What do the American Revolution and Gothic literature have in common? Both are defined by upheaval, destruction, and the weight of the past haunting the present. Gothic stories thrive in dark landscapes, psychological torment, and the consequences of ambition—elements that also shaped the Revolutionary War.

I wanted to create something engaging to accompany my book—tactile, visually compelling, and immersive. So, I designed a set of collectible book cards, each a tiny portal into the world of Mademoiselle Frankenstein.

There’s something in the air. After years of Frankenstein adaptations that have modernized, technologized, and reshaped Mary Shelley’s creation, the story is reflecting back to its origins. Guillermo del Toro’s highly anticipated Frankenstein film is set to arrive this year, the same year as my novel Mademoiselle Frankenstein. They share something crucial: a return to the classical, Gothic spirit of the original.

Animals in Gothic literature are often unsettling presences. From Poe’s sinister black cat to the hounds of Baskerville, they frequently serve as omens, manifestations of supernatural forces, or extensions of human guilt and madness. Yet in Mademoiselle Frankenstein, my approach to animals is different—they are named, distinct, and, for the most part, good and innocent characters. Why do Gothic animals so often inspire fear, and why have I chosen to subvert that expectation in my work?

When I began writing Mademoiselle Frankenstein, I wasn’t just telling a new story—I was building it inside the hidden architecture of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Numbers guided me. Chapters, word counts, pacing—they weren’t arbitrary. For the most part, I mirrored Shelley’s original structure down to the bones.

There’s something about the resurrection of Gothic stories. The genre lives in tension between memory and invention—it doesn’t just tolerate reinvention; it demands it. When I wrote Mademoiselle Frankenstein, I didn’t simply revisit Mary Shelley’s classic. I followed its ghost down a dark, different hallway.

When we think of Gothic literature, it’s easy to conjure the expected images—cobwebbed mansions, howling winds, flickering candlelight. But to me, Gothic isn’t defined by setting. It’s a state of mind.