Book Excerpt from Caroline Lea's 'Love, Sex, and Frankenstein'

Caroline Lea, renowned for 'The Glass Woman,' brings to life a captivating retelling of how the young Mary Shelley came to envision her legendary horror tale.

Published by Pegasus, this narrative transports readers to the chilling summer of 1816 at Lake Geneva, where Lord Byron and Percy Shelley are companions to Mary. The setting is electrified with suspense as a young woman discovers the immense power within herself.

Here is a passage from this compelling narrative.

As night approaches, a tinge reminiscent of diluted blood blends with the sky above Lake Geneva. Tiny ash particles drift down over the landscape, mingling into a foggy haze. It creeps through empty streets, winding around the cathedral's spire and past the city's new Protestant church. Inside these sanctuaries, people kneel in supplication, fearing the mysterious cloud as a divine reprimand or a curse upon them.

Similar to previous evenings, the dust drives the townsfolk indoors, seeking refuge in closed homes and places of worship. Outside, the lake reflects the same grim hues of the sky, but no one is present to witness the shimmering ash on the water. Each shimmering speck flickers to life, momentarily gleaming before the silence engulfs it again.

The lake is both cold and profound, its depths unfathomable even to seasoned fishermen and adventurous youths who would, on other nights, compete in plunging dives, testing who could descend the deepest, holding their breath for the longest span.

No observers stand by the rocky shores to see the lake's surface flicker with light akin to the ominous sky. No one sees the shadow beneath the waves shift and stir, a movement mirrored by the lake's gentle embrace.

High above, a faint, veiled crescent moon peers through the cloud cover with an air of detachment. A solitary figure makes his way to the lakeside, hastening into a small fishing vessel tethered to a weathered dock. Glancing nervously around him, he discreetly cuts the rope with a hidden knife, setting the boat adrift. With practiced strokes, he maneuvers the oars, murmurings suppressed in the heavy night mist. There’s an urgency in his movements, hands tense, chest aflame, eyes stinging as if ingesting the mist itself.