Tales and fantasies: How the supernatural speaks about us.
“Frankenstein” by Mary Shelley and “Wednesday” by Tim Burton
(Originally broadcast on Radio-Canada, “À échelle humaine”, October 25 2025)
The 31st of October is approaching, marking of course the arrival of Halloween — a celebration of Celtic origin that came to Canada with Irish and Scottish immigration. Its original purpose was to ward off evil spirits believed to cross into the world of the living.
To explore what this tradition evokes in us today, this reflection turns to two works that have haunted our imagination for generations: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, first published in 1818, and Wednesday, Tim Burton’s contemporary series inspired by The Addams Family created by Charles Addams in 1938.
As Halloween approaches, we’ll explore what the supernatural reveals about our inner life — from fear and exclusion to the rituals that unite us.
For a complementary perspective, you can also read Fear and the Unconscious and Art and the Psyche.
Why are we so fascinated by the supernatural?
Without going into a sociological or anthropological perspective, we can observe that tales and supernatural stories transcend both cultures and history. So what do we each experience through these stories?
Two iconic works: “Frankenstein” and “Wednesday”
Two extremely successful works whose interpretations and reimaginings have inspired countless productions since their first appearance.
In Frankenstein, Mary Shelley — who was only 19 years old when she created the story — invites us to follow the adventures of Victor Frankenstein. Completely obsessed with the dynamic between life and death, Frankenstein manages to unlock its secret and creates a living being. It is written with great subtlety and intelligence; I highly recommend reading it.
In the series Wednesday, we follow the adventures of Wednesday Addams as she enters Nevermore Academy, a school created specifically for the outcasts.
The psychology of exclusion in Frankenstein and Wednesday
What stands out strongly in both works is that beyond the supernatural form, what is actually central is the question of exclusion. The characters are excluded — and also exclude themselves — from society.
Let’s start with Frankenstein.
In the story, Victor Frankenstein himself, through his obsession, removes himself from society to focus entirely on his creation. But in doing so, he forgets an essential element of what makes something living: bonding with others. This actually echoes our previous reflection on social relationships.
The story speaks, through several characters, about the existential suffering that comes with loneliness — not visible or literal isolation, but an inner sense of disconnection, of not belonging, of not having friends or companions in life. This plunges the characters into nameless distress and deep melancholy.
Frankenstein’s creature justifies his actions by the unspeakable suffering caused by this exclusion. He is a creation without a name, without any bond — rejected even by his own creator — and that is the source of his torment.
Who is the monster ?
That’s the question both Frankenstein and his creature wrestle with. Who is responsible?
Admittedly, I found Victor Frankenstein himself rather unsympathetic as a character, whereas I was deeply moved by one passage in which the creature shares his experience. He has already committed an irreparable and terrible act, yet he speaks about the unbearable distress of never being able to connect with others. Ultimately, since everyone sees him as a monster, he ends up behaving like one.
That passage describes with great precision the psychological dynamics linked to exclusion and abandonment — feelings that can lead to a form of exile. It is worth noting that Mary Shelley herself never really knew her mother, who died only a few days after her birth.
Several scholars have suggested a possible connection between this traumatic loss and the figure of Frankenstein’s creature, who drifts through life thirsting for guidance and love.
Choosing to be apart: Wednesday Addams and the fear of alienation
Wednesday is a character who perceives emotional bonds as a threat to her independence — a risk of alienation. Being similar to others, or blending in, is intolerable to her. And yet, she remains quite surrounded: her family is very present, some teachers act as mentors, and she ultimately comes to experience friendship.
Even with her “outsider” status, she remains part of society.
Even the rejected can reject: when difference becomes exclusion
These works also invite us to consider both sides of difference — how it can frighten and lead to exclusion, but also how exclusion itself can reappear in many forms.
This brings up a deeper question: what do we reject, exactly? What does the monster come to signify?
While preparing this reflection, I learned that the word monster comes from the Latin monstrum, derived from monere — meaning “to warn,” “to indicate,” or “to enlighten.” It was originally used in a religious context to refer to a sign of divine will. Over time, its meaning shifted toward the one we use today — describing someone whose appearance or behaviour deviates from the norm and provokes disgust.
If we move beyond a literal reading, we might ask: what do our monsters — those we have created in stories, books, and films — truly represent for us, their creators?
I invite readers to reflect on what frightens them, disturbs them, or terrifies them. Think of some of the classic monsters of Halloween — zombies, skeletons — figures so often associated with death. And few things frighten human beings more than death and suffering.
Projecting our inner fears onto the monstrous – a psychodynamic view
All of this speaks about our fears connected to death, to murder, to the mutilated body — which is often deeply frightening, even traumatic, for human beings.
Our fears are rooted in what is transgressive or forbidden for humans living in society. There is, therefore, a kind of projection of our internal fears onto entities or creatures that come to embody them for us.
What happens when we dress up as what frightens us?
Costumes often serve many purposes — but one of them is the possibility of reversing roles. If I embody what frightens me, I am no longer necessarily in the position of being afraid, but rather of being the one who inspires fear.
In Wednesday, we can clearly see that these outcasts, these pariahs, hold a certain fascination for us. They are often presented with powers that convey a form of omnipotence — the ability to predict the future, control insects, influence others’ behaviour, or even command the elements such as fire or wind. It’s really the fantasy of absolute power that comes through.
Trick or treat: the child who gets to scare the adult
Beyond the sugary reward, there’s clearly the idea of being able to demand something from the adult — even to threaten or scare them.
It’s a very rare position for a child, who is usually, and rightfully, expected to obey adults and conform to their rules. This night allows everything that is normally forbidden by social norms: to frighten, to take power.
Of course, the power of it lies in the fact that these traditions are socially integrated, and everyone knows it’s a game — we’re pretending. Parents are still watching over where children go; there is a curfew, and rules still apply. Even in a moment of freedom, there are boundaries in place. It’s an inversion of roles that happens symbolically, not literally — and that’s precisely where its strength lies.
Rituals that unite us across generations
The Addams Family embodies this beautifully. We can see the transmission of shared values, of a very specific and recognizable family culture. Whereas Frankenstein’s creature, longs to escape precisely that absence of transmission.
Rituals unite us because they allow us to express what often belongs to the unspeakable. By speaking to our imagination, they help us navigate the existential questions of our lives.
🎧 Listen to the original French segment on Radio-Canada’s À échelle humaine (October 25 2025).
Works discussed: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and Wednesday by Tim Burton (Netflix).
