Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Picture Of Dorian Gray
    The Picture Of Dorian Gray
    The Picture Of Dorian Gray
    Ebook280 pages5 hours

    The Picture Of Dorian Gray

    By Oscar Wilde

    4/5

    ()

    Switch to audiobook
    Read preview

    About this ebook

    The ideals and opinions of Lord Henry Wotton, who believes that the only purpose of life is the pursuit of beauty, greatly affect the young, handsome Dorian Gray. Lamenting that one day his own good looks will diminish, Dorian offers to sell his soul if a beautiful painting of ages instead of his physical self. As Dorian pursues a hedonistic and reckless lifestyle, he soon realizes that his offer has been accepted, and with every sin he commits, the painting becomes more and more hideous.

    The Picture of Dorian Gray was British author Oscar Wilde’s only novel. It was originally rejected by publishers for its scandalous content, and has been censored many times over the life of its publication. Since the twentieth century, The Picture of Dorian Gray has been praised as a masterpiece, and has been adapted for film and television numerous times.

    HarperPerennial Classics brings great works of literature to life in digital format, upholding the highest standards in ebook production and celebrating reading in all its forms. Look for more titles in the HarperPerennial Classics collection to build your digital library.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateOct 15, 2013
    ISBN9781443426602
    Author

    Oscar Wilde

    Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde was born on the 16th October 1854 and died on the 30th November 1900. He was an Irish playwright, poet, and author of numerous short stories and one novel. Known for his biting wit, he became one of the most successful playwrights of the late Victorian era in London, and one of the greatest celebrities of his day. Several of his plays continue to be widely performed, especially The Importance of Being Earnest.

    Read more from Oscar Wilde

    Related to The Picture Of Dorian Gray

    Related ebooks

    General Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Seven Books I’ll Never Read

      Aug 7, 2018

      Seven Books I’ll Never Read
      6 min read

    • Article

      Normal People

      Sep 17, 2021

      Normal People
      1 min read

    • Article

      The Psychology of Voldemort

      Sep 23, 2015

      The Psychology of Voldemort
      4 min read

    • Article

      Eye Of The Beholder

      Oct 11, 2019

      Eye Of The Beholder
      7 min read

    • Article

      Robert Malherbe

      Nov 9, 2016

      Robert Malherbe
      5 min read

    • Article

      Guided To Grainger’s Grave

      May 19, 2022

      SEND FORUM SUBMISSIONS TO THE EDITOR: DRSUTTON@FORTEANTIMES.COM Last night I found a smudge of lipstick on my Covid mask. I don’t drink or suffer memory lapses and have no recollection of any intimate encounter that might have created this crimson bl

      5 min read

    • Article

      My True Ghost Story

      Feb 9, 2022

      Last night I found a smudge of lipstick on my COVID mask. I don’t drink or suffer memory lapses and have no recollection of any intimate encounter that might have created this crimson blemish. In my previous – very popular – column in this periodical

      5 min read

    • Article

      La Otra Historia

      Jun 30, 2022

      La Otra Historia
      14 min read

    • Article

      The Writing Wisdom of Derek Walcott

      Mar 20, 2017

      “The future happens,” says the philosopher in Derek Walcott’s stage retelling of Homer’s Odyssey, “No matter how much we scream.” Walcott died on Friday at the age of 87—and instead of screaming, I’m feeling grateful towards this great poet, playwrig

      7 min read

    • Article

      Changing The Rules

      Nov 1, 2020

      Dick Frizzell has written a history of Western art. But in typical Frizzell style, it’s a distinctly idiosyncratic selection and he has reproduced almost all of the masterworks, from Mondrian to McCahon, Rembrandt to Warhol, himself, often using only

      8 min read

    • Article

      Oh, Corona

      Jan 1, 2024

      Books The Lights by Ben Lerner Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2023 128 pp., $26.00 (hardcover) According to the latest Times article on the qualitative merits of bot art, Ben Lerner has lent excerpts from his new poetry collection to a group of venture c

      7 min read

    • Article

      Self-portraits

      May 5, 2021

      I’M having my portrait painted. I can give you several excellent objective reasons for this. A painting of my wife executed some years ago seems lonely without a pair to it, we agree; her words, not mine. Other generations of our family hang around t

      2 min read

    • Article

      Cricket League

      Apr 1, 2020

      Linden, age 9 Green Bay, WI Ophidia, the medusa, tried desperately to sketch a self-portrait. Later she would add color. Her problem was every time she looked into the lake at her reflection, the snakes of her hair were in a very different place. Sh

