The story of Victor Frankenstein, his obsession to create life, his regret, anguish and then eventual descent into bitter wretchedness.
What seemed strange to me on reading this book is that Victor is so loved by his friends and family, thought so highly of by most people he meets, is that he comes across as so self-obsessed and thoroughly unlikeable to the reader. I found it very hard to sympathise with this character attall, mainly because the calamaties that befall him are generally of his own making.
I suspect that the author intended that the balance of sympathy between Victor and the beast might be more even than it felt to me. That it might shift from one to the other throughout the story. But for me, right from the moment that he so carelessly abandoned his creation to the moment on his death bed when he looked back at his life only to re-affirm he made the right choices, I could not sympathise with him attall. If it had been more as I believe the author intended, then I would have enjoyed this story a lot more.
Still, it is a good book but be warned that the reader is wallowing in misery from start to finish.