"We're creating a Frankenstein."
Recently, I heard someone I presume is well-read say this.
I guess popular culture has led us to believe that there's nothing wrong with the sentence.
Except that there is.
Victor Frankenstein is the protagonist who creates the monster.
The monster itself remains nameless (and much despised by his creator).
"It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open, it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs."
Mary Shelley, wife of the famous English poet Percy Shelley, wrote Frankenstein in 1818.
And even though it's regarded as one of the earliest works of science fiction, Shelley never writes about the 'science' of bringing something to life, which, obviously, was the smart thing to do.
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