      8 min read

    • Article

      Letter To A Stranger

      Dec 14, 2018

      Letter To A Stranger
      3 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Picture Of Dorian Gray

    4/5

    193 ratings249 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 4/5
      I was kind of underwhelmed by this one. Some interesting ideas were brought up, but the story itself wasn't as riveting as I thought it would be.
    • 3/5
      I liked this book a lot more than I thought I would. I liked the aging picture thing. Everyone always says that this book has a theme of homosexuality, but I just didn't see it. Perhaps I will re-read it. But ironically it does remind me of being gay, but because of personal things happening at the time with friends rather than what is actually in the book, so you'd think I would have seen it.
    • 3/5
      Not anywhere near as entrancing as the first time I read it - but that's likely due to me aging a decade. Initially, I found Wilde's witticisms (mainly via Lord Henry) thought-provoking and... sparkly:"The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror."This time 'round, they veered more toward shit-stirring, sound-bite nonsense (intentionally? Lord Henry exists to suggest corruption and watch the show). But so long as you don't view it through the lenses of a purely self-indulgent fuck, I agree AMEN:"To be good is to be in harmony with one's self. Discord is to be forced to be in harmony with others. One's own life - that is the important thing. As for the lives of one's neighbors, if one wished to be a prig or a Puritan, one can flaunt one's moral views about them, but they are not one's concern. Besides, Individualism has really the higher aim. Modern morality consists in accepting the standard of one's age. I consider that for any man of culture to accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest immorality."And it still managed to resonate, albeit less so (which probably means I'm less of an asshole than I was, or just more aware of fellow life):"All ways end at the same point - disillusion."*reread*
    • 4/5
      As the novel opens, artist Basil Hallward is painting a portrait of an extraordinarily handsome young man, Dorian Gray. In a conversation with his friend, Lord Henry Wotton, Hallward tells him that he believes the portrait is the best work he’s ever done. Lord Henry arranges to meet Dorian and he soon gains influence over the impressionable young man. The finished portrait is remarkable, and Dorian unthinkingly expresses a desire that the portrait would age while he maintained the beauty of youth. Lord Henry encourages Dorian to hedonistic excess. To Dorian’s horror, his portrait becomes uglier as Dorian’s character becomes more and more corrupt. It’s as if the portrait reveals the true state of Dorian’s soul. Although I haven’t seen the academy award-winning film version of this book, I have a feeling that I’d probably like it better than the book. Wilde doesn’t leave enough to the imagination, and much of the horror in the story is diluted by wordiness.
    • 5/5
      Another one I hadn't read since the '70s, and I wondered whether it might have aged badly, but no, like the picture itself, this is one book that has stayed as fresh and young as when it was created.

      Wilde's way with an aphorism is brilliant, and not just Dorian, but Sir Henry Wooton in particular are fully rounded characters, and perfect foils for Wilde's wit and almost casual brilliance.

      I wondered whether the movie representations would change the book for me, but all they have done is remind me how little of Wilde's inimitable style has ever transferred to the big screen.

