What parallels exist between 'Frankenstein' and modern sci-fi narratives?

In 'Frankenstein,' both characters, Victor and Walton, share a strong thirst for knowledge and uncharted territories. They're like moth to a flame, drawn to their specific passions—Victor's obsession with creating life, and Walton's determination to reach the North Pole. Despite their divergent aspirations, they embody the Romantic ideal of reaching for the unknown. They're both isolated by their endeavors, pushing away relationships for their pursuits. Lastly, they both learn the bitter truth: some knowledge and goals may come at a high price, exacting a heavy personal and emotional toll.

The universe of 'Star Wars' is a galaxy far, far away, filled with thousands of star systems. As a big fan, I can tell you that our planet Earth isn't a part of this galaxy. It's a fascinating fictional universe, where humans are a large and diverse species, but the concept of 'Earth' doesn't apply in the 'Star Wars' universe. It's a great escape from our real world, and I like to think it adds a touch of mystery and otherworldliness to the franchise.

If we're talking about fiction, there's Scrooge McDuck from 'DuckTales' swimming in a vault of gold coins. However, in the real world, trillionaires don't exist yet. Sure, we have billionaires like Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk, but they're far away from hitting the trillion-mark. The global economy itself hasn't produced a trillionaire, but who knows what the future holds?

Victor's guilt in 'Frankenstein' acts like a corrosive acid, eating away at his sanity. From the moment the Creature opens its eyes, Victor’s horror isn’t just at his creation—it’s self-disgust for violating natural order. His guilt isn’t passive; it’s a motivator. He destroys the female monster out of fear of repeating his mistake, dooming himself to the Creature’s vengeance. Every death—William, Justine, Elizabeth—feels like a personal indictment. His flight to the Arctic isn’t just pursuit—it’s a subconscious death wish, a need to escape the psychological prison he built. Shelley shows guilt as a paradox: the more he runs, the tighter it grips him, transforming a once-curious scientist into a hollow shell of paranoia.

Isolation in 'Frankenstein' is a double-edged sword. Victor isolates himself to create the Creature, but this seclusion warps his mind, making him obsessive and detached from humanity. The Creature, abandoned and alone, becomes a mirror of Victor’s neglect. His isolation breeds rage and a desperate need for connection, which society denies him. Both characters spiral into destruction—Victor through guilt, the Creature through vengeance. Shelley shows how isolation fractures identity and fuels despair.

Reading 'Animal Farm' feels like flipping through a history book on Stalin’s USSR, but with animals. Napoleon’s rise mirrors Stalin’s cunning takeover—both used propaganda and fear to control. The pigs rewriting the commandments? That’s Stalin twisting Marxist ideals to suit his agenda. Boxer’s blind loyalty reflects the exploited working class, and the purges? Think Snowball’s exile as Trotsky’s fate. Orwell’s genius lies in how he turns a farm into a microcosm of totalitarianism.

In 'Frankenstein', familial bonds are both a source of strength and destruction. Victor’s obsession with creating life stems from his deep love for his family, especially his mother. Yet, his ambition blinds him to the consequences, leading to the Creature’s abandonment. The Creature, desperate for familial connection, seeks acceptance but is rejected at every turn. This cycle of longing and rejection drives both characters to their tragic ends, showing how love can twist into obsession and despair.

I’ve always been fascinated by how 'Dracula' set the blueprint for modern vampire stories. Stoker’s Count is the ultimate predator—charismatic, powerful, and terrifying. Modern novels like 'Interview with the Vampire' or 'The Strain' borrow this duality of allure and horror. But today’s vampires often grapple with humanity, something Dracula rarely did. They’re more introspective, dealing with loneliness and morality, which reflects our modern obsession with inner conflict.