This is my interpretation of what I was thinking as I read FRANKENSTEIN, by Mary Shelley. The book was very different from what I imagined it would be.

Dec. 11th, 17—

My dear beloved Margaret,

I am about to tell you a story within a story, OK? This letter is just so that you realize that I am not actually Frankenstein. No, I am merely some insignificant character relating the story of Victor Frankenstein, who my men picked up at sea a while ago, to you. I am just forewarning you that this entire book is a story-within-a-story. Oh, and I happen to be on a perilous journey across the sea of the North Pole, not that it matters that much, because I'm not the main point of this book. It's just a little side story, you know? Anyways, enjoy.

Your dearest brother,

Walton

CHAPTER ONE

"This is Victor Frankenstein speaking now, just so you know. You won't be hearing from that Walton guy for a loo-o-ong time. Anyways, back to me. I came from a very very happy family. This part of the story is totally irrelevant. It has nothing to do with the monster. Feel free to skim over this section if you wish. Nope, no major plot development here. Insert 50 pages of Frankenstein's family history.

(At this point, the reader is thinking, "When will the monster show up?")

CHAPTER TWO

Oh, woe is me! If only you could know the pits of despair which I am in at the moment all because of the events that befell me! Reader: Can we get to the monster already? My family life was so utterly perfect! It was all going so well until I went to college at Ingolstadt and I studied chimeras. And if you don't know what 'chimera' means, then you should look it up now, because I'm going to keep saying that whenever I feel like it. La la la, I'm feeling very chimerical today. Reader: Huh? Then, the net result of all my studies was the creation of a hideous monster. Finally! Unfortunately, I was so horribly put out at the sight of the atrocity which I myself had created that I fell into a state of delirium for the next three years, and lost track of the monster. Insert 25 pages of delirium, that feel like it took three years to read.

(At this point, the reader is wondering exactly how long Mary Shelley intends to stretch out this delirium for.)

CHAPTER THREE

At the end of my very long and boring delirium, I found that I had lost track of the monster. Reader: Damn! I begun my journey home to France, or wherever it is that I live. On my journey, I began to notice the trees. Insert 200 page description of what wonderful trees there are in France.

(At this point, the reader is considering other things to read.)

CHAPTER FOUR

Finally, I arrived home, only to find what bittersweet tragedy had struck my family! I arrived to find my younger brother dead, and my scullery maid Justine framed for his murder and ready to be hanged! Framed, I should say, by my accursed monster which I had created by mine own two hands! Oh! Would that I had never succeeded in creating life so that I could not have brought such deep dark blah blah blah... Insert 50 pages of self-pity.

(At this point, the reader is wondering how the monster figured out where Frankenstein lived, AND who his brother was, AND how to frame his maid for murder.)

CHAPTER FIVE

Somehow or other, I met up with that accursed fiend, my monster. He began to tell me his story. Now, don't forget, the monster is telling his story, but I'm really telling mine, and my entire story is being related to the reader by that Walton guy that you've all probably forgotten by now. The only point where it gets really confusing, though, is during the time when the monster starts telling the history of a nice family that he met, because somewhere in there, this Muslim girl starts telling her story to the family that the monster is talking about, and I'm listening to the monster's story while telling my story to Walton, who is telling it all to his sister as part of his story. Jeez! I haven't seen so much story-within-a-storying since I read 1001 Arabian Nights. This is where the monster explains how he killed my brother and framed my beloved maid for murder, by the way, since you were wondering. Anyway, judging from the monster's story, I began to feel a strange compassion for him. Certainly he had done some bad things in his time, like the murder of my brother, but how could I bring myself to destroy this monster which I had created? Should I give in to his wish for me to make for him a female companion? Insert close to 300 pages of philosophical ponderings. Yes, I decided, I would.

(At this point, the reader is wondering how the monster managed, in only three years' time, to learn to speak in a way that even you find slightly difficult to understand.)

CHAPTER SIX

In order to make the monster the female companion which he desired, I decided I must partake on a journey to England with my beloved friend Clerval. (No, not beloved in that way. Remember, this is the 1800's!) At the end of my journey, I would be wed to the fair Elizabeth, with whom I had grown up. My journey was very long and boring and it has nothing to do with the monster at all!Insert 50 pages of journeying to England.

(At this point, the reader has fallen asleep.)

CHAPTER SEVEN

At last, I had arrived in England. I gathered what information I needed to begin the creation of a female creature, and then set off for a secluded island, leaving my beloved Clerval behind. Before long, I had manufactured another creature of the same variety as the first monster. But I thought: would I be justified in unleashing another such creature on mankind, that they might grow fruitful and multiply? It took me very many pages to decide, but at length, I came to the conclusion that I was not justified. I destroyed the female creature as it lay.

What ho! Just then, the original monster came forward, demanding of me why I had destroyed its one true love. Instead of taking out a pistol like any normal man, I decided to have a logical argument with this monster nearly twice my size and strength who had already strangled my brother. It was no use; the monster fled, but first uttered this dreadful phrase: I will be with you on your wedding night.

Hurriedly, I hopped in a boat and sailed to the closest island, where they immediately accused me of murder. I happened to see the body, and saw that it was my dearest Clerval, murdered! The agony was too much for me and I passed into quiet delirium.

(At this point, the reader is beginning to doubt the credibility of this story.)

CHAPTER EIGHT

When I woke up, I found myself in a prison. I slipped in and out of delirium for at least 80 pages. In and out. In and out. At last, my father came to fetch me and we went home to England. No, I mean France, I think. I had grown feverish. The only thing keeping me alive was the thought of sweet Elizabeth.

Our union occurred shortly after my return home. 'Twas such a grand occasion that I hardly remember the ominous words which the monster said to me: "I will be with you on your wedding night." (Reader: This Frankenstein guy is a real idiot.)

Yeah, I was really surprised to find Elizabeth dead that night. The monster then lured me on a trip following to the North Pole, where he said we would finally battle it out.

I followed his trail until I came upon your ship. Oh, look! It's Walton again. Anyway, so that's my story. And, I think I'm gonna die soon, because I'm really ill. Please try and kill the monster when I'm gone?

Walton, in continuation.

August 26, 17—

Dear Margaret,

So, there you have it. Some strange guy, huh? What tripe! Who in their right minds would ever want to read this garbage? It's the mere rantings of a madman. Victor Frankenstein passed away a couple days ago, and I say good riddance. P.S., we're on our way home from the North. Nothing to see up here.
I think I might just use Frankenstein's story as firewood. I do not think that anyone will ever be interested in reading it ever again.

Yours truly,

Walton