The Picture of Dorian Gray

 

"His own soul was looking out at him from the canvas and calling him to judgement" (121).

I have had The Picture of Dorian Gray on my TBR for years at this point. Finally, finally, a beautiful, practically un-marred copy presented itself to me at the thrift store. I knew the time had come!

And I have incredibly mixed feelings.

I know that the Oscar Wilde diehards may come for me, and I am prepared to meet you at my doorstep. I am already holding space for all of the Jane Austen fans that I periodically piss off. I keep them in my attic, where all truly great 19th century authors store their most inconvenient plot devices.

I hope that you will at least hear me out before taking a knife to my heart. There is so much to like about this novel, not least of which being the scathing critique of pride, deceit, and social idolatry, and not most because of its sweet brevity. But Oscar Wilde was, after all, a poet. I think that his foray into prose may have needed a little more development of those somewhat uniquely novelistic qualities such as plot and character. 

1. "The expression looked different. One would have said that there was a touch of cruelty in the mouth" (93).

An unforgettable metaphor. The idea of a painting bearing its subject's soul and slowly morphing into a cruelly twisted metaphor for a depraved and hideous nature, all while the man himself remains as fresh as the day he entered his twenties, is--in a word--mystifying. The Picture of Dorian Gray confronts not only the intertwining natures of conscience, personal culpability, and social falsehood over true morality, it also unveils essential human nature.

If you could live in any fashion, take part in every sin that tempts you, and not worry about being found out or facing the consequences of your actions, would you do it?

Perhaps we all think of ourselves as above such petty and childish conclusions. But in small ways, people live every day making choices that only strike them as wrong in the circumstance that they are caught. Maybe it is so subversive that it is hard to realize this propensity in yourself, and our personal ideals are put on full display when we are, in fact, caught...and spend the rest of the conversation trading believable excuses for why we are not responsible.

There is always someone else to blame. A mist shrouds our judgement when personal pleasure or satisfaction is involved. To be a hypocrite is to be human, and we are all our own worst contradictions. Dorian Gray explores this reality in uncomfortable ways. The qualities in him with which the reader is most uncomfortable may turn out to be unidentified insecurities that our own hearts and minds rebel against.

2. "The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence found the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive" (9).

Artistic prose. Oscar Wilde was a magnificent craftsman of the written description. He could communicate a mood and its undertones in a mere paragraph, all while linking together choice words like the juiciest of summer berries, dripping with connotation. Not only are they unexpected and quite striking in their artistic abandon, but they also give information about the characters' inner workings in ways that simple exposition could never so emotionally convey.

3. "It is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion. A man who is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a pleasure" (110).

A cast of antagonists. It may be by design that Wilde chose to create a cast of characters in which there are no real heroes. Even the sensitive Basil Hallward, who tries to pull Dorian Gray back from the brink when he realizes that his former muse has slipped into the worst of darknesses, is tainted by his idol worship, indecision, and lack of insight.

Not one of the characters, even the tragic Sybil, is all that likeable. They are flawed to the extent that even their supposed redeemable qualities pale in comparison to the monstrous ineptitudes and selfish blindness that they each have in common. While this approach may make for an interesting study on human nature and the equal ground on which we all stand, regardless of the facade that we present to the world around us, it doesn't stand as a particularly entertaining or emotionally vindicating story.

Thankfully, the book is quite short. I don't believe it could have been any longer without some serious additions of at least somewhat relatable qualities or a more varied plotline. So little actually happens--the entire book can be summarized in just a few sentences and no major details would be left out. Even Dorian's great, final sin of breaking the seventh commandment isn't very shocking. There is a clear cautionary tale, almost fable-like, wrapped within the pages of this simple classic novel.

Compared to other great works of novelistic literature, the character depth is lacking and the plot almost non-existent. While I think that Dorian Gray holds a lot of value from an artistic standpoint and as an effectively unique treatise on themes of mortality, reality, and art, there is much left to be desired by way of form.

4. "He grew more and more enamoured of his own beauty, more and more interested in the corruption of his own soul" (129).

Chapter Eleven. Halfway through the book, in which very little time passes and much of the action is tied up in detailed and lengthy dialogue, there is a chapter of exposition that covers nearly twenty years. It reads like an expanded version of the book of Ecclesiastes. Year one, Dorian is invested in literature and starts spending time in irreputable bars. Year two, he is interested in embroidery, and he manipulates some women. Year ten, now we have an opium addiction and fraud.

And on and on! Ad nauseum. This chapter could be completely removed from the text and I am convinced that it would have no effect on the overall story. Its format does not match the rest of the novel at all, and it is incredibly boring. It reads like a teenager trying to write a book, only to become tired midway and try to wrap up all storylines through writing an essay about what WOULD have happened if they had deigned to finish.

I'm not sure I can forgive this oversight, either in Wilde or in the editors who let it stand.

While there are many important aspects of this novel and I find it a qualitatively important addition to 19th century British literature, I was unfortunately greatly disappointed in its actual execution. All the pieces are there to make an immensely interesting character study, but it is difficult to care enough to evaluate characters that evoke so little empathy in the reader. It is a pass for me.

A Doll's House

 

"I must stand quite alone, if I am to understand myself and everything about me" (Act III).

