Shelley’s writing is beautifully composed and evocative.
I almost wouldn’t call ‘Frankenstein’ a horror if it was published today. It doesn’t terrify you, but slowly builds a sense of dread that comes with sympathy as a tabula rasa is slowly bent towards murder and hate. We never get a good idea of why Frankenstein hates his daemon, other than the way he looks - although perhaps that explains the ‘gay’ theories.
My horror was not for the people he killed, or for Frankenstein pursued, but for this poor creature coming to grips with a world in which he is hated indiscriminately. Like the daemon, we have no choice in being brought into the world, but to imagine a world in which we are reviled, rather than loved unconditionally on birth is terrifying.