Frankenstein: deaths all around

If one were wanting the smallest morsel of a happy-ish ending, he would be far from satisfied with the ending of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.  By the end of this novel, I didn't know who to feel more sorrow for between Victor and the creature.  Victor had literally lost every person he had ever loved, but the creature had never been given the opportunity to love.  Victor loathed the fact that he had brought the monster into existence, but the creature loathed every moment in which he existed.  In a way, they both commited suicide.  Whether he was aware or not, Victor began killing himself the moment he started creating the creature, and the creature vowed to burn himself alive to rid the world of his presence.  They both ended up being miserable wretches.  "How strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery" (Shelley, 126).  I don't know how either of these characters managed to live as long as they did.  They absolutely hated their lives, and yet that just made them cling to it all the more.  Their enemy was their reason to keep living, and once one was dead, the other (creature) ceased to have any will to live.