Ugh. But then, maybe not so ugh. While the main character is a manipulative slimeball (and the supporting cast not much better... think over-sexualised, weak-willed women), I cannot say I wasn't entertained in watching this guy ooze his way through Harvard and onto the political arena. For what its worth, he does achieve a sort of redemption near the end when he vows to use his Machiavellian prowess for good. That is, if you can swallow your disgust and get that far without throwing the book away. ]]>
I've attempted this book 5 times and each time I suppose I lacked the patience, being either too young or too drunk to think of things beyond immediate stimulation. And I suppose there's a proper regret as well for having not come to a still mind earlier, though a claim to wisdom at this time would be premature. Nevertheless, in reading this book, it is my belief that one can be moved closer to elusive thoughtfulness.
The story is set in 19th century England whereupon a young man exchanges his soul for eternal youth and beauty. We bear witness to his downfall through his rapid decay of morality, the paranoia that grips him should anyone else discover the painting that reflects his true self: a formerly beautiful portrait but steadily growing older and more sinister while his own physical form retains perfection.
Indeed, it is a clever plot. But if one purports to read this book for a plot driven story, then one may be disappointed as plot is clearly secondary to the character study and to the dialogues and philosophical tangents, an aspect that had bored me in the past but only became intensely engrossing this time around. We have such spirited debates regarding sin and the nature of influence, beauty and its relation to pleasure, evil and the basis of ethics.
Consider this snippet from early in the book when Dorian Gray (our protagonist) first meets Henry Wotton (the Prime Mover for Dorian's corruption):
"Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret.... It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place."
Oscar Wilde creates magnificently eloquent characters that one might forget at times these are flawed creatures. Which makes this book more fun to read because one might be forced to pause and reconsider what has been said, asking, "Do I agree with the views espoused by a monster or in its prying irreverence has a truth been unearthed?" As such, I think there are many interpretations for the various passages depending on one's frame of mind and philosophies.
Some of these may even resonate on a more personal level outside of the literal scope of the book. In one instance, when the chapter ends with this sentence, "There were moments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he could realise his conception of the beautiful" it brought faint parallels in my mind to the suffering, often self-imposed and self-destructive, by an artist struggling to create, if one might link destructive forces with evil and creation with beauty.
Having said that, the book relates well on a societal level, poking at an entrenched notion of the superficial. There is nothing more noble than a beautiful person doing good just as nothing more forgivable as a beautiful person committing evil. Even as we denounce vanity, there is a little bit of it inside us. It is a worthwhile endeavor for us to examine our own concepts.
In summary, I think this is a stunning piece of literature that I am glad to have finally read.
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On the subject, it is interesting to note that there are autobiographical elements in this story. According to the back cover of the book, Oscar Wilde notes in a letter, "Basil Hallward is what I think I am: Lord Henry what the world thinks me: Dorian what I would like to be --- in other ages, perhaps." ]]>
Charlie Fan
read and liked a piece of writing titled "Explaining My Religion"
by Jenni
"I walk backwards. If I follow
the darkening path and take enough
steps, I might forget this life and burst
into another where moths sing,
where ants decline to sleep beca" ...read more »
"I walk backwards. If I follow
the darkening path and take enough
steps, I might forget this life and burst
into another where moths sing,
where ants decline to sleep beca" ...read more »
Charlie Fan
read and liked a piece of writing titled "You Say I’m Obsessed With Birds"
by Jenni
"Nesting in the pockets of shirts hung on clotheslines.
It’s 1989. Then grey sky is sold
in coffee cups, lipstick becomes the national
anthem. My heart rides the beat of hummingbird" ...read more »
"Nesting in the pockets of shirts hung on clotheslines.
It’s 1989. Then grey sky is sold
in coffee cups, lipstick becomes the national
anthem. My heart rides the beat of hummingbird" ...read more »
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I can't decide whether to rate this 3 or 4 stars. It is infuriating because there's so many things about this book that I do not like: the idealized characters, the lack of a coherent plot, the forced shoveling of theme down the reader's throat, the numerous trivial tangents. Yet at the same time, these faults 'worked' in the book's favor, lent it a naive charm of a land seen through the eyes of a young boy suddenly required to mature much too fast. Part philosophical treatise, part written document of the rich oral tradition of Africa, we have a deeply engrossing story that details not just the loss of innocence for a young boy but that of a continent (perhaps the world) on the brink of upheaval. ]]>
Hi David and Goodreads! Interesting points. I agree with you that simplicity can be very powerful and often times makes for some great writing. Too much complexity can obfuscate the message. Besides, if a reader is to be moved, surely it is through his heart first. On the other hand, I don't know what you mean by 'academic' poetry...
If you mean that a poem can't win a way into my heart and still travel through the mind then I respectfully disagree with you. After all, poetry is a celebration of language, and language is a very complex thing if you think about it. Nothing wrong with using the brain a bit, ey?
As a side note, Stephen King's quote about using a thesaurus was not directed to the reader; it is the 'writer' that should be wary of using a thesaurus. This is a significant distinction. If the writer has a wonderful word and actually knows how to use it, sharing it with the rest of the world is the kindest thing he can do. Some days there's only one word loaded with enough meaning to carry out the intent.
And now I'm depressed thinking about all those poor endangered words on the verge of extinction. Wild and beautiful beasts, they are. ]]>
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Carson McCullers writes about loneliness, not the fleeting moments but the kind of alienation that sets in on a person for life, wrought by an inability to communicate and connect no matter how many words are spoken. It is ironic that each of the major characters are captivated by a deaf-mute, believing him to be the only one that truly understands, maybe even holding the key to their salvation. It is also ironic then that the deaf-mute, in all his wisdom, is so inexplicably drawn to a simpleminded man who knows only the emptiness of his own gut.
While the novel is categorically fiction, McCullers borrows from her own life to give her characters breath. As such, we can see the influences of the South, the racial politics, the gender roles of women and men, and her own blurring lines of sexual identity. Despite this, everything is secondary to the careful construction of unspoken desolation so apparent throughout her book. ]]>