through with weeds, leading spiral by spiral, step by step, down to where? What cellar of horror?
I pulled my shawl close. The air itself has the cold of the grave.
Come! I said to Shelley. We must leave this place.
He put his arm around me and together we walked swiftly away. As we walked, he instructed me in the art of alchemy.
The alchemists sought three things, said Shelley: the secret of turning lead into gold, the secret of the Elixir of Eternal Life, the homunculus.
What is an homunculus? I asked.
A creature not born of woman, he answered. A made thing, unholy and malign. A kind of goblin, misshapen and sly, infused with dark power.
In the oppressive twilight of our winding walk back to the inn I thought of that thing; that fully-formed being not born of woman.
And now that form has returned.
And it is not small. No goblin.
I feel as though my mind is a screen and on the other side of the screen there is a being seeking life. I have seen fish in an aquarium pushing their faces against the glass. I sense what I cannot say, except in the form of a story.
I will call my hero (is he a hero?) Victor – for he seeks victory over life and over death. He will strive to penetrate the recesses of Nature. He will not be an alchemist – I want no hocus-pocus here – he will be a doctor, like Polidori, like Doctor Lawrence. He will discern the course of the blood, know the knot of muscle, the density of bone, the delicacy of tissue, how the heart pumps. Airways, liquids, mass, jelly, the cauliflower mystery of the brain.
He will compose a man, larger than life, and make him live. I will use electricity. Storm, Spark, Lightning. I will rod him with fire like Prometheus. He will steal life from the gods.
At what cost?
His creature will have the strength of ten men. The speed of a galloping horse. The creature will be more than human. But he will not be human.
Yet he suffers. Suffering, I do believe, is something of the mark of the soul.
Machines do not suffer.
My creator will not be a madman. He will be a visionary. A man with family and friends. Dedicated to his work. I will take him to the brink and make him leap. I will show his glory as well as his horror.
I will call him Victor Frankenstein.
This mind is the matrix of all matter.
Max Planck
Reality cannot bear very much of humankind.
Your name?
Ry Shelley.
Press?
Guest. I am a guest of Professor Stein.
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