I can understand Victor Frankenstein’s ambitions and dreams of grandeur. It would be pretty awesome to be remembered for greatness or for improving mankind’s quality of life. I do not think I will do that and this story does intend to inspire people to go out and drive themselves crazy in labor the way Frankenstein did. Instead, it seems to romanticize a practical life full of simple pleasures. The message of Frankenstein’s warning is to forget about any desires of greatness because they could end up backfiring on you. You will die and only be remembered by a handful of relatives briefly before you disappear, completely forgotten by history. I would not loose any sleep over it. Find some wet cement and plop your face in it if you absolutely want to be immortalized. I would not take it any farther though. You might wind up inadvertently killing off all those people near and dear to you.
I think it is a pretty peculiar coincidence that Henry Clerval happens to pop up in Ingoslt unannounced a few hours after the completion of Frankenstein’s toils. It seems like a good way to distract Frankenstein from his troubles but, I would still be haunted by the giant zombie raiding my minifridge while I went to Wafflehouse with my old chum. I would not be able to enjoy my waffles. I would be far too preoccupied.
It seems to me that Frankenstein had just faced his initial fears of his monstrous creation instead of letting it snowball. If I woke up one day and noticed an open sore on my penis I would instantly panic like Frankenstein did at his first glance of the creature. After a day or two of agonizing over the sore festering on my genitals I would have to bite the bullet and realize it was not simply going to work itself out. Training a giant brute with the intellect of a newborn would not be pleasant but neither is the embarrassing doctor visit with all the personal questions. Both Frankenstein and I fucked around with something we should not have meddled with and now have to deal with it. If that scenario had played out he could have a loyal and beloved sidekick when he returned to Geneva. I think sticking around and showing the creature a heartfelt welcome to life would have been Frankenstein’s shot of Penicillin that would clear up all his future wretched blisters. (The analogy about my penis was strictly hypothetical.)