The Strange Case of Dorian Gray

I sat up last night to read the final chapter of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  I feel that sensation of accomplishment for having read something so famous and so commonly referenced, like I was more 'up-to-date' with what everyone was going on about.  But apart from that, I felt nothing more. 

In a  way, I was disappointed.  I read Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island in 2009, and I really enjoyed that.  That book, by the way, I would recommend all older children to read, because it's a wonderful adventure story full of beautifully invented characters, and acts as a bridge to more mature classic novels.  But I didn't feel interested in or excited about these characters, and never really connected to it.  Perhaps it was my mindset.  My mindset emerges the villain behind many of my earlier opinions on books and authors, but I think that there's a good chance that this just isn't quite the book that it's made out to be. 

I feel as though I should be careful with my choice of words so as not to offend anyone who thinks this book is brilliant, but my feelings were that it is drawn-out without stepping into the territory of being 'deep'.  I couldn't make affinities with the characters, or even decide to particularly like certain ones.  Is it just me?

Here's another thought that I haven't thought to mention, though I probably should have said that long ago.  It's about The Picture of Dorian Gray. 

Within the first few chapters I experienced a very strong revelation about my growing up - the sudden and frightening realisation that I really am going to get old.  I'd never had that before.  For several days, I carried that realisation around like an injured bird, but eventually it began to heal, and before I was half through the book, I had almost forgotten about it.  I don't really have that full on, heart-gripping revelation anymore, but I am so delighted that Oscar Wilde was able to make me have it in the first place.  It's been a long time since anyone has influenced my private throughts so strongly.  It really is a remarkable book. 

Oscar's Exuding Ideas

Suddenly the man drew up with a jerk at the top of a dark lane.  Over the low roofs and jagged chimney-stacks of the houses rose the black masts of ships.  Wreaths of white mist clung like ghostly sails to the yards. 

'Somewhere about here, sir, ain't it?' he asked huskily through the trap.

Dorian started and peered round.  'This will do,' he answered, and, having got out hastily, and given the driver the extra fare he had promised him, he walked quickly in the direction of the quay.  Here and there a lantern gleamed at the stern of some huge merchantman.  The light shook and splintered in the puddles.  A red glare came from an outward-bound steamer that was coaling.  The slimy pavement looked like a wet mackintosh. 

Chapter XVI, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, published in 1891. 

I really love this passage, not only because of how dangerously atmospheric it is, but because of how full of ideas it is: 

• The idea of the masts and the white mists like sails in the yards. 

• The idea of the lantern light splintered in the puddles. 

• And finally the idea of the pavement looking like a wet mackintosh. 

It's so rich!  It exudes (and 'exude' is really a word to exude from yourself with plenty of theatrical emphasis) atmosphere.  Aren't you there?  I completely am.  Maybe just read these ideas again and this time really pay attention to the images that unconsciously form in your mind with them... 

Victoria the Vague

She laughed nervously as she spoke, and watched him with her vague forget-me-not eyes.  She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest.  She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never returned, she had kept all her illusions.  She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy.  Her name was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going to church. 

Chapter IV, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde published in 1891. 

Everything about this paragraph is wonderful.  It is such a beautifully written description of Victoria, making her seem all at once flurried and hurried and exciting, at the same time as very simple and absurd.  I love this paragraph so much because it just seems to me to be such a triumph of a character description.  It makes me happy to have met her acquaintance. 

Sibyl's Prince

Sibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed.  "We don't want him any more, mother.  Prince Charming rules life for us now."  Then she paused.  A rose shook in her blood, and shadowed her cheeks.  Quick breath parted the petals of her lips.  They trembled.  Some southern wind of passion swept over er, and stirred the dainty folds of her dress.  "I love him," she said simply.

"Foolish child! foolish child!" was the parrot-phrase flung in answer.  The waving of crooked, false-jewelled fingers gave grotesqueness to the words. 

The girl laughed again.  The joy of a caged bird was in her voice.  Her eyes caught the melody, and echoed it in radiance: then closed for a moment, as though to hide their secret.  When they opened, the mist of a dream had passed across them. 

Chapter V, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, published 1891. 

There are so many lovely little delights in this passage.  There's something very wild and innocent and fresh and free (just to throw a ton of adjectives into the wind for you to pick and choose from), about Sibyl and I'm beginning to love that.  (Even though I can't get past the connotation of Sibyl and Basil from Fawlty Towers, which annoys me a little.)

I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you said, Tangled-up-in-Blue, about wanting to experience it for the very first time all over again.  I think that when I've finished reading this, I will feel exactly the same, because all the little thrills are just so exciting as they pop up completely new.  I'm loving this book.

An Enchanting Elopement

I am beginning to fall in love.  Oscar Wilde is such a gorgeous writer!  It's exactly what you've all been saying all along!  He is constantly enchanting, with munificent scatterings of gold dust on every page.  I start to read and before I've been at it longer than a minute, I'm so absorbed that it's a pain to break away when I'm called down to earth.  He shocks me with one or two-liners like these (I underlined the phrase that made me laugh):

His own neighbour was Mrs Vandeleur, one of his aunt's oldest friends, a perfect saint amongst women, but so dreadfully dowdy that she reminded one of a badly bound hymn-book.

and

"They say that when good Americans die they go to Paris," chuckled Sir Thomas, who had a large wardrobe of Humour's cast-off clothes

and

He played with the idea, and grew wilful; tossed it into the air and transformed it; let it escape and recaptured it; make it iridescent with fancy, and winged with paradox.

All three excerpts are from Chapter III of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, published in 1891. 

He is absolutely wonderful!  This is turning out to be a real adventure, an enchanting elopement.  In the words of Mrs Dalloway, "what a lark!"

Bric-a-Brac Brain

"...As a rule, he is charming to me, and we sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things.  Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain.  Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, and ornament for a summer's day."

"Days in summer, Basil, are apt to liner,' murmured Lord Henry.  "Perhaps you will tire sooner than he will.  It is a sad thing to think of, but there is not doubt that Genius lasts longer Beauty.  That accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to over-educate ourselves.  In the wild struggle for existence, we want to have something that endures, and so we fill our minds with rubbish and facts, in the silly hope of keeping our place.  The thoroughly well-informed man - that is the modern ideal.  And the mind of the thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing.  It is like a bric-a-brac shop, all monsters and dust, with everything priced above its proper value.  I think you will tire first, all the same. 

Chapter One, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, published 1891. 

I have really only just started reading this, but I'm enjoying it immensely so far.  It almost has a Dickensian sort of zest, but then I haven't read from Oscar Wilde before, so maybe that's just how he always is.  It's very beautifully written and so simple and enchanting to read that it's hard to pull myself away once I begin. 

I wanted to pull this passage out because it contains two of my favourite little bits so far.  Firstly, I love how Harry responds to Basil's observation with the slightly cryptic but all wonderful and charming affirmation, "Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger."  It's a sweet encouragement that continues with Basil's simile.  I really loved it. 

The second part was the lines, "And the mind of the thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing.  It is like a bric-a-brac shop, all monsters and dust, with everything priced above its proper value."  It's such a lovely thought, regardless of meaning, thought provoking and very new. 

I can tell already that I'm really going to enjoy this book!