Wow. Can I just say it again? Wow. Mary Shelley is a marvel! This lady had quite the life. All of which I can’t fit into this blog post, as I know about 98% of the readers would feel defeated just seeing how lengthy the post turned out. Alas, I felt the need to just share a smidge (okay, more than a smidge) about this creative gem of a lady, who had quite the stereotypical, struggling life of a 19th century writer. Joking…she had it far worse.
Mary was born in 1797 in London, England. Her mother was a feminist, philosopher, educator, and a writer. Her mother died almost immediately after Mary’s birth due to puerperal fever. This is a common feat woman risked after giving childbirth during this time. Mary’s father (William) raised her. He was a poet and political philosopher. He believed in the passions that his late wife praised and tried his best to ensure his daughter was taught a wide range of subjects. (Go dad)!
William took her on enlightening excursions to keep learning fun! What a hip dude! Understandably, William was lonely for love and hopeful to find a companion. He wanted to find another wife and role model for Mary to admire. He didn’t look too far, as he courted the neighbor, Mary Jane Clermont. She was known to be a feisty one. Mary Jane Clermont was quick-tempered and had a tendency to argue over trivial matters. Even still, William remarried when little Mary was only 4. Needless to say, she didn’t get along with her new stepmother.
Mary Jane Clermont also had two children from her previous marriage that became part of the family. Her stepmother favored them and her actions reflected as such. That’s a big change all at once…especially for a 4 year old who always been dad’s sidekick. William was apparently a very patient man, as he genuinely cared for his new wife and they had a successful marriage in the end.
As Mary grew into a young lady, she continued her studies, and her father sent her to various philosopher’s homes that he was trusted friends of. It is during one of these stays that Mary had sporadic run-ins with a philosopher named Percy and soon enough, they became friendly acquaintances. He was from a wealthy family and had made a few “disputable” promises to William (dad). Percy was initially going to try and help Mary’s father get out of a deep, dark, debt dungeon, but due to Percy’s radicalism and his own personal debts, his rich and well-off family kicked him out. Obviously, William was not a happy man when he realized his daughter (16) was sneaking around meeting up good ol’ Percy (21) at the graveyard. William was angry and felt betrayed by them both.
Percy was deeply marveled by Mary and described her looks as “intellectual, unearthly and wild”. What a nice description, Percy! They needed to be together, so what else to do but run away and elope. Oh, but wait, did I forget to tell you, Percy was already married? Yeah….so, there’s that. Percy isn’t so good after all, it seems. They took Mary’s stepsister (Claire) and fled through France, ending up in Switzerland. Shortly after their mini adventure in Switzerland, they ran out of money and with heads hung low, returned home.
William (dad) wanted nothing to do with her….especially after he heard she was pregnant. The three moved into nearby lodgings and often had to hideout from creditors stalking them. During her pregnancy she discovered Claire and her darling Percy were lovers, often leaving her home as they wandered the city. Mary was very jealous and displeased with this scenario. Percy encouraged Mary to engage in an open lifestyle as well, but she wasn’t digging it. Stand your ground, Mary! She fell for Percy and couldn’t engage in any physical rendezvous with anyone else. I can’t say I blame her. Mary gave birth to their baby 2 months premature, and he passed away while Mary took a brief nap during her recovery. Mary was soaked with depression and haunting images of her son upon finding him lifeless. Heartbreaking. About two years later, his current wife (who he had left for Mary) took her own life, resulting in him and Mary saying “I do”.
In 1816 there was recovery to their finances due to Percy’s wealthy grandfather passing. The couple needed a break from the stresses of being ostracized caused by their debts, Percy’s affair and coping with the loss of their son. They ventured to Geneva, joined by other friends, including Lord Byron. Much of the time, the group wrote, sailed, and talked over the fire. Each night Lord Byron would ask someone in the group to tell a new frightening tale and each night, a humiliated Mary spoke a mortified, “No, I haven’t anything.”
Then finally, after pondering over it throughout the day, when asked again if she had a creepy story to share that evening, she proudly announced she did! She revealed a vision of a scientist who had created life and was then became horrorstruck at the result. This my friends, is the mere beginning of Frankenstein. Percy encouraged her to continue devising the idea and it was in 1818 she successfully published her first novel (anonymously of course, because of lame-o society standards frowning on female writers). Mary and her father reconciled and often shared their writing with each other. (Yay).
Over the next several years, Mary had three more children. Only one of which (last born) survived. She never seemed present after the loss of their 3 children and Percy noted that she isolated herself, “leaving him in a dreary world alone”. In 1822 Percy went on a sailing venture and died after rough waters defeated him. Mary treated any romantic interests directed her way with caution and did not remarry. She was offered proposals but stated, “After being married to one genius, she could only marry another”. Only prodigy intellects here folks!
She was a successful editor and writer, often reviewing works of poetry for known authors during 1827-1840. In 1830 Mary sold the copyright of Frankenstein to Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley for a new novel series. From 1839-1851 Mary often suffered of headaches and experienced stretches of paralysis in parts of her body, which impeded her ability to write at times. Expectantly, writing brought her much comfort during her life and not having that outlet led to severe depression. Not long before her death, her doctor deemed her suffering and related symptoms as the result of a brain tumor, which eventually killed her. She passed at 53 years young. Only one of her four children survived her and stayed with her during her final years. One can only wonder how many more ingenious ideas she had brewing in that imaginative cauldron of hers.
“There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
References:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Shelley
https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/4836639-frankenstein-or-the-modern-prometheus