      Beautifully written, sharp and incisive and strangely grotesque in places, I was immersed for the duration. A true classic.
    • 5/5
      There's a lot going on here for such a slender book, but I should expect nothing less from Oscar Wilde. It reads a little clunky at the beginning, it's just wit-wit-wit and since it's almost all coming from one character in large paragraphs, it doesn't move as smoothly as one of Wilde's plays. Those sections set the tone for the rest of the book, though. Without them, you wouldn't understand Lord Henry, and without that knowledge the book would be very hard to parse indeed. Although it's a character study of Dorian Gray, or a character drama or something like that, Lord Henry is the inciting incident, the fulcrum of the action, and the most complex character. People are constantly insisting "Oh, you don't believe that awful thing you just said," and he doesn't, but that makes him all the worse. Dorian tells him late in the book, "You would sacrifice anybody, Harry, for the sake of an epigram," and that's the horrible truth of him. I wish we'd had some insight into his opinion of his artwork, aka Dorian Gray's twisted nature, after it was finished, but I suppose we don't really need it, and that might have explained things away too much.Dorian is interesting too, though. The gradual development of his character is really masterful, done partly in implications and partly with stated facts. His self-delusion -- acting as if he's the one who's been wronged when a girl commits suicide because of him, and only deepening in the climax -- is perfectly believable. This is a book that would stand repeated readings and analysis to tease out the different threads and their implications, and I won't try to do that here. I must say, though, I'm quite blown away by how the "picture of Dorian Gray" idea seems like such an archetype now, when it's only famous because of this book. I mean to say, the idea of a man staying young while his picture grows old seems like such a mythical, omnipresent idea, like the idea of a vampire or a werewolf, but it wasn't before this. Having now read the book, I'd say the impact is well-deserved, and reading the book is valuable because of how many themes it involves that other books may not be willing to address. A lot of books shy away from depicting realistic selfishness, but this one doesn't.
    • 2/5
      I never connected with this novel. Probably because I just read "The Importance of Being Earnest," from the very beginning, Lord Henry's aphoristic pronouncements felt forced. In a humorous play they make sense, but here they are awkward and out of place. I don't think the characters or story ever became fully authentic; in the worst parts, they just became abstractions.
    • 3/5
      I'm glad I finally got around to reading this classic and I'm a little upset that I didn't like it more. I knew the gist of the plot before I read it because of The League of Extraordinary Gentleman (nerd alert) and because it exists everywhere in pop culture. But I was still completely taken aback by how much I disliked the character of Dorian Gray. He was such a vain, pompous, scumbag that could do no wrong. It does beg the question though, would he have turned out the way he had, had it not been for the influence of his two friends who unknowingly set him on this path of self-indulgence? As a young man Dorian's friend paints a wonderful portrait of him and Dorian is so saddened that this painting will always look lovely and beautiful while he is destined to grow old and decrepit. He wishes that the burden of his sins and aging would fall upon the painting instead of himself, and lo and behold they do. After every wrong deed and every passing year, the painting becomes more dastardly and evil. His morality is long since gone and he has no care for how his actions ruin those around him. How long can the painting carry the burden of Dorian's indulgent, sinful, and lately, CRIMINAL ways. Fascinating concept, but there is too damn much dialogue in this book. Still glad I got around to reading it though!
    • 4/5
      I was kind of underwhelmed by this one. Some interesting ideas were brought up, but the story itself wasn't as riveting as I thought it would be.
    • 4/5
      Loved it. Consistently interesting, though a few of the speeches dragged on as did a few of Wilde's "detailing paragraphs." Though I may not have agreed with everything that was said, overall it was very good, and Wilde is a beautiful writer.
    • 5/5
      Dorian Gray is a young man with everything--looks, wealth, charm, position in Victorian society. He charms the artist Basil Hallward, who paints his portrait and accidentally introduce him to another friend, Lord Henry Wotten.

      Hallward is a very good artist.

      Wotton is a very bad influence.

      Basil recognizes that Lord Henry says shocking, outrageous things, but doesn't take them seriously and assumes Lord Henry can't possibly believe them himself. But Dorian Gray is barely twenty, He's quite easily led to the point of saying he would give his soul if the portrait instead of him could bear the signs of his sins and his aging, and he remain eternally youthful.

      What follows is the playing out of that wish.

      Basil Hallward is a good man, but also a Victorian gentleman, reluctant to believe negative gossip about his friend, and reluctant to tell another gentleman how to live his life. Lord Henry, on the other hand, is always at hand to whisper poison in Dorian's ear, deriding conventional morality, and extolling the idea that the only morality is a person's own pleasure, defined in the most selfish ways possible. Wilde portrays this with subtlety and effectiveness. He also portrays the social mores of his time and society, without necessarily endorsing them. I don't have Wilde's subtlety and skill; I can't really convey how well he's done this. Social roles are what they are, and everyone around Dorian takes it for granted that this is natural law. Men are superior to women; the upper classes are superior to the lower classes. But while everyone in the book takes that for granted, they don't all act the same way in response to it.

      Lord Henry, though Wilde never said it, seems to me to represent a minion of Satan. This is never heavy-handed. It's a word here and a phrase there; little touches building up to a powerful impression. Grant the premise of what happens with the portrait, and Dorian Gray's corruption is no melodrama; it's a realistic psychological portrait.

      Highly recommended.

