actually one of the things that continues to gut me the most about frankenstein is victor constantly asserting that he isnt crazy, that he is not a madman - he literally disrupts the flow of the narrative to do so, in his desperate attempts to be heard - and then he continues to recount a tale where he is constantly plagued by doubt and shame and guilt to the extent that does not tell anyone for fear of not being believed, or being thought of differently. and then these fears are only confirmed and re-affirmed when he attempts to reach out to anyone, and they do exactly that: during his feverish rambles henry believes it was due to his illness, he is imprisoned on the coast of ireland and kept there when his tale sounds like a confession, he is told by his father not to speak of it any longer, when he reaches out for help after elizabeth’s death the magistrate dismisses him. only one person ever sits down and suspends their disbelief and listens to him. robert walton, through the power of gay love—