Thank you! It’s been more than 10 years since, but 10th grade me struggled HARD to get through Frankenstein (it was a summer read for my English class), for pretty much the exact reasons you’ve listed out. The doctor is just such a whiny little bitch, I despised every moment spent with the character and was incredibly relieved when the monster finally put the little shit out of his misery (and by extension put an end to my suffering).
The part of my brain subjected to entirely too many English literature studies gets it: the notion of being so caught up in if something is possible you don’t stop to think about the repercussions is super transcendent of time. Like, I keep thinking about Oppenheimer and the other scientists of the Manhattan project, so I can absolutely see how it would be a horror story from Shelly’s time. At the same time, the rest of my brain can’t get past the doctor being incapable of learning any lessons at all.
I’m drawing from some pretty old memories, but from what I recall, Edgar Allen Poe is a bit overly descriptive like that sometimes, which makes me think the wordiness is part of the writing style for the time. It almost reads like the author is trying to do the “paint a picture” thing, which makes logical sense for the genre, a bit like a literary jump scare: paint a pretty picture, so that the spooky stuff is even more scary by comparison. I think my problem is that I tend to get bored with all the overly flowery writing and my brain wanders off (especially because Shelly likes to reference a bunch of geographic scenery that I don’t really have the personal context to draw up a mental picture for).
That does make me wonder if a version of the book in a more modern writing style would be more palatable.