The bicentenary of the publication of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein: or the Modern Prometheus has meant a lot of people are re-examining this brilliant work of science fiction. My particular interest is the science fact behind the science fiction. How much real science influenced Mary Shelley? Could a real-life Victor Frankenstein have constructed a creature?
In terms of the technical aspects of building a creature from scraps, many people focus on the collecting of the raw materials and reanimation stages. It’s understandable as there are many great stories about grave-robbers and dissection rooms as well as electrical experiments that were performed on recently executed murderers. But there quite a few stages between digging up dead bodies and reanimating a creature.
The months of tedious and fiddly surgery to bring everything together are often glossed over, but what virtually no one mentions is how difficult it would have been to keep the bits and pieces in a suitable state of preservation while Victor worked on his creation. Making a monster takes time, and bodies rot very quickly.
Preservation of anatomical material was of huge interest when Frankenstein was written, as it is now, though for very different reasons. Today the interest is in preserving organs and tissues suitable for transplant. Some individuals even want to cryogenically freeze their entire body in case future scientists are able to revive them and cure whatever disease caused their original death. In that respect the aims are not so different from what the fictional Victor Frankenstein was attempting two hundred years ago.
At the time Frankenstein is set, the late 18th century, few people were really thinking about organ transplant. Instead, tissue preservation was of concern for anatomy professors who wanted to maintain collections of interesting, unusual or instructive specimens to use as teaching aids for future students.
The aim was to halt the decay process whilst maintaining specimens as close to their original appearance as possible. Several techniques were employed and a lot of improvisation. Flesh was dissolved from bones in macerating tubs to preserve skeletons. Skin and nerves were dried out on huge boards. Macerating tubs were often located well away from other buildings to keep away rats and the worst of the smell. Space in dissecting rooms was limited so at the university in Dublin, for example, drying boards were located on the roof for lack of a better alternative.
To preserve soft tissues, various substances were injected into or used to coat or soak the dissected specimen. The substance in question had to be toxic enough to destroy mould and bacteria that could decompose the sample, but not corrosive or damaging to the tissues of the specimen itself.
Substances such as turpentine, mercury metal and mercury salts (which are even more toxic than the pure element) were all employed stop the decay process in its tracks. Killing off bacteria and mould means that some vital process within them has been stopped; however, many processes that are critical to mould and bacteria are also necessary for humans, making these substances toxic to us.
Working in cramped, poorly ventilated conditions with minimal regard for health and safety, the substances anatomical curators were using day in and day out took a serious toll on their health. Anatomical curators were described as emaciated, prematurely aged and with a hacking cough. More experienced technical staff warned of the dangers of letting new students experiment with highly toxic solutions of mercury salts that could easily prove lethal.
One of the most successful techniques for tissue preservation was bottling in alcohol. The process was more complicated than dunking a specimen in a jar of prosecco and securing a lid, but at least the alcohol was considerably less toxic than some of the alternatives.
Alcohol in high concentrations certainly kills bugs, which is why it is used in hand-gels, but the concentration has to be just right. Too little alcohol and mould can grow. Too much and the alcohol will denature the specimen, giving skin and tissue a corrugated appearance. The optimum level was found to be about the same as in whisky.
In the 18th century the University of Edinburgh handed over twelve gallons of whisky annually to the anatomy museum for the preservation of specimens. Possible not all of those twelve gallons made it into the specimen jars. The nature of the curator’s work – the smell, the problems with vermin and toxic fumes – must have made the odd sip of whisky very tempting. Indeed, more than one curator was dismissed for being drunk on the job.
Shelley described Frankenstein working in a small attic room using candlelight to illuminate his work. Small rooms, toxic vapours, alcohol fumes and naked flames are not a healthy combination. No wonder Shelley wrote the work took such a toll on Frankenstein’s health.
Even if he managed to overcome these hazards, the fictional Frankenstein would have had to considerably adapt many of the techniques that had been developed in the 18th century. The anatomical curators were undoubtedly extremely extremely proficient, to the extent that some examples of their work survive to this day. But these curators were preserving their specimens indefinitely. What none of them were expecting was for their specimens to be incorporated into a creature and reanimated.
Another possibility for preservation is to cool samples, but Shelley was writing long before refrigeration or cryogenics. Even though it was well known that cooling perishable items would keep them fresh for longer, lugging the quantities of ice Frankenstein would have needed to the top of a staircase simply wasn’t practical.
Shelley created a truly brilliant scientist who perhaps had found a method of preservation that enabled all the basic physiological functions to be restarted. Alternatively he may have found a method of reversing the inevitable damage from 18th century preservation techniques. This level of expert knowledge still eludes us today but would be of huge benefit to health and prolonging life.
Current methods of tissue preservation would certainly help those aspiring to be modern day Frankensteins. However, there are still a few technical hurdles to overcome before you can become the proud creator of your own living, breathing creature. Tissue matching, the staggeringly complex surgical techniques needed to assemble everything, as well as the small detail of giving life to your creation are just a few things to consider before you embark on your own DIY monster project.
There are certain ethical considerations too. Shelley’s Frankenstein may have been a brilliant scientist but it was the lack of care he showed his creature that was his ultimate downfall. We can all learn from Frankenstein about the care owed to our fellow creatures.
Katherine Harkup’s latest book Making the Monster: The Science of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is published by Bloomsbury.
