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TALES AND STORIES
INTRODUCTION.
It is customary to regard Mary Shelley’s claims toliterary distinction as so entirely rooted and groundedin her husband’s as to constitute a merely parasiticgrowth upon his fame. It may be unreservedlyadmitted that her association with Shelley, and hercare of his writings and memory after his death,are the strongest of her titles to remembrance.It is further undeniable that the most original ofher works is also that which betrays the strongesttraces of his influence. Frankenstein was writtenwhen her brain, magnetized by his companionship,was capable of an effort never to be repeated. Butif the frame of mind which engendered and sustainedthe work was created by Shelley, the conceptionwas not his, and the diction is dissimilar to his.Both derive from Godwin, but neither is Godwin’s.The same observation, except for an occasionalphrase caught from Shelley, applies to all her subsequentwork. The frequent exaltation of spirit,the ideality and romance, may well have beenShelley’s—the general style of execution neitherrepeats nor resembles him.
Mary Shelley’s voice, then, is not to die away asa mere echo of her illustrious husband’s. She hasthe prima facie claim to a hearing due to everywriter who can assert the possession of a distinctiveindividuality; and if originality be once concededto Frankenstein, as in all equity it must, none willdispute the validity of a title to fame grounded onsuch a work. It has solved the question itself—itis famous. It is full of faults venial in an authorof nineteen; but, apart from the wild grandeur ofthe conception, it has that which even the maturityof mere talent never attains—the insight of geniuswhich looks below the appearances