      I bought this audiobook.
    • 3/5
      Overall I enjoyed The Picture of Dorian Gray, it's witty, funny at times and captures the obsession over youth well. At times though the wit became too much and would cause me to lose focus because it was going on for 3 of 4 pages about one not even really related to the story subject. Chapter 11, where it tells what Dorian is up to for the rest of his 20s and early 30, wtf was that? Complete mess. I just started to skim after a few pages of that chapter. I really did like the plot though, from the picture changing and Dorian justifying everything then eventually not caring because he still looked fresh. I really wanted the sailor to kill him though.
    • 2/5
      A classic tale of what happens when a man sells his soul.Or doesn't sell it per se, but makes a trade--this fabulous painted portrait will age, and he will stay a young handsome age. And this rich arrogant young man is mean--and as the portrait ages and looks meaner and uglier, he struggles with knowing it is there, he struggles with his own behavior.A very interesting idea, but nearly all the characters are arrogant, wealthy, misogynistic racists. Not a fun read.
    • 3/5
      Oscar Wilde takes us back to a time in England where high society was the grain of life, women were nothing but idol play things and men mostly lusted after each other rather than the embrace of a woman. As much as people like to see Dorian Gray as the villain in this novel, I very much feel he is rather the victim. I feel that if it wasn't for his acquaintance turned friend Lord Henry, that this may have very well been a happy tale. It was Lord Henry's influence that turned a painter's admiration into lust, women into meaningless objects and the leader in Gray's downfall. Although some of the story was interesting/entertaining, there was a great portion of it that was not. Wilde's writing is very drull to say the least. However this is coming from an American point of view. I'm sure someone from Brittain who enjoys all the high society chit chat would have found the tale much more captivating. All-in-all I would say this is an okay read given the classic that it is but I wouldn't recommend it unless I knew someone extremely into the classics or British history.
    • 3/5
      I have definitely read this before, but my most vivid memory is of the 1945 film - that colour reveal of the portrait! (Also, why is the title 'The Picture of' and not 'Portrait of', which I always want to write?) Clever in parts, especially Sir Henry who talks in soundbites (I liked his summary of his brothers best - the eldest won't die, and the younger ones do nothing but), yet also very wordy for such a short novel - I will admit to skimming passages not pertinent to the plot. Dorian is a foul character from the get-go. I don't hold with blaming SIr Henry or Basil for - ahem - leading him astray. His 'me me me' attitude pissed me off more than the despicable things he does. In the immortal words of Shania Twain, 'So you're Brad Pitt! That don't impress me much'. Characters and social commentary aside, Wilde has crafted a truly atmospheric gothic horror story, which - I'm going to say again - the film captures more succinctly.
    • 4/5
      Surprisingly good read of a classic that I had known little about. The only thing I knew about the story came from the terrible move "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" where Dorian Gray is one of the characters. I had higher hopes for the book and I was happy by the time I finished.

      The language used by Wilde in telling this story is beautiful. I enjoyed his writing style and his ability to create characters that expound on life and its virtues and flaws. To see the personal character of Gray go from purely good to evil is a fascinating experience. To read about the influence of both good and evil characters on his development is also fun.

