Penguin Classics: New York, 2003; originally published in 1818. Before I begin this review, I want you to think of everything you think you know about Frankenstein. What comes to mind even when I think of Frankenstein is the classic depiction from the old horror movies. The insane doctor with a German accent screaming, “It’s alive!” as lightning lights up the sky and magically brings his new friend to life. A hideous monster who speaks in broken English. In the book, none of that happened. The lightning thing never happened; Victor never said, “It’s alive!”; and the monster was, according to Victor, quite attractive (with the exception of his somewhat unsettling eyes, but I’ll get to that later). Rather than the science fiction horror story of the silver screen, the original book was actually a profound and grim commentary on the dangers of unethical science. The novel, written by Mary Shelley in 1818, opens with Captain Robert Walton aboard a ship drifting through the North Pole. He spots none other than Victor Frankenstein, stranded on the ice and looking very displeased indeed. He takes Victor on board and, naturally, wants some context as to why this scientist is stranded in the middle of the North Pole. Victor launches into an exhaustive life story told in excruciating detail from the very beginning. Victor, born in Italy to a German family and raised in Geneva, Switzerland, is a brilliant scientist who grew up reading the works of outdated alchemists and scientists. This motivates him to get a real education and pursue science as a career. This whole bit bored me to tears, and I’m sure it will do the same for you, so I’m going to skip on to the juicy part: Fast forward to years later. Victor has dropped out of college (no, he was not a doctor, not even close) and decided that he’s going to go dig up some graves, stitch some body parts together, and bring his new creation to life. Grave robbing and playing god. Classic midlife crisis. To someone like Victor, this is a completely normal thought process. Victor does indeed bring this creation to life, though it’s never said how (screenwriters had to make up the lightning thing all on their own). He also never says, “It’s alive!” His reaction is more of an “Oh, cool.” Contrary to the classic Hollywood nightmare, said monster is actually very beautiful. The monster’s only fault is that he has terrifying eyes. Victor is, in fact, so afraid of the monster’s eyes that he declares the experiment a failure, ditches the monster, and leaves the monster to his own devices. Deadbeat dad of the century right there. The monster wanders out into the world, curious and kind and eager to learn. The monster soon finds out, however, that people are afraid of him. He is naturally confused and scared and runs into the forests of the Swiss Alps. There he is lost, wandering around and discovering the world for the first time, given that he’s basically a giant baby. The monster learns to speak by listening in on a rural family in the Alps. He begins to understand that all his misfortunes are caused by Victor, the one person who was supposed to take care of him. From there, the monster decides to seek revenge on his creator. I won’t spoil the rest! Victor, out of arrogance and disregard for anyone but himself, brought the monster to life without regard for the consequences of his actions. When this backfired, instead of accepting responsibility for his mistake and either killing the monster or raising him properly, he hightails it out of Switzerland and leaves the monster to fend for itself rather than face what he has done. Victor isn’t a mad scientist, nor is he a hero. He is someone whose life fell into ruin because he only thought about himself; he let his ego dictate his work. To all the people who say “Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster”—in this story, there are two monsters. And one of them is indeed named Frankenstein. Valentine Wulf, 13Seattle, WA
July/August 2019
A Little Princess
Harper Classics: New York, 1998; originally published in 1905. I consider myself privileged. I have a wonderful family, live in a big house in the suburbs, and I go to a highly-ranked school. My family really cares about me. I have a great life with wonderful opportunities and perform well in school and in the extracurricular activities I participate in. I am most likely a child who is awfully spoiled. Although I can see it so clearly now, there was once a time that I thought I did not have a very good life. There was always someone who had something better than me. So what if I had a cookie in my lunch? Someone else had two cookies, and obviously, two cookies were undoubtedly superior to one cookie. I was a disagreeable young girl and coveted more than I had. I didn’t see how lucky I truly was. Now I know that it was an amazing miracle that my little first-grade self plucked A Little Princess from the shelf one bitterly cold winter morning. As I studied the book cover for the very first time, I was captivated by the girl my age in a rosy pink frock on the cover. A book about someone my age? I excitedly pondered in my head. I saw the title, A Little Princess, printed on the cover in a cursive font I admired. A girl my age who was a princess? This is going to be a good book! I had no idea how true that statement would turn out to be. When I started reading the book that very weekend, I was treated to descriptions of smoggy, turn-of-the-century London. This was where rich, clever Sara Crewe went to a dignified yet stingy old boarding