cooper’s characters are nearly all randy most of the time and, after all, the term “bonkbuster” was effectively coined for her, Or maybe. an accomplished journalist and columnist, she invented it herself?  But the sex is never revoltingly graphic and often very funny. I will forgive a writer anything if she can come up with: “As he slid inside her, she felt all the joy of a canal lock suddenly finding it can accommodate the QE2”.

I enjoyed  the shameless word play too. Going into a situation with your flies open, declaring that rats should desert a rising shit and the threat to tear Corinium limb from limousine, for example, made me smile.

At another level it’s educated stuff. It’s full of casual references to, and quotes from, literature such as Shakespeare’s plays and nineteenth century novels. There’s even a passing reference to Josephine Tey’s The Franchise Affair. Cooper knows her Bach from her Bartok (see – she’s got me at it now) too. I beamed broadly at the concept of enthusiastic humping to the pounding of the Brahms B flat piano concerto.

Moreover Cooper is rather good at character (and dogs). Cameron Cook is a highly successful, glitteringly attractive producer who takes no prisoners – and yet she’s also desperately vulnerable. Her attempts to bond (would a woman like her really be so competent in the kitchen?) with Rupert’s truculent daughter are well observed. And I really liked Taggy – Declan’s daughter who is severely dyslexic, earnest, the family mainstay, a very talented chef/caterer and tantalisingly pretty. Taggy has emotions she tries to keep hidden.  And she turns out to be a pretty good advocate for Venturer – who gets her heart’s desire in the end, unlikely as it seems. Her dyslexia is a bit odd though. Maybe it was less well understood in 1985 when Rivals was written. In all my years of teaching I never met a dyslexic who was effectively unable to read anything at all.

This 720 page novel is the second volume in Cooper’s hugely popular eleven-title Rutshire Chronicles series. She eventually had me hooked me in a mild sort of way and I found myself cheering for Venturer and actually caring about the characters by the time I’d reached the 50% mark. It is, however, too long for what it is.

Rivals is marketed these days as a “classic” and yes, it’s odd to be in a world in which people fly on Concorde, vote for Regan (or not), go to Woolworths and have portable televisions, among many other period touches. I was approaching 40 and the mother of children aged 13 and 9 when this book was published. It doesn’t seem so long ago to me. And yet …

Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley