I put off reading The Picture of Dorian Gray for a while, and now that I've finally read it, I regret that I hadn't started long ago. The entire book seems to ooze a vivid, breathtaking atmosphere, permeated alternately with grace and darkness. It's simply addictive. In this first part, I'll stick to just the beginning, because it deserves lots of attention.
(Warning: spoilers in abundance.)
First off, the Prelude (which had been written about a year after first publication of the story itself, to defend it from moral critics) is both intriguing and confusing. In his eloquent defense of art and beauty melded as one, Wilde makes an interesting statement about the true worshipers of beauty.
"They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty."
Sure, we all tend to like pretty things because they appeal to us, but is it really as simple as that? I don't just see beauty in beautiful things, especially art that required time and skill to create. I also see love, joy, comfort, care, devotion, and attention to detail. Beauty is often the product of a lot of work, isn't it?
"All art is at once surface and symbol."
Wow. I could think on that forever. Just, wow. All the complex layers boggle the mind. Depending on who is observing and how that person observes, a person can skim over a work of art without a second thought, or that person can dwell obsessively on that work of art till he/she sees hidden meanings and angles that even the author didn't intend. (I also can't help wondering if this talk of symbols is a direct contradiction to simple, meaningless beauty, or if it's just me.)
I think art is both subjective and objective in its way, because on the one hand, the author has a clear message in mind while writing, whether that message becomes apparent to the beholder or not. On the other hand, there are so many different ways to interpret the same work of art, regardless of the author's own interpretation. But I'm going down a bunny trail . . .
The first chapter's opening is very fitting, after that preface--an artist gazing in admiration at one of his own portraits in his studio. A friend of his lies comfortably stretched across a divan, smelling luxuriously-described scents from the outside. (I think what I envy the most of Wilde's skills is his descriptive magic. Beautiful though it is, it's not always easy to keep reading, because I want to dive into a corner and cry and swear I'll never try to write again.)
To arrest attention right away, one of these three subjects must be good-looking. Wilde presents the reader with two--the portrait and the guy gracing the divan. (I'm now convinced that most, if not all books, should begin with an attractive guy gracing a divan. Yes, please.)
Naturally, when the dialogue begins, the subject of conversation is the one man in the room that can't speak--the image of Dorian Gray.
Lord Henry Wotton, the guy on the divan, wants the artist, Basil Hallward, to cough up the name of his stunning subject. Basil doens't want to, comparing parting with a name with parting with a piece of the person. Such a fascinating thought! I can sympathize--sometimes I feel as if something is too precious to talk about, too. So I end up writing it instead.
Eventually, Wotton does wheedle Dorian Gray's name and more from his friend. They go on talking for quite a while, and practically everything Wotton says is brilliant and hysterical. I want to quote him, but it's hard to pick just one line, and not just rip off the entire chapter. Okay, I got it:
"I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances for their good characters, and my enemies for their good intellects."
I dare anyone and everyone to not burst a blood vessel laughing at that line. It's perfection, pure perfection.
Speaking of perfection, as Basil goes on to get Lord Henry and the reader more interested in Dorian, he says that meeting Dorian was like meeting someone who would take over his life through his art. I know that feeling all too well, but I never was able to put it into words like that. I wonder if that's a common feeling among writers?
