I have a tremendous amount of respect for Mary Shelley. While there are arguments and evidence to state that she was not, ultimately, the original founder of science fiction, there are none who argue that she is not the first to write one natively in English. Further, her novel might be construed as the earliest science fiction work still in print today. The other thing that is rather outstanding about the author is that she was an early feminist. One might not see that in either of her novels. Neither of them feature a prominent or particularly strong, or even important, female character.
The story itself is true to the title, as far as the narrator knows. He is the last man. How this was brought on exactly isn't exactly known. It rises from the defeat of some Muslims in Constantinople. Were they the creators of their own destruction, or did they merely see it coming? They were not the only ones, as the conqueror himself felt the ominous fate breathing at his back. Though, he would not face the plague, he would be crushed by the wreckage caused by an explosion, he thought plague would bring about his end.
How exactly this plague was brought about is an unsolvable mystery. However, there are a few suggestions. When a ship lands on England's shore from America, there were "strange sights ... averred to be seen at night, walking the deck, and hanging on the masts and shrouds." But the next passage which describes the cause has given me a great deal of thought concerning Shelley, and has perhaps damaged my remembrance of her forever when the narrator saw "...a negro half clad, writhing under the agony of disease, while he held me with a convulsive grasp... he wound his naked festering arms round me, his face was close to mine, and his breath, death-laden, entered my vitals." I don't know if these were supposed to be demons or a representation of disease, but obviously it instigates heavy suspicion that Shelley, for all of her good qualities, was a racist. It isn't quite as painful as reading The Deerslayer so recently where racist ramblings were frequent and severe. It's also not absolute, as there might be some other meaning that I cannot penetrate. But, whatever excuse I make for it seems like a thin veil.
Some other things that gave me trouble was the hard romance or romanticism of the novel. The characters are overly good in a way that I find distasteful and boring. Their feelings of pure love were difficult to get through. There were so many pages of them that I had almost set down the book to never return. It wasn't until I read a partial review that I decided to go back to finish what I had started.
There is also this notion of having read about a whole life. This story starts with the narrator as a boy and follows until the year 2100. This, of course, means that the story was set in the not so distant future (though I will probably be extinct myself by the time that number is the calendar of 'now').
It is easy to poke holes through the naiveté of Shelley: there are horses, no machines. There are no cell phones. There are no technologies that one might associate with a science-fiction story. There is only a plague far from Shelley's lifetime.
The plague kills everyone, except for those closest to him. Those two he loses to a storm at sea. Then, he is utterly alone save for a sheep dog.
One noticeable absence is that Shelley fails to consider that in a Europe without men, the populations of predators would rise, and quickly. Bears, boar, and wolves would quickly become major problems to survivors. Though, they are never seen. Even lions would return to Europe if humanity were suddenly gone.
Despite its failings and despite my dislike for some of the sentimentality that became tedious for me, her craftsmanship on this novel is at times quite amazing and by far more masterful than her Frankenstein. As some have said, this novel was 'a forgotten treasure.'
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