When reading A Critical History of The Scarlet Letter, what struck me was the discussion the novel’s state as a moral tale, how early Christian interpretations claimed that The Scarlet Letter “was actually a morally instructive, even puritanical, work that warned against the pitfalls of sensuality in general and adulterous misdeeds in particular” (274). In regards to this stance, I sided with the minority (James and Duyckink) who dismiss this claim of immorality. Accepting this puts fourth the relativity of morality and how perspective can affect what is viewed as right and wrong. From the Christian lens, devotion and commitment are values held highly, while James argues that the book is “highly moral in character” (276). This morality holds truth in love higher.

Relativity in moral character becomes even more important in the new formalist criticism and feminist criticism. With criticism came analysis of Hawthorne’s use of symbols to convey morality, with Pearl being utilized for this purpose. By using this character, it was shown that that “humanity, not nature, is the source of the morality” (280). And this strengthens the argument that morality is relative to specific persons.  Each lens of criticism seems to view the different ways in which morality is expressed and explored in the novel, which can even be seen in the clash between Hester and the Puritans. Right and wrong and be relative, and for society, that can be a dangerous notion.

Murphy’s project involves the vivisection debate of the late ninetieth century. She examines the complexities of the debate and how it became a vehicle to drive moral insurrections occurring at the time. This moment of cultural confusion became even more complex when the state was called in to deliberate on this moral conundrum. Murphy looks at how this debate centered around what it means to be human and how vivisection is both harmful and helpful in establishing this.

To forward her analysis, I would look more closely at the view of science and how it was attributed to the academic and economic elite, and therefore can be attributed to cruelty. I believe that many of the anti-vivisectionists were comparing the cruelty the elite expelled upon animals to that expelled upon the working class. It may also be helpful to examine the contradiction that is apparent when taking into account how vivisection is meant to explore what it means to be human, but also, while pursuing this venture, vivisection is inhumane. I would play devil’s advocate and wonder how we can know what is human if we deny pursuits to do so, arguing inhumanity when it cannot be accurately defined. In all fairness, it could be said that the antivivisection movement is as much as an attack on the scientific community as it is a playpen for moral debate.

I would also like to highlight the notion of dehumanization and how being human is attributed to moral actions, with Murphy saying “antivivi- sectionists would argue that the practice of vivisection dehumanized those who engaged in it” (373). But again, this goes against what vivisectionist are trying to attain. They wish to discover what it means to be human, while antagonists of this notion believe that this is already common knowledge.

In light of the Annotation Assignment, I would like to first explain what I understood from Otis’s essay. She believes that the works produced by Collins and Wells are akin to tools used to “retry” David Ferrier, a famous physiologist who utilized vivisection in his research. In 1881, he was put on trial for the misuse of two primate in his experiments. Both Collins and Wells wrote novels in opposition with Ferrier (in Well’s case, more indifference), and Otis shows how they went about this.

I would say the part of the paper that I connected to most was when Otis stated that “[a]lmost no one has ever thought that Heart and Science is a good novel. Valerie Pedlar, who has also pointed to Ferrer’s work as a source, has pronounced it ‘an unashamed piece of polemic cast in fictional form.’ As the preface indicates, it was written to prove a point rather than to tell a story” (37). I found this line to be hysterical and maybe unfair, and I would ask Otis who is on trial here. I also enjoyed when Otis recounts Benjulia’s remark that he does not care for dogs because they bark, as if they would save him from being labeled a vivisectionist.

For a question, I suppose I would ask Otis why she chose to compare Heart and Science to The Island of Dr. Moreau. It seemed to me that both were anti-vivisection propaganda, with the former being more extreme than the later. Wouldn’t it be more beneficial to find a piece of literature that is pro-vivisection, to show the other side of the trial rather than persecute Ferrier further?

