The Picture Of Dorian Gray

A review of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Kiran Fane

Good evening. As always, I will begin my review with the general impression that the book left on me. The Picture of Dorian Gray is a work I had only been familiar with through the medium of film. And its author, Oscar Wilde, only through what one might glean from serendipitous mentions amongst other topics. But, from these scant resources, I always imagined that I would greatly enjoy this book. Despite this certainty, my imagination was wholly unequal to the measure of delight that reading Dorian Gray brought me. From the first page, I found myself in a nearly ceaseless state of captivation, an experience quite apropos to the work which induced in me such wonder.

I would like to here note that the version of Dorian Gray that I read was a reproduction of the novel as it was printed in 1891. This version contains a few notable alterations from Oscar Wilde’s original writings, published the year before in the Lippincourt magazine. This review is not indicative of any preference on my part, nor a judgment on the merits of those changes. I have not yet had the pleasure of comparing the two, though I intend to at my earliest opportunity. I would usually here provide a warning about the use of certain “outdated phrasing” which often plagues works of a certain vintage, but I am pleased to announce that The Picture of Dorian Gray, at least to my fallible memory, is blessedly free of such things.

I should not find myself surprised by the lack of unconscious bias, as Oscar Wilde’s prose makes clear in every sentence that no word was chosen without deep care and consideration. The quality of writing in this book is one of the greatest contributing factors to the immense pleasure I took in reading it. There is a decadence to the prose, like some rich confection, that could easily have become saccharine in the hands of a less skilled author. Instead, Oscar Wilde presents his prose like poetry, each sentence declaring its beauty with an unabashed pride. I am usually loath to subscribe to the belief that classic works represent an insurmountable peak in quality, but if ever a book’s prose could sway me, it would be The Picture of Dorian Gray. If you compare the titular Dorian’s proclamation of love against that of almost any romance written in the modern era, I cannot help but feel that Oscar Wilde’s artistic skill threatens to remain ever out of reach. “I want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of our world to hear our laughter, and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain. My god, Harry. How I worship her!” Regardless of the outcome of Dorian’s desires, that is a declaration of love not to be outdone by any less than a great effort.

If there is criticism to be leveled at this book, and there should ever be, one could contend that The Picture of Dorian Gray is not a book which is overly blessed with an abundance of atmosphere. The environmental descriptions are equal in loveliness to the rest of Oscar Wilde’s prose, but the sights and scents of Victorian London are described with such poetry that they invariably do little to truly draw the reader in. That said, the richness of description, while not relatable, does an exceptional job of highlighting the book's real focus, the sensualism of Dorian himself.

Dorian Gray is, unsurprisingly, the most fascinating character we follow through the story, but he is by no means the only character of consequence. His association with Lord Henry acts as the catalyst to much of the tragedy, which later befalls Dorian. Meanwhile, his friendship with Basil Hallward serves to reflect the ideals to which he fails to aspire. Both characters enhance the story, feeling like fully realized individuals, even as they serve their function as mirrors to Dorian Gray. It is tempting, perhaps too much so, to imagine these characters as facets of Oscar Wilde himself. I cannot resist the urge to view them as the author's philosophy, or fear, that beauty, when it drinks too oft from the bitter cup of cynicism, invariably turns to a vanity that threatens the very soul of one’s art.

Without revealing too much, that fear is exactly the tragedy which plays out within the pages of the story. Dorian Gray, despite the pleas of his friend, the artist Basil Hallward, falls under the sway of Lord Henry Wotton, a man who endorses the most immoral actions, but always from a socially respectable distance. There is a certain sorrow to the novel. The artist, who cares deeply for his friend, pays the price for that love, while the influential nobleman gambles with the lives of others without consequence. For the most part, this fascinating tale grips the reader and keeps the pages turning, if only to discover what new depths await. Few are the moments when I found myself anything less than totally engaged. The ending of the book is either frustratingly sudden, leaving unanswered questions and loose threads. Or, for quite the same reasons, exceptionally well-written.

I think, by now, my opinions of The Picture of Dorian Gray are exceedingly clear. But one does not come to a review for inferences. If there was nothing to recommend in this book beyond the beauty of its prose, I would still encourage readers to adopt the stance of Lord Henry that beauty is the only thing worth having. But, thankfully for those who would prefer not to take influence from such a foppish miscreant, Dorian Gray is far more than just its mesmerizing prose.  The story is a timeless exploration of the conflict between that which we value and that which is valuable. It warns against destructive over-indulgence without falling into base moralizing. It condemns callous self-absorption without resorting to denigrating the very concept of self. There is much to be said for what one might learn from classic literature. Among those great works, The Picture of Dorian Gray may prove to be the most alluringly presented of lessons.