      Like many classics, I found that the story itself moved along at a very slow pace. It was more about the conversations and thoughts of the characters than moving the plot along. However, I enjoyed the read and recommend it to all fans of literature.
    • 4/5
      I absolutely loved this book. I have to say this is one of my favorites, and recommend it to anyone.
    • 5/5
      Dorian Gray sold his soul for eternal youth and beauty while his painting of him ages and grows increasingly hideous with the years. This was a fascinating read. A timeless masterpiece, the book shows the struggle and torment of good and evil. I loved the character of Lord Henry Wotton. I would have to say that Oscar Wilde was a genius! I will definitely have to read this one again!
    • 3/5
      Prachtige sfeerschepping, sterk thrillerachtig, vol spitse oneliners en cynische filosofietjes.
    • 2/5
      I was familiar with the basic premise of this novel before reading it, but not with the actual plot or any of the non-titular characters. The plot starts out very slowly; almost nothing happens until about halfway through! It felt like Wilde was more interested in stuffing the book with witty one-liners than with telling the story. There's also an odd chapter that is almost entirely dense lists of aesthetically pleasing objects in history.The plot is *there*, under all the ornate embellishments, and the basic concept is compelling. I'm glad later artists adopted the premise and retold/adapted it, because there's something wonderfully haunting about it at the core.Among the witticisms are a variety of unfortunate statements about women, although nothing really surprising for a book from the 19th century. Far more jarring were the occasional intrusions of ugly vintage racism towards Jews and Black people. That really detracted from the story, and didn't need to be there at all.Bottom line, if you really want to have read this story in the original, or if you want to see where a hundred of Oscar Wilde's most quoted quotes come from, go ahead and read it! It's not very long. But otherwise, it's kind of a slog through old-school prejudices and preening monologues.
    • 2/5
      Unpopular opinion. I just really couldn't get into this book. It was very slow paced and just didn't spark my interest.
    • 4/5
      Loved it. Consistently interesting, though a few of the speeches dragged on as did a few of Wilde's "detailing paragraphs." Though I may not have agreed with everything that was said, overall it was very good, and Wilde is a beautiful writer.
    • 3/5
      I cannot honestly say that I enjoyed this book, though it has a clever plot. The experience was a shudder of unpleasant sensations at every sitting. Dorian Gray is a monster. His story is a walk through the degradation of a soul. The book causes doubt about the actual goodness in humanity, trumpeting the dangers of a selfish nature and the importance of choosing one's friends with the utmost care. As Dorian Gray discovered, friends have a heavy hand in the molding of one's character. Following is one paragraph that stood out to me: "Ah! in what a monstrous moment of pride and passion he had prayed that the portrait should bear the burden of his days, and he keep the unsullied splendor of eternal youth! All his failure had been due to that. Better for him that each sin of his life had brought its sure swift penalty along with it. There was purification in punishment." Like Dorian Gray, every member of humanity is free to make choices in life. But for us, the consequences of those choices must be endured. Dorian appeared to sidestep the consequences of his sins, but in truth he bore them in invisible ways as he watched the soul of his portrait rot with corruption. I must now seek out a light-hearted book to lift my spirits and restore my faith in mankind once again.
    • 3/5
      Sometimes you decide that you should make up for having never read any works of Oscar Wilde and learn that this book is far weirder than you ever imagined. The Picture of Dorian Gray is highly melodramatic and is tuned to Victorian era sensibilities of morality. This portrait in this book famously ages while it's subject remains young and beautiful, but the story is not about aging but the representation of Dorian Gray's evil acts in the visage of his picture. I was also surprised about how frank this book is about homosexuality for the time. At any rate, it's a nice surprise to finally read a book you think you know what it's about, only to find yourself very surprised.
    • 4/5
      I read this book so long ago (in my college days, and that, too, in translation), that when I encountered a gorgeous miniature edition of it at a bookstore, I was ready to re-read it. This first and only novel by O.Wilde has been dissected and scrutinized by so many critics and readers, that I doubt I can add anything substantial, except a couple of my own impressions. Truth be told - I found it dark and it depressed me. But at th e same time, Lord Henry's philosophizing, cynical and misogynistic at its core, did have some very great sparks of wit and wisdom; Dorian's narcissistic character didn't do much for me at all . Even epicurean theme was somehow tainted. A hedonist ( borrowing a phrase from a friend-blogger) can also be a "grateful hedonist"... Alas, not in this book. All in all, it's a classic in its message, of course, with many very clever quotes, such as these:"The only way to get rid of the temptation is to yield it" - questionable, yes, but in certain cases it may work..."Like all people who try to exhaust a subject, he exhausted his listeners". - Alas, I know a few people who do that..."Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them". This one is so true!"I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd attitude to take towards life. We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices""There is luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us.""Each of us has Heaven and Hell in him"."To define is to limit"."Death and vulgarity are the only two facts in the nineteenth century that one cannot explain away."
    • 4/5
      I very much enjoyed reading this classic. It's one I've wanted to read for years because my mom many years ago said she enjoyed it. I finally got to it after it was chosen by my online book club.This was quite the horror story. I enjoyed picturing in my mind everything that was happening. It got creepier as it went along. It had a sudden and powerful ending. I also liked reading about the undercurrents of homosexuality in this story which had been published in 1891. I know that the author was gay and wondered how this would play out in reading his works. In this book, it was clear that the painter Basil Hallward obviously adored the protagonist, Dorian Gray. Gray's other close friend, Lord Henry Wotton, was always a part of his life. On the other hand, Gray never had a fully satisfactory relationship with women in this story and was still a bachelor at this tale's end. There were two things I liked a bit less about this book. Firstl, I had the Russian edition of the English version. Therefore I could not read the footnotes which were all in Russian. I started looking up terms and people I didn't know, but that got old pretty soon.I also didn't like when the story went off on long tangents of conversation. I especially disliked the part where the author itemized all of Gray's studies and reading. I thought that part would never end.Nevertheless, this is a fun and worthwhile read. I definitely would recommend it to others who like to read classics and horror stories.
    • 3/5
      It's a classic so... it's as good as a classic ever is. For its era it must have been pretty edgy and dark, and, even in our modern cynical world, it is still kinda dark and surprising. Though I think by now the story "twist" is part of our popular culture so nobody is going to be very shocked.This book is very difficult to get through in text as it has multiple descriptive tangents which drove me crazy, but as an audio, it was much less boring (guess I phased out during the boring bits)... That all being said, I read this for a research project and, as such, it was one of the more bearable books I had to read. Though I would not read it again, nor would I read anything else by Wilde... I just don't care about wealthy gay men and their trials and tribulations as they screw their way across the city.
    • 3/5
      All very gothic.
    • 3/5
      3.5 stars

      "The artist is the creator of beautiful things."

