Benjamin Labatut’s chapter “Prussian Blue” details the origins of famous ‘accidental’ discoveries in the field of science, and how noble designs and products have ultimately been corrupted for terrible purposes. The most notable example of this is the story of the Jewish chemist Fritz Haber. On page twenty-six we are introduced to the German scientist, who oversaw the use of his creation, chlorine gas, employed on both the western and eastern fronts of the First World War. Never before in human history were troops killed on such impersonal levels by an uncontrollable, toxic, substance. Particularly important to this scientific abomination is how it was received not just by the world, but by his own family. The scientist's wife Clara "accused him of perverting science by deriving a method for exterminating humans on an industrial scale" (Labatut 26). The perversion of science was of no concern to Haber, for if he could refine his creation even more, he would. To him, learning more about how the chemical reactions occur and can be used most effectively, was to be the only consideration. Like Victor Frankenstein, Fritz Haber’s own family had to suffer from the consequences of his creation. Disillusioned by her husband's disrespect of the field of science for personal success, she took his service pistol and shot herself in the family garden. The author writes, “she bled to death in the arms of their thirteen-year-old son” (Labatut 27). Haunted by the memory of his wife, he nevertheless continued to refine chemical weapons for the remainder of the Great War. Haber is not nearly as remorseful as Frankenstein, perhaps because the former had some positive impacts on humanity – e.g. fertilizer, however, the two share a common trait of following scientific ambition to dangerous lengths. Labatut is able to condense the complex life of Fritz Haber down to mere paragraphs in length, allowing the reader to learn about and come to our own conclusions on a real-life Victor Frankenstein.