And I would challenge Otis when she says that the two novels used “offer critiques of science far more complex and insightful than those of Ferrier’s prosecutors” (28). I believe that the works are more complex given that they are presenting a theme from a speculative place, presenting a possible world where vivisection goes unchecked, but the arguments made against Ferrier and vivisection that Otis gives are just as insightful and complex. They simply come in a different form.

Lastly, I admired how Otis presented the paper. It allowed a reader unknowing of Ferrier, his trial, vivisection, or the literature to follow to understand why there was vivisection, what the possible good was, what the concrete bad was, who was in opposition, and what the results of the opposition came to be.

Smith, in his introduction, talks about the more popular lens in which Shelly’s novel is viewed: feminist, communist, religious, and so one. Smith, though, does ground these examples in their relevance to Shelley’s experience and the events that took place when she wrote Frankenstein, Smith talking of her “immersion in the ideas about education, society and morality professed by her father, Godwin, and her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft; but also Humphry Davis on chemistry, Erasmus Darwin on biology” (547). Smith establishes that the themes prominent in Frankenstein are rooted in response to Shelley’s reality. This leads into a conversation concerning racism and slavery.

Smith gives multiple instances in which he adds a racial discourse to some discussions that have already taken place. When looking at Frankenstein as a response to Paradise Lost, Smith points out that the monster is referred to as a Calib, or “natural man” (550), as if he were a native of the free world. In addition, Smith talks of the creature’s yellow skin and how this is a reference to those living in the Far East.

Smith also believes that the monster’s learning of language is not indicative of a birth myth, but is rather an example of how natives had to learn the language of their occupiers during colonialism. In conjunction with this, the creature does not know his age, much like some of the natives during the post-colonial period.

What I find most interesting is the discussion pertaining to the monster’s lust for a companion, specifically a female one. Smith said that this mirrors the experience of natives and slaves who were repressed sexuality due to fear that they would bring harm to white women, with the intensifying of “Elizabeth Saxon’s features as the flower of white girlhood” (560).

As a senior English major in college, on the precipice of receiving my degree, I contend that I am perhaps more haunted by the novel Frankenstein than Frankenstein is by his monster. My history with the piece of literature and the cultural phenomenon surrounding it originated from watching the 1931 Frankenstein movie with my cult-classic-loving uncle when I was eight. I took the film at face value and I didn’t dive deeper, comparing it to the other monster movies I had seen. It wasn’t until high school that I read the novel by Mary Shelley and since coming to UNE, I have read it three more times.

After reading the Critical History by Smith, I found connection almost immediately. Every discussion I’ve ever participated in involving Frankenstein has focused on morality and ponders who is the true villain: Frankenstein or his monster? I was surprised to read that Percy claimed that there was no physical foe, but rather the enemy is human nature. The mass disagreement felt familiar. The discussion that I’ve participated in have almost always ended with Frankenstein being blamed as the evil one, the creator of a monster by giving him life and then subsequently abandoning him. And I believe that is where I place myself within the critical history, mostly because that is where I have been led. My placement here is supported by the use of Frankenstein in education, where the apparent moral ambiguity has become ground for classroom discussion.

Outside of my classroom, due to my other interests, I have found footing in the idea of Frankenstein being a Romantic tale. Much of my education has involved the study and analysis of the Romantic movement and its pursuit of reason and science, a reaction to the Enlightenment. Shelley provides vivid imagery of nature and the perversion of it, and I found it interesting that this status has been questioned due to Shelley’s unorthodox methods. As a Biology major also, I was intrigued by the analysis of the science within Frankenstein and the questions of what constitutes a human being, the implications of pseudoscience, and the reality and purpose of life.

Upon reflection, I see now why this book was assigned first in this class. The book has been read and critiqued many times and viewed through a multitude of lenses. This text appears to have the ability to used in favor of an argument while at the same time acting as a counterpoint. What that tells me is that throughout this semester, we will be assessing the elasticity of different works. We will establish what they tell us and then argue why they say nothing. I found the Critical History revelatory to something I think I have observed and talked about before, but reading it now prepares me for what is to come.