school. Sara was no ordinary girl, though. She was undoubtedly kind. Instead of being friends with the popular mean girls, she sparked friendships with the misfit students and younger girls. She was also a star student, yet she didn’t brag about her cleverness to her peers. She was truly a lovely little girl. I immediately found distinct similarities between Sara and me. We both had an intriguing look, that was different yet pretty. We were both very clever and deemed “smart” by our teachers and peers. But as I read on, I found so much more in this book. As I traveled through heartbreak, hardships, and cruelty with Sara as my companion, I uncovered a true secret of life. As she was abused, starved, and cruelly mistreated, Sara was still gracious. She was tenderly chivalrous to all those she crossed paths with, even when they greeted her by barking orders at her, even as she labored over difficult work. Seeing this, I had a sudden epiphany. I stopped reading all at once and thought long and hard. If Sara could be magnanimous in a time of great trial, shouldn’t I be even more so when I had so much more to be gracious about? Couldn’t I give so much more to those in greater need than I was? I had the power to be gracious and kind. That was when I decided to use it. A Little Princess taught me to be a friend. It also taught me to be kind and grateful. I never neglect to say “please” or “thank you,” because I know, though small, those simple words can be extremely powerful. You know you’ve found a great book when it transforms your thought process. Now I know how lucky I was to find a little princess on the shelf that fateful Monday morning. Ava Horton, 13 Gresham, OR
This is Just to Say
“This is Just to Say” by William Carlos Williams, from THE COLLECTED POEMS: VOLUME I, 1909-1939, ©1938 by New Directions Publishing Corp. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp. New Directions: New York, 1991; originally published in 1934. “This is Just to Say” is a wonderful and detailed imagist poem by William Carlos Williams. After it was published in 1934, it became one of Williams’s most popular poems. With only 28 words and no continuous rhyme scheme, no meter, and no punctuation, “This Is Just to Say” captures an innocent apology for eating “the plums that were in the icebox,” and yet it could mean much more. While many believe that the poem was a note written by Williams to his wife after indeed eating the plums that were in the icebox, others believe that the poem could represent a premature death of a loved one. The plums, while once here and being saved for breakfast, have now been eaten and no longer, well, exist. They are gone. This poem has been interpreted by many, and not one interpretation has been agreed upon. That is part of the beauty of this poem: it is an experience for each reader alone. One reader may see the poem as nothing more than an apology, and another could find another meaning within. The two might never agree, but for each, the meaning of the poem is theirs. That is the way in which we can all connect with this, or any, poem; it can be ours. The speaker of the poem (either Williams or simply a fictional narrator), who is also responsible for eating the plums, explains the simple reasons for their temptation and ultimate consumption of the plums despite the fact they were (probably) being saved for breakfast. This tells us how much the writer wanted the plums, and how could we blame him? Many people would probably have done the same had they been faced with choosing between eating cold plums now versus allowing them to be saved for later. Nevertheless, the narrator asks for forgiveness. We can wonder what kind of guilt the plums have finally brought the narrator and hope that it was not too much. This poem allows us to connect with the narrator in hopes that he has not come to regret happily eating the sweet plums. This poem, while lacking length, holds much more. It holds a strong connection with the imagination. With only the words “they were delicious / so sweet / and so cold,” we are able to picture and feel the plums Williams so simply and yet vividly describes. We can picture the plums, the icebox, the note. This short poem has a neverending ability to inspire the pictures that we can create in our minds. Williams’s considerate apology is everyone’s place for imagination. Not only does this poem inspire imagination, but it inspires our senses. “Delicious,” “sweet,” and “cold” are all we need to feel the plums. The word “delicious” fills the mouth, much like plums and the word “plum” itself. Speaking the word “delicious” takes everything of the speaking mouth which is overwhelmed by the dynamic spectrum of movement the word requires. Eating plums requires much maneuvering of the mouth as well. Slowing the quick push intended to work through the skin is the first task, and carefully working around the pit is next. Speaking the word “delicious” takes a similar effort. We move through the “d” to immediately slow to prepare for the climactic “-licious” that we move through with great care. Now, I am not saying that Williams deliberately picked the word “delicious” because speaking it is similar to eating a plum (instead of picking the word because it is one of the more impactful ways of saying that something tastes good), but I can suggest that it certainly inspires the senses and helps the feeling of eating plums reach the reader. “This is Just to Say” is a great poem—especially as far as poems with fewer than 30 words go! Twyla Coburn, 13Portland, OR
