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My days were spent in close attention, that I might more speedily master the language; and I may boast that I improved more rapidly than the Arabian, who understood very little and conversed in broken accents, whilst I comprehended and could imitate almost every word that was spoken. (13.12)
Okay, we can't exactly blame Mary Shelley for being just as racist as every other English person in the early nineteenth century, but we still can't help rolling our eyes a little: even a monster is better at speaking Western languages than an "Arabian."
And what was I? Of my creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant, but I knew that I possessed no money, no friends, no kind of property. (13.17)
Without language, the monster has no way of knowing anything about the world except what he learns himself. Is he better discovering things for himself? Compare Victor, who gets seduced by all those crazy books he reads as a kid. It seems like Shelley may have some conflicted feelings about writing.