I read this in a weekend so it was a good read but it was not the "Gothic feminist tale" it purported to be, well, not for me anyway. This historical fiction piece was a reimagining of the events leading up to the creation of Frankenstein in 1816, when Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin was with Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, Dr John Polidori and her step-sister Claire Clairmont in a Geneva chateau, waiting out a storm during a year in which the weather in Europe was all sorts of chaotic. This historically infamous weekend birthed not only Shelley's monstrous tale, the first science fiction novel, but also saw the writing of Polidori's The Vampyre, which was a precursor to Dracula decades before Stoker's classic. The potential for this weekend to be full or riotous house parties, sizzling sex and witty repartee is huge - but this book unfortunately didn't take the opportunity to go fully Byronic and hedonistic, which is a shame. Instead, Mary - in history a genius philosopher, feminist author, intellectual giant - is written as a boring, whiny character, spending most of her time bickering with her sister over men (Claire has an interesting real backstory of her own that's worthy of reading), fawning over said men, attracting the attention of those men, and fussing over her child. And not in a good way. For a book that said it was a feminist retelling, I don't know that it would pass the Bechdel test. The version of Mary (future) Shelley in this was uninspired, silly, and unlikeable, to be blunt. In fact, all of them at the villa were intolerable, even poor Doc Polidori who in real life, like the others, has quite a colourful and lovely personality. Byron is the OG literary bad boy, but in this novel he has none of the spark that makes you understand why he was the moment. Percy Bysse Shelley, who was his contemporary and, while not as feted, quite similar to Byron is many ways, comes across as a petulant, whiny posh boy, who again contains none of the personality to encourage everyone to fall in love with him. They were annoying, juvenile, and cringe. Maybe that is more realistic than the romanticised version of this event, but there appeared to be a lack of research present - no bibliography, no acknowledgement of researchers in the thank you pages. And Mary herself, yes, while only 18 in this story, really did not come across as the phenomenon she was. The "feminine rage" was minor. And even the Gothic elements were not wholly immersive. It wasn't spooky or foreboding, even during the stormy bits. It attempted to create atmosphere but when you are writing about the beginning of the genre, you do have big shoes to fill. Look, I am glad I read this, I will pass it on the others I know I'll enjoy it, I would like to read the author's book set in Iceland, but for me, this was not what I was hoping for when reading about the emergence of a Gothic queen who lost her virginity on her mother's grave, and who kept part of her husband's calcified heart in her desk drawer.