      WELL, THIS WAS INTERESTING.

      This book has a lot going for it. For one, it has some beautifully written passages. Pretty much every other line in this novel can stand on its own as a thought-provoking, philosophical quote. The Picture of Dorian Gray really is great fodder for essays, and discussions, and any form of communication requiring words really.

      As for this novel's characters, I will say that they were not the most likable, and I think that's kind of the point. At first I was like oh, Lord Henry seems to have some cool stuff to say but then I was like nah he's just a pretentious snob. The stuff he preaches is nothing if not controversial though. Basil was a semi-normal, tame human being, which was nice given the nature of the other characters (i.e. crazy/depraved/not very nice). Dorian was... interesting? HE IS MESSED UP. I honestly don't know how he got off the rails so quickly. Regardless, I enjoyed how his storyline ended up unfolding, especially the ending (!!!). Seriously, he thought he could do all the horrendous things he did and then atone for them by "being nice." That is not how it works my friend. Also, I cannot leave out Sybil because her storyline was ridiculous. I don't know if it was hilarious or grating. Probably both. I could not have rolled my eyes enough times.

      My only qualm with this book is that I wish it had more plot with better pacing. Apart from a couple of "big" incidents, (the reveal of what the painting could do, Sybil dying, Basil getting STABBED and burned) there wasn't much plot-wise that I could really sink my teeth into. Because the plot was so slowgoing at times, the pacing felt a bit inconsistent. Some parts left me totally engrossed, while others just left me wondering why any of the stuff I was reading mattered.

      I kind of wish I had studied this in class because there's heaps and heaps to talk about when it comes to Dorian Gray.

      Conclusion: The Picture of Dorian Gray is the kind of novel that begs to be analyzed, urging you to look more closely at what it's trying to say. It's engaging, it's accessible, and it's definitely worth your while. Also, its prose is just a wonder to behold.

      PS: The comments on women in this book were not very nice.
      Exhibit A: "My dear boy, no woman is a genius. Women are a decorative sex. They never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly."
      It took everything I had to keep it together. If this weren't a classic I probably would've lost it.
    • 4/5
      A young egotistic man whispers a prayer and gets exactly what he asked for.How does one even begin to review this book? I disagreed vehemently with just about everything it proposed, and yet because of the writing, I continued to listen. Lord Henry. What are we to do with him? I've heard it proposed that he is meant to be Satan tempting Dorian, and there is an element of that, but to me he seemed more of a man who likes to hear himself talk and shock others, but doesn't really believe what he is saying. Dorian is loathsome. Innocent my foot. He latches on to the things Lord Henry says because it is in his nature already. Best described as a sociopath in my opinion. A sociopath who develops into a psychopath as easily as he puts on his gloves, and he wears well fitting gloves.What I would really like to know, is how much of Oscar Wilde's beliefs are in this book. Or, did he write it to show the absurdity of the ideas propounded? The misogyny and cynicism within are breathtaking. Were they his? He had a difficult time of it being who he was in the time he lived; did he develop these views to survive? Now I think I must go read a biography of Oscar Wilde.

    Book preview

    The Picture Of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

    Preface

    The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

    The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.

    Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

    Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.

    They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.

    There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.

    The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.

    The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.

    The moral life of man forms part of the subject matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium. No artist desires to prove anything.  Even things that are true can be proved. No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.

    No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.

    Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.

    Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.

    From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is the type.

    All art is at once surface and symbol.

    Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.

    Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.

    It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.

    Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.

    When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with himself.

    We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.

    All art is quite useless.

    OSCAR WILDE

    Chapter 1

    The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

    From the corner of the divan of Persian saddlebags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

    In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

    As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.

    It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done, said Lord Henry languidly. You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. Whenever I have gone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been able to see the pictures, which was dreadful, or so many pictures that I have not been able to see the people, which was worse. The Grosvenor is really the only place.

    I don’t think I shall send it anywhere, he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford. No, I won’t send it anywhere.

    Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows and looked at him in amazement through the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful whorls from his heavy, opium-tainted cigarette. Not send it anywhere? My dear fellow, why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters are! You do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it away. It is silly of you, for there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. A portrait like this would set you far above all the young men in England, and make the old men quite jealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion.

    I know you will laugh at me, he replied, but I really can’t exhibit it. I have put too much of myself into it.

    Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed.

    Yes, I knew you would; but it is quite true, all the same.

    Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn’t know you were so vain; and I really can’t see any resemblance between you, with your rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves. Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you—well, of course you have an intellectual expression and all that. But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don’t think. A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful. Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told me, but whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. I feel quite sure of that. He is some brainless beautiful creature who should be always here in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in summer when we want something to chill our intelligence. Don’t flatter yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like him.

    You don’t understand me, Harry, answered the artist. Of course I am not like him. I know that perfectly well. Indeed, I should be sorry to look like him. You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the truth. There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through history the faltering steps of kings. It is better not to be different from one’s fellows. The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. They can sit at their ease and gape at the play. If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat. They live as we all should live—undisturbed, indifferent, and without disquiet. They neither bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it from alien hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are—my art, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray’s good looks—we shall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly.

    Dorian Gray? Is that his name? asked Lord Henry, walking across the studio towards Basil Hallward.

    Yes, that is his name. I didn’t intend to tell it to you.

    But why not?

    Oh, I can’t explain. When I like people immensely, I never tell their names to anyone. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvellous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town now I never tell my people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. It is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one’s life. I suppose you think me awfully foolish about it?

    Not at all, answered Lord Henry, not at all, my dear Basil. You seem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties. I never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what I am doing. When we meet—we do meet occasionally, when we dine out together, or go down to the Duke’s—we tell each other the most absurd stories with the most serious faces. My wife is very good at it—much better, in fact, than I am. She never gets confused over her dates, and I always do. But when she does find me out, she makes no row at all. I sometimes wish she would; but she merely laughs at me.

    I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry, said Basil Hallward, strolling towards the door that led into the garden. I believe that you are really a very good husband, but that you are thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues. You are an extraordinary fellow. You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing. Your cynicism is simply a pose.

    Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know, cried Lord Henry, laughing; and the two young men went out into the garden together and ensconced themselves on a long bamboo seat that stood in the shade of a tall laurel bush. The sunlight slipped over the polished leaves. In the grass, white daisies were tremulous.

    After a pause, Lord Henry pulled out his watch. I am afraid I must be going, Basil, he murmured, and before I go, I insist on your answering a question I put to you some time ago.

    What is that? said the painter, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

    You know quite well.

    I do not, Harry.

    Well, I will tell you what it is. I want you to explain to me why you won’t exhibit Dorian Gray’s picture. I want the real reason.

    I told you the real reason.

    No, you did not. You said it was because there was too much of yourself in it. Now, that is childish.

    Harry, said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.

    Lord Henry laughed. And what is that? he asked.

    I will tell you, said Hallward; but an expression of perplexity came over his face.

    I am all expectation, Basil, continued his companion, glancing at him.

    Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry, answered the painter; and I am afraid you will hardly understand it. Perhaps you will hardly believe it.

    Lord Henry smiled, and leaning down, plucked a pink-petalled daisy from the grass and examined it. I am quite sure I shall understand it, he replied, gazing intently at the little golden, white-feathered disk, and as for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible.

    The wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and the heavy lilac blooms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro in the languid air. A grasshopper began to chirrup by the wall, and like a blue thread a long thin dragonfly floated past on its brown gauze wings. Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward’s heart beating, and wondered what was coming.

    The story is simply this, said the painter after some time. Two months ago I went to a crush at Lady Brandon’s. You know we poor artists have to show ourselves in society from time to time, just to remind the public that we are not savages. With an evening coat and a white tie, as you told me once, anybody, even a stockbroker, can gain a reputation for being civilized. Well, after I had been in the room about ten minutes, talking to huge overdressed dowagers and tedious academicians, I suddenly became conscious that someone was looking at me. I turned halfway round and saw Dorian Gray for the first time. When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. I did not want any external influence in my life. You know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature. I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then—but I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.

    Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. Conscience is the trade name of the firm. That is all.

    I don’t believe that, Harry, and I don’t believe you do either. However, whatever was my motive—and it may have been pride, for I used to be very proud—I certainly struggled to the door. There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. ‘You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. Hallward?’ she screamed out. You know her curiously shrill voice?

    Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty, said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy to bits with his long nervous fingers.

    I could not get rid of her. She brought me up to royalties, and people with stars and garters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and parrot noses. She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionize me. I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortality. Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me. We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again. It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so reckless, after all. It was simply inevitable. We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure of that. Dorian told me so afterwards. He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other.

    And how did Lady Brandon describe this wonderful young man? asked his companion. "I know she goes in for giving a rapid précis of all her guests. I remember her bringing me up to a truculent and red-faced old gentleman covered all over with orders and ribbons, and hissing into my ear, in a tragic whisper which must have been perfectly audible to everybody in the room, the most astounding details. I simply fled. I like to find out people for myself. But Lady Brandon treats her guests exactly as an auctioneer treats his goods. She either explains them entirely away, or tells one everything about them except what one wants to know."

