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Mary's parents had been separated for as long as she could remember, and like a lot of kids from broken homes, Mary found herself drawn to one more than the other.

In this case, it was her mother. Unlike her father, Mary's mother never criticized or judged. And so when Mary found herself three months pregnant with the child of a married man, she turned to the parents she knew would understand.

Oh, mother, he's the most gifted poet I've ever read. He's handsome, he's brilliant, but he's married to Harriet. What am I to do? We don't know precisely what Mary's mother said, but after their meeting, Mary was clearly inspired, she announced her pregnancy and declared her unconditional love for Harriet's husband.

Obviously, this did not sit well with Harriet, who found Mary's conduct consistent with that of a slut and opinion she shared with all of London society. Likewise, Mary's father was less than thrilled.

As a rule, William preferred his unmarried daughters to remain pregnant and uninvolved with married poets.

No matter how gifted they might be. People talked, a scandal grew humiliated, Harriet left her philandering husband, but refused to grant the gifted poet a divorce, angry William cut off Mary's allowance and publicly condemned his daughter's affair, while his other daughters, especially Fanny, staunchly defended their sister's right to have babies with anyone she pleased.

Thus, the family became divided and remain that way.

Even after Mary's baby died shortly after being born, grief stricken, Mary once again turned to her mother. I am devastated, Mother. My baby is dead. My true love remains married to another. And now father has cut me off.

What am I to do? We don't know precisely what Mary's mother said, but after their meeting, Mary was clearly inspired.

She became pregnant with her second child once again with a little help from the gifted poet who was still legally married to Harriet. Fanni continued to defend Mary, which prompted William to cut off her allowance as well.

Upset by the prospect of her looming insolvency, poor Fanny swallowed a lethal dose of laudanum and quickly died.

Meanwhile, Harriet, equally displeased with her situation, threw herself into a lake and quickly died.

Though tragic, Harriet's suicide allowed Mary and the gifted poet to finally wed, which they did just in time for Mary to bring forth a healthy baby boy and nine months later, a healthy baby girl.

But then Mary's little girl came down with dysentery and quickly died, at which point her little boy contracted malaria and also quickly died, utterly distraught.

Mary turned once again to the parents who never judged nor criticized our mother. She cried, Everything I touch turns to ashes. Fanny is dead.

Harriet is dead. My babies, all of them dead. Am I an angel of death? Is everyone I touch doomed to die? We don't know precisely what Mary's mother said, but after that meeting, Mary was clearly inspired, inspired to write, Mary wrote about her pain, her grief, her desire to bring new life into a dying world. Did it help? Did Mary write her way out of despair? It's hard to say. She eventually gave birth to a baby boy who did make it to adulthood.

But she also adopted a baby girl who died just 18 months later. Then she endured a horrific miscarriage that very nearly killed her. And then the most devastating blow of all, the tragic drowning of her husband, the gifted poet.

Authorities said the fish consumed most of his remains, but what they recovered, including his heart, was cremated and the ashes given to Mary, who kept them in an envelope for the rest of her life.

A rather morbid decision.

Her mother neither criticized nor judged during her many subsequent visits.

Looking back, it's not hard to understand why Mary wrote to ease her pain, after all, she was only five years old when her father brought her to the churchyard for that first visit. Oh, mother, she said, I'm so sorry, it's all my fault. Please forgive me. We don't know precisely what Mary's mother said because Mary's mother was dead, but that didn't stop her from inspiring her daughter to write. There in the cemetery of old St Pancras, William Godwin pressed the parchment against the cold granite of his wife's tombstone as his youngest daughter slowly traced a pencil over the raised letters of her mother's name and a are.

Why just likers? After that, Mary often returned to the cemetery to visit with the woman who died, bringing her into the world, usually she came alone and sat by the grave for hours, confiding in the woman who inspired so much.

Sometimes she packed a lunch and picnicked on the plot that held her mother's remains.

And one time when she was 16, Mary lost her virginity right there on her mother's grave with a little help from Harriet's husband, the gifted poet whose ashes would later become her constant companion. And so Mary's mother was always there for her youngest daughter, inspiring her to write the tale that only she could tell a tale whose popularity would eclipse that of every poem her famous husband ever published. It's not even close. Percy BESE gave us Ozymandias Ode to the West and Prometheus Unbound.

But his wife, the self-described angel of death, she gave us the novel. We'll Never Forget the story of a creature brought back from the dead by a doctor who yearn to bring life into a dying world. A doctor that Mary Shelley first imagined while sitting in a graveyard chatting with her dead mother, a doctor she called Frankenstein. Anyway, that's the way I heard it. The story you just heard is true, at least the way I heard it.

Thank you, Chuck Klausmeier, for producing this podcast. Matthew Zipkin, thank you for hitting the buttons over here at one union recording studios. Thank you, gentle listener, for listening. And if you haven't subscribed and you would prefer not to miss a new episode, consider yourself officially invited to do that very thing. Talk to you next week.