The popular image of Frankenstein's monster—with green skin and neck bolts—is a far cry from Mary Shelley's original novel. The real story is a complex convergence of cutting-edge science, personal tragedy, and a surprising connection to Scotland.

The novel was born during the infamous "Year Without a Summer" in 1816, when Mary Shelley, then only 18, was trapped indoors with literary figures like Percy Shelley and Lord Byron. Their discussions about the nature of life and experiments in galvanism—using electricity to induce muscle contractions in dead tissue—inspired her waking dream of a creator horrified by his own reanimated creature. This vision was then filtered through immense personal grief, as Shelley began writing amidst the suicides of loved ones and the deaths of her own children.

Scotland plays a dual role in the story. For the young Mary, it was an "eyrie of freedom" that nurtured her imagination. In the novel, however, its remote Orkney Islands become the bleak setting for Victor’s grim work. This tied directly to the era's dark scientific reality: a desperate shortage of cadavers for anatomical schools in Edinburgh and Glasgow led to rampant body-snatching. The novel’s themes felt eerily prescient when, months after its publication, the "Glasgow Experiment" saw a professor use galvanism on a corpse, causing it to horrifically convulse before a live audience.

Initially published anonymously, the book was so powerful that critics like Sir Walter Scott assumed her husband, Percy, was the author. Shelley was forced to politely but firmly correct him in a letter, fighting for recognition as the true creator—a struggle that mirrors her own creature’s plea for acknowledgment from his maker. Ultimately, *Frankenstein* endures not as a simple monster story, but as a profound exploration of creation, responsibility, and the enduring question of who controls the narrative.

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