Review: Frankenstein in Bath

Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein whilst living in Bath, although there is little there to celebrate the city’s association with the author or her novel. To commemorate the 200th anniversary of the book’s publication, Bristol’s Show of Strength have produced an “atmospheric, theatrical walking tour” that seeks to compensate for the modesty of Bath’s civic pride as birthplace of Victor and his tragic wretch as well as, through them, such a central member of the English literary canon.

Bath’s largely intact architectural heritage means that it is not so difficult to imagine the streets as they were during Shelley’s time, when the spa town had become a fashionable destination for the leisured classes. And her life story is an interesting tale in itself, punctuated by periods of extreme difficulty and loss; perhaps enough, our tour guide suggested, to provoke aspirations of the power of resurrection – as well as macabre concerns about the repercussions of its use. 

As becomes clear during the tour, Shelley’s suffering often resulted from the actions of men. Though in England she was sheltered from the political maelstrom affecting the continent, she was not shielded from the behaviour of the caddish hedonists whose selfish behaviour was permitted by their landed status and, in their mind, excused by their revolutionary ideals. And indeed, this production is most effective when using Bath’s backdrop to evoke the dynamics of the age (gender, familial, literary), as well as the experiences of Shelley herself and the potential influence these forces had on the creation of Frankenstein in particular.

The performance is rotated between three actors: for our visit the well-cast Annette Chown convincingly conveyed the mannerisms and language of the era. Her period hair and costume certainly helped set the scene nicely – save for the charmingly incongruous bum bag in which she carried the night’s takings and the A4 ring binder from which she took her cues.

Nevertheless, crafting a compelling narrative about Shelley, Frankenstein and Bath so specifically is a difficult undertaking, and Chown’s task was not easy, particularly in engaging a tour party that clearly expected a more explicit focus on the contents of the book itself rather than events surrounding its creation.

They complained that they couldn’t keep up with who was pregnant, who was dead and where we were now in relation to where they’d parked their cars and, while a glimpse of the monster himself might have been unreasonable, there wasn’t enough of a story to compensate for the mismatched expectations that the format had given them; merely a collection of interesting episodes that we heard about at various picturesque stopping points around the city centre. As well as part-performance, part-walking tour, the spectacle was also part-magazine article, combining historic incidents with direct quotations and a not insignificant amount of speculation, all read aloud.

Today’s Bath is no less a pleasant place for an evening constitutional than it was in Shelley’s time. And the cause of creating a greater understanding of Bath’s status as Frankenstein’s birthplace is a worthy one. If you’re in town and a Gothic aficionado or otherwise literary minded, it’s not a bad way to spend 75 minutes: but if you do go, beware. The true horror of the tale lies in its final few sentences: a joke so bad that it had me running to Bath Spa station nearly screaming, desperate to be soothed by the good-humoured embrace of Bristol and awoken by the decaying brutalist environs of Temple Meads.

Frankenstein in Bath continues until Sept 30. For more info and to book tickets, visit www.showofstrength.org.uk