Had I read this back in high school, I would be extolling it as the best book ever written, between the creepy premise, the poetic justice, and Wilde's trademark way with words. I'm hesitant to declare a flawless victory now that my tastes have evolved a little, but this is a classic worth the time of anyone who likes irony, and loves dialogue.
For those that aren't familiar with the plot, Dorian Gray is a young British aristocrat who serves as the unrequited love and prime inspiration for an artist named Basil Hallward. Basil becomes so enamored that he pours all of his talent and effort into a portrait of Dorian, finding what he feels to be the pinnacle of his art. In the meantime, Dorian is reluctantly introduced to a friend of Basil's: Lord Henry Wotton, a hedonistic dandy that lives only to indulge idle whims and explore new sensations. After only a single day, Lord Henry's philosophy so affects Dorian that, for the first time, he becomes aware of the ephemeral nature of his youth and afraid of the day in which it begins to wane. As he gazes upon Basil's unveiled portrait, he idly wishes that he could keep his youth forever, and that the beautiful painting would age in his place. As time goes by, he realizes to his astonishment that he might have got his wish; as Lord Henry's influence takes greater hold, the portrait begins to reveal what an unnaturally long youth can do to one's soul.
The narrative is straightforward compared to similar books from the same time period. And, as one would expect from Oscar Wilde, the prose is delectable. The dialogue is pitch-perfect, and the descriptive passages are tight when they need to be and luxurious when they have the opportunity. Which, believe it or not, is at the root of the minor issues I had with the book.
I have to be frank and say that there really isn't a whole lot more in terms of plot than the synopsis above. Wilde seems much more interested in sharing his themes and social critiques than in spinning a yarn. The character of Lord Henry Wotton is a prime example; most of the time, he seems to be simply a delivery vessel for Wilde's sarcasm and humor. He's got witty repartee at the ready for every situation, and chews up the scenery with his caustic remarks and introspective musings on every page that includes him. Which amused me more than irritated me, actually, because Wotton is an interesting character in spite of himself. He serves as a poisonous influence that precipitates Dorian's downfall in the beginning, and offers a stark contrast to the depths of Dorian's corruption at the end.
The only trouble I have is that, at one point, the story takes the same sort of languid detour that Wotton's dialogue does. Once Dorian's course is established, the narrative suddenly drops into an exhaustive list of the fabrics he likes, the gems he is interested in, the music he listens to, etc. This is described in the sort of detail that suggests Wilde was indulging his own knowledge and interest. Once I made it through the middle and the story picked up again, I looked back on it as a sort of literary montage to explain Dorian's hedonistic comings and goings, but honestly, I began to lose interest at this point after tearing through the beginning. Not long after the main story picks up again, it suddenly ends with a Poe-like twist. It was a satisfying ending, but didn't seem to do justice to the rich prose that led up to it.
So, even though I loved most of the book, my eyes begain to glaze over in a few places. A bit of Oscar Wilde Overload, maybe. But those were only momentary lapses, as far as I'm concerned; this is a classic worth owning, especially if one has an interest in classic horror. It is also required reading for anybody who espouses hedonism, or likes to argue themes in literature.
Verdict: 4 out of 5
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