Story Frankenstein's monster was the original incel

[TURBO]

"You must create a female for me with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone can do, and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to concede."


" What I ask of is reasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of another sex, but as hideous as myself; the gratification is small, but it is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be harmless, and free from the misery I now feel. Oh! my creator, make me happy; let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit! Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some existing thing; do not deny me my request!"


https://boutell.com/frankenstein/chapter17.html

 

[Soul_Synarchy]

(((Frankenstein)))

 

[TheWitchKing]

"You must create a female for me with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone can do, and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to concede."


" What I ask of is reasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of another sex, but as hideous as myself; the gratification is small, but it is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be harmless, and free from the misery I now feel. Oh! my creator, make me happy; let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit! Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some existing thing; do not deny me my request!"


https://boutell.com/frankenstein/chapter17.html

I quite enjoyed Shelley's tale, just as I imagine many of the men here have as well. It's a difficult thing to grow up unable to relate to any of the fictional characters in the books you've read. The heroes were always too attractive, there was always some love interest pursued and eventually won. With Frankenstein's monster, I could at long last identify with a story's protagonist.

Strange though it may seem to suggest at first blush, Frankenstein's misbegotten creation was the actual hero of the story. Dragged into the world from what had once been peaceful oblivion by an incompetent creator, the monster was subsequently abandoned by a man who wanted to play at being a god and Nature followed suit, turning Her face from the abomination and leaving it to languish and die alone in the wilderness. Yet the monster fought back, pursued his Creator and demanded the wicked little god who gave him life to right the wrongs he had inflicted. And when Frankenstein balked at providing the monster a mate, something the Creature had every right to demand from the careless man who had given him birth, the Creature exacted his revenge.

Much of fiction serves the purpose of wish-fulfillment; it allows us to dream with our eyes still wide open. However, there are limits to even what dreams are able to provide and no truly revolting thing can ever dream of being loved. The mind of the monster rebels at the thought, rejecting it as a prospect too absurd and impossible even for Dreamland. In lieu of love, of warmth, the disgusting ghoul dreams of revenge. What ugly man hasn't fantasized about being able to drag God down from His Heaven, fingers around the deity's throat, and forcing the Creator to account for the misery of His creation as he choked words of atonement from the god's lips? What abomination wouldn't take a bit of wicked joy in hunting down indifferent Mother Nature, that vicious witch that had indiscriminately cursed him to be hideous while blessing so many others with beauty, and hanging her from the branches of the Tree of Life? The sign and seal of the lost and left behind is that it's infinitely easier to imagine murdering the Creator than believing, even in the throes of his most delirious vision, that another creation could ever regard him as beautiful.

When all is said and done, "Frankenstein" is still nothing more than a story book, a nightmare for men and a guilty dream for monsters. Like all fairy tales, there's a bit of truth at the heart of it. Like the doctor's creature, we abominations will die empty and frozen fast at the edge of the world. Too cold to decay, our ugliness will remain an affront against Nature long after our spirits have been extinguished. The difference is that the creator who drove us into the wasteland won't be courteous enough to perish alongside of us. We'll die just as we lived: forgotten by God, rejected by Nature, and offering both curses and prayers to gods who couldn't hear us even if they wanted to.

 

[tehgymcel420]

There are Egyptians females that look as ugly as I do, but they all chase Chad. If Dr. Frankenstein had created the female monster she would probably run after Chad too.

 

[Kent]

Frankenstein's monster was the original incel

Legit observation boyo.

 

[tehgymcel420]

Legit observation boyo.

If females don't react like this when they see you, you're a fakecel.

 

[mikepence]

Great book for incels. I've never related to a literary character more. Unbelievable that a foid could write that.

 

[Mainländer]

(((Frankenstein)))

Lost it.

 

[TG-25]

I quite enjoyed Shelley's tale, just as I imagine many of the men here have as well. It's a difficult thing to grow up unable to relate to any of the fictional characters in the books you've read. The heroes were always too attractive, there was always some love interest pursued and eventually won. With Frankenstein's monster, I could at long last identify with a story's protagonist.

Strange though it may seem to suggest at first blush, Frankenstein's misbegotten creation was the actual hero of the story. Dragged into the world from what had once been peaceful oblivion by an incompetent creator, the monster was subsequently abandoned by a man who wanted to play at being a god and Nature followed suit, turning Her face from the abomination and leaving it to languish and die alone in the wilderness. Yet the monster fought back, pursued his Creator and demanded the wicked little god who gave him life to right the wrongs he had inflicted. And when Frankenstein balked at providing the monster a mate, something the Creature had every right to demand from the careless man who had given him birth, the Creature exacted his revenge.

Much of fiction serves the purpose of wish-fulfillment; it allows us to dream with our eyes still wide open. However, there are limits to even what dreams are able to provide and no truly revolting thing can ever dream of being loved. The mind of the monster rebels at the thought, rejecting it as a prospect too absurd and impossible even for Dreamland. In lieu of love, of warmth, the disgusting ghoul dreams of revenge. What ugly man hasn't fantasized about being able to drag God down from His Heaven, fingers around the deity's throat, and forcing the Creator to account for the misery of His creation as he choked words of atonement from the god's lips? What abomination wouldn't take a bit of wicked joy in hunting down indifferent Mother Nature, that vicious witch that had indiscriminately cursed him to be hideous while blessing so many others with beauty, and hanging her from the branches of the Tree of Life? The sign and seal of the lost and left behind is that it's infinitely easier to imagine murdering the Creator than believing, even in the throes of his most delirious vision, that another creation could ever regard him as beautiful.

When all is said and done, "Frankenstein" is still nothing more than a story book, a nightmare for men and a guilty dream for monsters. Like all fairy tales, there's a bit of truth at the heart of it. Like the doctor's creature, we abominations will die empty and frozen fast at the edge of the world. Too cold to decay, our ugliness will remain an affront against Nature long after our spirits have been extinguished. The difference is that the creator who drove us into the wasteland won't be courteous enough to perish alongside of us. We'll die just as we lived: forgotten by God, rejected by Nature, and offering both curses and prayers to gods who couldn't hear us even if they wanted to.

200 IQ post... god

 

[Grapefruit]

Honest to god, that book got to me on a deeper level than anything else I've ever read. This was before I'd even found the incel community and it made me almost kill myself. I, and I suppose we, am/are the monster, doomed to be separate for no reason other than the biases of others.