“Cursed, cursed creator! Why do I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extinguish that spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were those of rage and revenge. I could with pleasure have destroyed the cottage and its inhabitants and have glutted myself with their shrieks and misery.
“When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered into the coven; and now, no longer retained by the fear of bright colors, I gave vent to my anguish in fearful howlings to the Master Antichrist. I was like a wild beast that had broken the bonds, destroying the leather restraints that obstructed me and raging through the coven with a vampire like swiftness. Oh! What a gloriously miserable night I passed! The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their branches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a ghost burst forth amidst the universal stillness. All other Satanists, save I, were at rest or in disturbing enjoyment; I, like the arch-fiend I was, bore all hell within me, and finding myself unsympathized with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and destruction around me, curse and damn the trees and the cottages and the people, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin.”
Many people, I find, don’t believe me when I bring up my gothic interests. I don’t know why, you’d think after a few good conversations something like that wouldn’t come as a surprise, but that is neither here nor there.
The point is that I consider myself to be a Goth. Such a harsh but ambiguous term brings to mind a lot of things, I’m sure, and honestly, while many of them are valid for other people elsewhere, what you’re likely thinking of is not the variation of gothicism that I subscribe to. (Today’s version of “goth” is the type that hit its mark in the eighties and onward.)
A Classic Goth, such as myself, has little to no interest in things like leather and studs, platform shoes, unintelligible screaming music or an anarchist’s attitude. Classically, to be gothic means to find interests in things that are elegant and mysterious; in large part, it is enjoying the beauties in life that people have forgotten. And as a large point, classic goths are most certainly and pointedly not Satan-worshippers.
Above I’ve taken a passage from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Volume II Chapter VIII. It was a novel included in the first wave of gothic literature and is a recognizable classic story, regardless of whether one identifies with the culture. I’ve taken liberties with the text, rewriting it in such a way to include incorrect and frankly boring stereotypes surrounding the term “Goth.” Some are more subtle than others, as it is in life, when someone makes a comment or an assumption that is a little off. Then of course there are the bigger issues, dealing with the stereotypes that are more ridiculous and horribly generalizing (those would be the references to Satan; I hope by this point that would be easy to guess).
I would say, however, that while there are some incorrect assumptions about the classic goth culture, sometimes the underlying ambiguity of it all has people confused in their own correctness. Reading the modified passage I am hopeful that, even if not familiar with the text, one would be able to pick out a number of errors; but where do the errors end? Frankenstein itself is quite a dark book, riddled with angst and horror and revenge—just the sort of thing we like. I actually changed very little, honestly. Some of the changes I made are minuscule.
Because the fact of it is that we are dark, and we often brood and spend time in our own heads. We don’t fit in with society, and frankly it’s very near the bottom of the list of priorities. But we are not against society. Stand-off-ish, maybe, but not sinister. Dark, but not evil.
Living as a goth is similar to living as a Mormon, as funny as that sounds. There’s a lot of assumptions, judgements, and oppositions, and one sort of just has to take it all for what it’s worth. People outside looking in will tell you what they think they know about your culture and the purists will get on your case for not doing enough.
It’s a matter of integrity, just like most things are. You can read my passage if you think it’s more fitting, or, like me, you can appreciate the beauty of the original.
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