Robert Louis Stevenson didn't just write a horror story. He wrote a nightmare about the Victorian middle class that still makes us uncomfortable today. Most people think they know the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. You’ve seen the cartoons. You’ve seen the Halloween masks. A good guy drinks a bubbling potion, turns into a hairy monster, and goes on a rampage. Simple, right?
Actually, no.
The real book, published in 1886 as Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, is way more disturbing than the pop culture version. It’s not about a "good" man and a "bad" man. It’s about a repressed man who creates a monster so he can have some fun without ruining his reputation. Stevenson wrote the first draft in three days during a cocaine-fueled fever dream—or medicinal ergot, depending on which historian you ask—and then burned it because his wife thought it was too dark. He wrote the second version in another three days. Think about that. Six days to change literature forever.
The Misconception of the "Transformation"
We always picture the transformation as this big, cinematic event. In the original text, it’s much more clinical and depressing. Henry Jekyll isn't trying to save the world or cure disease. He’s bored. He's a prominent physician with "every guarantee of an honorable and distinguished future," but he has a "certain impatient gaiety of disposition." Basically, he likes to party, but he’s too rich and respected to be seen doing it.
The potion was a loophole.
It wasn't supposed to create a different person; it was supposed to be a mask. By becoming Edward Hyde, Jekyll could indulge in "undignified" pleasures without losing his seat at the dinner table with London’s elite. The scary part isn't that Hyde is a separate entity. The scary part is that Jekyll is Hyde. Hyde is just Jekyll without the filter of Victorian morality. He’s smaller, younger, and "slighter" than Jekyll because Jekyll’s evil side had been malnourished and repressed for decades.
Why Hyde Doesn't Actually Look Like a Monster
If you look at the 1931 film or the various stage adaptations, Edward Hyde is often portrayed as a caveman or a simian beast. Stevenson didn't write him that way. In the book, people find Hyde "deformed" and "displeasing," but they can’t actually point to a physical deformity.
It’s an aura.
Mr. Utterson, the lawyer who acts as our detective, describes Hyde as giving off a "shrewd intake of breath" and a sense of "downright detestability." This is a brilliant psychological touch. Stevenson is tapping into the "Uncanny Valley." Hyde looks human, but something deep inside the human soul recognizes him as "wrong." He represents the "lower" instincts that Charles Darwin had recently terrified the world with in The Descent of Man. People in 1886 were terrified that they were just dressed-up monkeys. Hyde was the proof.
The Real-Life Inspiration: Deacon Brodie
Stevenson didn't pull this out of thin air. He was obsessed with a real guy named William Brodie.
Brodie was a pillar of Edinburgh society. He was a Deacon (a head of a craft guild) and a city councilor. By day, he fixed cabinets and designed high-security locks for the wealthy. By night, he used his "copy" keys to rob his clients blind to pay off his gambling debts and support two secret mistresses.
He was eventually hanged in 1788 on a gallows he had helped design.
Stevenson actually had a cabinet made by Brodie in his childhood bedroom. Talk about trauma. The duality of the "respectable" man who hides a dark, criminal underworld was a reality in Scottish society long before it became a literary trope.
The Drug Addict Narrative
If you read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde today, it reads incredibly like an allegory for substance abuse. Jekyll starts taking the potion for "recreational" reasons. He thinks he can control it. He famously says, "The moment I choose, I can be rid of Mr. Hyde."
Spoiler: He can't.
📖 Related: The Swan Princess III: Why This Weird Direct-to-Video Sequel Still Matters
Eventually, the "tolerance" builds up. He starts transforming into Hyde involuntarily while sleeping. He needs higher and higher doses of the salt to turn back into Jekyll. By the end, the "pure" salt he used for the first batch is gone, and he realizes the effectiveness was actually due to an impurity in the original supply. He's a man chasing a high he can no longer reach, watching his life dissolve.
The Ending That Nobody Remembers
Most people think the story ends with a big fight. It doesn't.
It ends with a letter.
The structure of the book is actually a legal mystery. The final chapter is "Henry Jekyll’s Full Statement of the Case." It’s a confession. Jekyll realizes he is trapped as Hyde forever because he ran out of the chemicals. He commits suicide just as Utterson breaks down the door. The tragedy isn't that a monster killed a doctor; it's that a doctor chose to become a monster and then found out he couldn't switch back.
It’s a warning about the "double life."
Actionable Insights for Understanding the Duality
If you want to truly appreciate the depth of Stevenson's work beyond the "Jekyll and Hyde" cliché, here is how to engage with the material:
- Read the original text, not the summaries. It’s short—barely a novella. You can finish it in two hours. Look for the "shades of gray" in Jekyll’s confession rather than treating it as a superhero origin story.
- Contextualize the "Victorian Silences." Pay attention to what isn't said. The "pleasures" Hyde indulges in are never specified. This was a deliberate choice by Stevenson to let the reader's own darkest impulses fill in the blanks.
- Compare it to The Picture of Dorian Gray. Wilde and Stevenson were playing with the same themes: the cost of a secret life and the physical manifestation of sin. One uses a painting; the other uses chemistry.
- Analyze the "City as a Character." The London of Jekyll and Hyde is divided into the "bright" front doors and the "blistered and distained" back doors. Map the geography of the house—it’s a metaphor for the human brain. The front is the ego; the back is the id.
The story remains relevant because we still live in a "performative" culture. We have our LinkedIn profiles (Jekyll) and our anonymous Reddit accounts or private browsing histories (Hyde). We are still trying to separate our "respectable" selves from our impulses. Stevenson’s genius was showing us that when you try to tear those two things apart, the whole system collapses. You can't have the light without the shadow. When Jekyll tried to kill his shadow, he ended up killing himself.