Friday, April 6, 2012
I SAW YOUR VESSEL RIDING AT ANCHOR...
Here's your page of the week. This illustration reflects the fantastical and timeless style that I am bringing to the book in a way that no other telling of Frankenstein has been done. Known to those familiar with the tale of Frankenstein (yet not addressed in my blog yet) is the explorer Walton and his crew whose story of obsession parallels that of Victor's. The two meet in the beginning of the book when Walton discovers Victor weak and on the verge of death in the far uncharted north. Walton's ship is embedded in ice and the crew's life is endangered if they press one. This is a choice that their Captain Walton has to make.
The ship in my story, like all the other forms of transportation in this world, is covered in rivets and rusty metal. Exhaust pipes, indicating a fantastical and unfamiliar origin of power, jut out from all around. The main cabin is illuminated with the same bright green as the fluid that sparks Victor's creations to life, mirroring the two obsessions and their similar fate...DEATH.
The text for this page is as follows:
In this manner many appalling hours passed; several of my dogs died; and I myself was about to sink under the accumulation of distress, when I saw your vessel riding at anchor, and holding forth to me hopes of succour and life. I had no conception that vessels ever came so far north, and was astounded at the sight. I quickly destroyed part of my sledge to construct oars; and by these means was enabled, with infinite fatigue, to move my ice-raft in the direction of your ship. I had determined, if you were going southward, still to trust myself to the mercy of the seas, rather than abandon my purpose. I hoped to induce you to grant me a boat with which I could still pursue my enemy. But your direction was northward. You took me on board when my vigour was exhausted, and I should soon have sunk under my multiplied hardships into a death, which I still dread, - for my task is unfulfilled.
Oh! when will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the demon, allow me the rest I so much desire; or must I die, and he yet live? If I do, Walton, satisfy my vengeance in his death. When I am dead, if he should appear, swear that he shall not live - swear that he shall not triumph over my accumulated woes, and live to make another such a wretch as I am. He is eloquent and persuasive; and once his words had even power over my heart: but trust him not. His soul is as hellish as his form.