I first heard of "A Doll's House" in a college class on critical theories. Hearing it described by the professor to illustrate Feminist Theory, I was haunted by the characters in a play that I had not read. I don't specifically remember the words that were used. I do, however, recall the effect that they had on me--one of horror at the manipulative abuse of a marriage that was like a mouse trap. Punished for seeking some succulent aroma of sustenance, prison bars clanged shut upon the limbs of the couple. But it did not kill them immediately. 

In clawing at the trap to escape its confines, they drew blood from one another until one or both would end up destroyed if they were not able to break free.

Having had this dramatic introduction to the text before ever picking it up, my response to the play was certainly different than it would have been had I read it independently. I think I was given a uniquely powerful sense of the foreboding throughout the first two acts that may be somewhat lost on those reading more blindly.

One downside is that I had certain expectations of the atmosphere present in the play, and I am not altogether certain that those expectations were met. Does that indicate a flaw in the playwright's work, a factor unfortunately present in all stale readings of a text meant to be performed for an audience, or a personal failing of the reader? Perhaps an element of all three exists in this review.

1. "There is something so indescribably sweet and satisfying, to a man, in the knowledge that he has forgiven his wife" (Act III).

Hidden complexity. The theme of a complex inner life, separate from one's public interactions and perhaps even hidden from one's own spouse, runs deeply in "A Doll's House." No one is as they seem, and perhaps that is true of all people. Can you really know someone, as they truly are? Can we even know ourselves?

The answer, according to this play, would seem to be that you can't even begin to know yourself if you are in a relationship that doesn't allow full freedom of expression. Torvald and Nora lack the ability to see one another honestly, but blame is carried on both sides. Nora is manipulative and often falsely kowtows to her husband's expectations by lying and then going ahead with her own plans anyway. Torvald, on the other hand, is controlling, demeaning, and bereft of true listening skills. 

In the end, the characters each face a moment of crisis: Torvald uncovers his wife's lies and realizes that loyalty to her will cost him. And the price? His reputation, which turns out to be the greatest priority in his life, far and above his marriage. He pretends to be concerned for the morality of his children under such a "careless and selfish" mother, but puts on full display his own propensity for self-serving behavior and ineptitude in identifying Nora's true motives.

Nora herself has indeed kept up a web of ever-increasing deception for the play's entirety, becoming nearly hysterical at some points (which, based on her final, incredibly controlled decision, may be something of an elaborate falsehood as well). In her own estimation, her greatest mistake was trusting her husband unequivocally. When his true colors reveal themselves in quick succession, she decides to leave her apparently loveless and respectless marriage.

All along, she was willing to sacrifice her autonomy for Torvald, as long as she felt that he would do similarly for her. Well, no more! She walks out the door and the curtains drop. The aftermath of this decision is left ominously to the imagination. There is a lot to unpack in this symbolic action, as she shows that her strength of will is not so fragile as she made it seem throughout her attempts to play the part of the weaker sex to her husband's specifications. 

But in another sense, she has also left her children, who lack the ability to understand or follow their mother on this path of self-discovery. What are we to make of this resounding ending? Are there any heroes to this story, or are they all flawed people making decisions that have repercussions on those around them for better or for worse? These are all important questions, and many answers exist. That is the ultimate genius of Ibsen's work.

2. "After all, it is splendid to be waiting for a wonderful thing to happen" (Act II).

Reader's interpretation. The interpretation of the play is left in the hands of the observer to an even greater extent than perhaps the average work of literature. It does not tell us what to believe, because there is no single, sympathetic protagonist who embarks on a journey to realize the truth or the right course of action. 

Or maybe there is. Maybe Nora is that for some audience members. But doesn't the existence of multiple meanings show that final analysis has been withheld from the work? This text had great controversial value in the century of its publication, because of how utterly outlandish and frankly blasphemous the conclusion seemed to its early viewers; now, it is lauded as a feminist masterpiece. 

Which one is it? A corrupting influence or a carefully plotted declaration of the equality of the genders? I really can't say. I can only give my personal opinion, as any of us can do, and that makes the conversation a significantly more interesting one. For this reason, I teach English and not Algebra. There is not a quantifiable right answer; there is only speculation, personal experience, and the ever-evolving social views on relationships.

Math teachers are cringing. I am itching to sit in a classroom full of students who have different views and can challenge one another, promoting the flow of critical thought. 

3. "You know how devotedly, how inexpressibly deeply, Torvald loves me; he would never for a moment hesitate to give his life for me" (Act II).

Quick changes. If I have any criticism of the play, it is that the short format makes it difficult to realistically convey such huge shifts in personality. Obviously I understand that those changes are not truly changes, but rather a revelation of what has been hidden under the surface all along. However, the shift in tone is dramatic and seems sudden to me, as those undercurrents don't really shine through their honed exteriors except in subtle ways.

Maybe, if I were to see the play performed rather than read it in literary format, my opinion on this aspect would be different. The brilliance of actors and actresses is that they can show what lurks between the lines of the dialogue in ways that don't exist on a black and white page.

I am looking forward to teaching this play for the first time in the coming school year. I will be fascinated to discover how the perspectives of my students coalesce and diverge from one another, and I hope for a rousing discussion with a multitude of opinions!