    Poor Lady Brandon! You are hard on her, Harry! said Hallward listlessly.

    "My dear fellow, she tried to found a salon, and only succeeded in opening a restaurant. How could I admire her? But tell me, what did she say about Mr. Dorian Gray?"

    Oh, something like, ‘Charming boy—poor dear mother and I absolutely inseparable. Quite forget what he does—afraid he—doesn’t do anything—oh, yes, plays the piano—or is it the violin, dear Mr. Gray?’ Neither of us could help laughing, and we became friends at once.

    Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is far the best ending for one, said the young lord, plucking another daisy.

    Hallward shook his head. You don’t understand what friendship is, Harry, he murmured—or what enmity is, for that matter. You like every one; that is to say, you are indifferent to everyone.

    How horribly unjust of you! cried Lord Henry, tilting his hat back and looking up at the little clouds that, like ravelled skeins of glossy white silk, were drifting across the hollowed turquoise of the summer sky. Yes; horribly unjust of you. I make a great difference between people. I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances for their good characters, and my enemies for their good intellects. A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies. I have not got one who is a fool. They are all men of some intellectual power, and consequently they all appreciate me. Is that very vain of me? I think it is rather vain.

    I should think it was, Harry. But according to your category I must be merely an acquaintance.

    My dear old Basil, you are much more than an acquaintance.

    And much less than a friend. A sort of brother, I suppose?

    Oh, brothers! I don’t care for brothers. My elder brother won’t die, and my younger brothers seem never to do anything else.

    Harry! exclaimed Hallward, frowning.

    My dear fellow, I am not quite serious. But I can’t help detesting my relations. I suppose it comes from the fact that none of us can stand other people having the same faults as ourselves. I quite sympathize with the rage of the English democracy against what they call the vices of the upper orders. The masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and immorality should be their own special property, and that if any one of us makes an ass of himself, he is poaching on their preserves. When poor Southwark got into the divorce court, their indignation was quite magnificent. And yet I don’t suppose that ten per cent of the proletariat live correctly.

    I don’t agree with a single word that you have said, and, what is more, Harry, I feel sure you don’t either.

    Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard and tapped the toe of his patent-leather boot with a tasselled ebony cane. How English you are Basil! That is the second time you have made that observation. If one puts forward an idea to a true Englishman—always a rash thing to do—he never dreams of considering whether the idea is right or wrong. The only thing he considers of any importance is whether one believes it oneself. Now, the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it. Indeed, the probabilities are that the more insincere the man is, the more purely intellectual will the idea be, as in that case it will not be coloured by either his wants, his desires, or his prejudices. However, I don’t propose to discuss politics, sociology, or metaphysics with you. I like persons better than principles, and I like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world. Tell me more about Mr. Dorian Gray. How often do you see him?

    Every day. I couldn’t be happy if I didn’t see him every day. He is absolutely necessary to me.

    How extraordinary! I thought you would never care for anything but your art.

    He is all my art to me now, said the painter gravely. "I sometimes think, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the world’s history. The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinous was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will someday be to me. It is not merely that I paint from him, draw from him, sketch from him. Of course, I have done all that. But he is much more to me than a model or a sitter. I won’t tell you that I am dissatisfied with what I have done of him, or that his beauty is such that art cannot express it. There is nothing that art cannot express, and I know that the work I have done, since I met Dorian Gray, is good work, is the best work of my life. But in some curious way—I wonder will you understand me?—his personality has suggested to me an entirely new manner in art, an entirely new mode of style. I see things differently, I think of them differently. I can now recreate life in a way that was hidden from me before. ‘A dream of form in days of thought’—who is it who says that? I forget; but it is what Dorian Gray has been to me. The merely visible presence of this lad—for he seems to me little more than a lad, though he is really over twenty—his merely visible presence—ah! I wonder can you realize all that that means? Unconsciously he defines for me the lines of a fresh school, a school that is to have in it all the passion of the romantic spirit, all the perfection of the spirit that is Greek. The harmony of soul and body—how much that is! We in our madness have separated the two, and have invented a realism that is vulgar, an ideality that is void. Harry! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me! You remember that landscape of mine, for which Agnew offered me such a huge price but which I would not part with? It is one of the best things I have ever done. And why is it so? Because, while I was painting it, Dorian Gray sat beside me. Some subtle influence passed from him to me,

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1