Mary Shelley on the therapeutic value of language

Papers on Language and Literature, Fall 1994 by Brewer, William D

While the monster fails in his attempt to be recognized by others, or to achieve membership in the linguistic community, Shelley's Mathilda and Ellen-Clarice (a character in her short story "The Mourner") choose to withdraw from the symbolic order, isolating themselves and thus refusing what has been called the "talking cure" (Lacan 46). In a number of her works, Mary Shelly suggests this kind of repression can lead to tragic consequences, an insight confirmed by modern psychology:

The ultimate goal [of reconstructing the trauma story] is to put the story, including its imagery, into words....The therapist should beware of developing a sequestered 'back channel" of communication, reminding the patient that their mutual goal is to bring the story into the room, where it can be spoken and heard. Written communications should be read together. The recitation of facts without the accompanying emotions is a sterile exercise, without therapeutic effect....At each point of the narrative, therefore, the patient must reconstruct not only what happened but also what she felt. The description of emotional states must be as painstakingly detailed as the description of facts. (Herman 177)

As I will show later in this essay, Mathilda and Ellen-Clarice refuse to talk about their traumatic experiences, and the result of this refusal is, in both cases, depression and premature death.

Although these characters leave written records of their sufferings, these are to be read posthumously, and thus have little or no therapeutic effect. Like Lacan and Herman, Mary Shelly recognizes the human need to communicate and is aware of the psychological ramifications of words, whether spoken or unspoken. But, unlike Lacan and Herman, Shelly seems to believe that trauma victims have neither the desire nor the ability to speak to others about their experiences.

Perhaps more than any of Shelley's other characters, Frankenstein's monster realizes the importance of oral communication.(4) His hideous and terrifying appearance inspires fear and hatred in others, but when he overhears cottagers conversing with one another, he learns that relationships can have a linguistic basis: "I found that these people possessed a method of communicating their experience and feelings to one another by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the minds and countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a godlike science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it" (83). He has complete faith in the "godlike" powers of language, which he thinks will create a bond between him and the cottagers: "I formed in my imagination a thousand pictures of presenting myself to them, and their reception of me. I imagined that they would be disgusted, until, by my gentle demeanour and conciliating words, I should first win their favour, and afterwards their love. These thoughts exhilarated me, and led me to apply with fresh ardour to the acquiring the art of language" (85). But language fails to live up to the monster's expectations: although he succeeds in impressing the blind De Lacey, De Lacey's son Felix returns and violently attacks the monster before he can say a word in his own defense. His need to communicate with other intelligent beings remains unsatisfied.