So, yesterday I started The Picture of Dorian Gray by the fab Oscar Wilde. I'm about halfway through, and wishing I was reading rather than blogging. This book is great stuff. The story is enthralling, twisty, etc, the wit is...witty. However, I don't really like any of the characters. I mean, the painter guy is probably the coolest, but he's a little drippy for my tastes--takes everything lying down. The author seems to want to portray this as him being deeply engrossed in his art. Maybe.
Lord Henry what's-his-name speaks entirely in aphorisms of his own slightly twisted creation. He wildly influences the title character, and not in a good way. I abhor cynicism and pessimism in both people and characters. He is the picture of decadant reclining ennui. While this is a picturesque thing in the short term, and he is certainly the soul of the style in which the book is written...it gets old.
As far as Dorian, I have to say I don't have a good feeling as to where this is going. Due entirely to Lord-freaking-Henry's influence, he is devolving from a magical child beauty to a cruel and hard young man astonishingly quickly.
Although I'm not really feeling the characters (except for the tragic and beautiful Sybil...oh how I love her) I have to applaud the artistry of Wilde--I still want to read about and know what is going to happen to them, even though I can easily predict it will only go downhill from here. I know that Dorian will make the choice for eternal youth...I mean, duh. And of course with that choice will come tragedy and downfall. But hey, I'm so in for the ride.
As the trip nears, and Dublin beckons-- I will not only see Oscar Wilde's birthplace, but also I will go on the BRAM STOKER DRACULA TOUR. Florence Balcombe would be having a field day. Plus a visit to their alma mater, Trinity College. I just love seats of knowledge and literature.
Maybe I'll see a fairy ring.
Molly
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