Steampunk: Frankenstein PDF Book by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (1818) Download or Read Online
Author: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 1212149 Views | View Chapter List | Add a Review
Steampunk: Frankenstein PDF book by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Read Online or Free Download in ePUB, PDF or MOBI eBooks. Published in 1818 the book become immediate popular and critical acclaim in classics, fiction books.
The main characters of Steampunk: Frankenstein novel are Elizabeth Lavenza, William Frankenstein. The book has been awarded with Booker Prize, Edgar Awards and many others.
One of the Best Works of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. published in multiple languages including English, consists of 304 pages and is available in Hardcover format for offline reading.
Suggested PDF: Frankenstein: The 1818 Text pdf
Steampunk: Frankenstein PDF Details
| Author: | Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley |
| Book Format: | Hardcover |
| Original Title: | Steampunk: Frankenstein |
| Number Of Pages: | 304 pages |
| First Published in: | 1818 |
| Latest Edition: | May 8th 2012 |
| Language: | English |
| Generes: | Classics, Fiction, Horror, Science Fiction, Gothic, Fantasy, Academic, School, Literature, Novels, Literature, 19th Century, |
| Main Characters: | Elizabeth Lavenza, William Frankenstein, Robert Walton, Henry Clerval, Alphonse Frankenstein |
| Formats: | audible mp3, ePUB(Android), kindle, and audiobook. |
The book can be easily translated to readable Russian, English, Hindi, Spanish, Chinese, Bengali, Malaysian, French, Portuguese, Indonesian, German, Arabic, Japanese and many others.
Please note that the characters, names or techniques listed in Steampunk: Frankenstein is a work of fiction and is meant for entertainment purposes only, except for biography and other cases. we do not intend to hurt the sentiments of any community, individual, sect or religion
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Steampunk: Frankenstein Read Online
| # | Chapters |
|---|---|
| 1 | Chapter 1 |
| 2 | Chapter 2 |
| 3 | Chapter 3 |
| 4 | Chapter 4 |
| 5 | Chapter 5 |
| 6 | Chapter 6 |
| 7 | Chapter 7 |
| 8 | Chapter 8 |
| 9 | Chapter 9 |
| 10 | Chapter 10 |
| 11 | Chapter 11 |
| 12 | Chapter 12 |
| 13 | Chapter 13 |
| 14 | Chapter 14 |
| 15 | Chapter 15 |
| 16 | Chapter 16 |
| 17 | Chapter 17 |
| 18 | Chapter 18 |
| 19 | Chapter 19 |
| 20 | Chapter 20 |
| 21 | Chapter 21 |
| 22 | Chapter 22 |
| 23 | Chapter 23 |
| 24 | Chapter 24 |
| 25 | Chapter 25 |
| 26 | Chapter 26 |
| 27 | Chapter 27 |
| 28 | Chapter 28 |
| 29 | Chapter 29 |
| 30 | Chapter 30 |
| 31 | Chapter 31 |
| 32 | Chapter 32 |
| 33 | Chapter 33 |
| 34 | Chapter 34 |
| 35 | Chapter 35 |
| 36 | Chapter 36 |
| 37 | Chapter 37 |
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Author’s Introduction The publishers of the Standard Novels, in selecting Frankenstein for one of their series, expressed a wish that I should furnish them with some account of the origin of the story. I am the more willing to comply, because I shall thus give a general answer to the question, so very frequently asked me—“How I, then a young girl, came to think of and to dilate upon so very hideous an idea?” It is true that I am very averse to bringing myself forward in print; but as my account will only appear as an appendage to a former production, and as it will be confined to such topics as have connexion with my authorship alone, I can scarcely accuse myself of a personal intrusion. It is not singular that, as a daughter of two persons of distinguished literary celebrity, I should very early in life have thought of writing. As a child I scribbled; and my favourite pastime during the hours given me for recreation was to “write stories.” Still, I had a dearer pleasure than this, which was the formation of castles in the air—the indulging in waking dreams—the following up trains of thought, which had for their subject the formation of a succession of imaginary incidents. My dreams were at once more fantastic and agreeable than my writings. In the latter I was a close imitator—rather doing as others had done than putting down the suggestions of my own mind. What I wrote was intended at least for one other eye—my childhood’s companion and friend; but my dreams were all my own; I accounted for them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed—my dearest pleasure when free. I lived principally in the country as a girl, and passed a considerable time in Scotland. I made occasional visits to the more picturesque parts; but my habitual residence was on the blank and dreary northern shores of the Tay, near Dundee. Blank and dreary on retrospection I call them; they were not so to me then. They were the eyry of freedom, and the pleasant region where unheeded I could commune with the creatures of my fancy. I wrote then—but in a most common-place style. It was beneath the trees of the grounds belonging to our house, or on the bleak sides of the woodless mountains near, that my true compositions, the airy flights of my imagination, were born and fostered. I did not make myself the heroine of my tales. Life appeared to me too common-place an affair as regarded myself. I could not figure to myself that romantic woes or wond
