In Mary Shelley’s gothic creation Frankenstein, the Creature’s learning of language is described as something sublime: “[he]… perceived that the words they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the minds and countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a godlike science” (Shelley, 1818/2000, p. 103). In terms of linguistic development, the Creature’s learning that occurs from simply watching and listening to the day-to-day lives of a family of French exiles through a hole in the wall is quite naïve; there is no interaction between the Creature and the family, Shelley presumably conceiving him as a blank slate. Over time, the Creature realises an association between the signs in the books read by the exiles and speech, a tacit acknowledgement of the arbitrary link between word symbols and the nature of the sounds when spoken. The Creature does not explain exactly how he was able to learn what he calls the ‘science of letters’; his focus is on describing how learning to read “opened before me a wide field of wonder and delight” (p. 108). The affective impact of understanding language underlines the tragedy of the Creature: now that his mind has been ‘opened’ by language, he begins to wonder about the world and himself. In a Cartesian sense, the Creature thinks himself into existence as he grapples with his own identity through language: “the words induced me to turn towards myself … And what was I?” (p. 108). Language has provided thought, identity, and therefore existence.