It was surprising to me when I was younger to find out that Frankenstein was written by a woman. I had seen the monster in Halloween movies with a stumbling, block-headed weirdo and it made no sense. The book is much deeper than a simple thriller, and describes the soul of a rejected scientifically-modified entity whose sadness at rejection turns into murderous rage. Even with the emotional insights, it wasn’t a traditional lady’s story.

There is a movie out now on Hulu about the life of the author that colors in the details that led her to write such a tale. Her mother died when she was young—shrouded in scandal, her philosopher father was bad with money remarried a woman she didn’t get along with, and her famous husband was a philanderer.

While grieving the death of her newborn child, she spends a rainy summer with obnoxious poets who drank and challenged each other to a writing contest. The story was her contribution and later had to be published anonymously with her husband’s foreword in order to be initially accepted. She herself had many losses, and so many points of anger.

Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus (full title) is as pertinent as ever because the nature of humanity has not changed even though the science has. While we cannot reanimate patched-up corpses, humans have figured out how to alter plant, animal and human DNA, grow babies in strangers’ bodies, and clone.

Like the grieving author’s protagonist, we often seek extreme solutions out of desperation or pride. The name Prometheus is a reference to the hero of Greek literature that stole fire from the gods and was punished for his conceit. Fire is a blessing in small quantities, but often rages uncontrollably through the western states. We are desperate now for a cure for the current pandemic so genetic shortcuts with vaccines are being taken around the world. Everyone wants to get out of the house and freely interact, but we need to consider the risks of actions based on fear or hubris.