The Picture of Dorian Gray

By Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde’s only novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, is an enduring masterpiece of gothic horror, exploring the corruption of humanity, our desire to sin, and the extremes vanity will lead us to.

Young, handsome, and privileged, Dorian Gray has his portrait painted by the talented Basil Hallward. When Sir Henry Wotton convinces Dorian of the need to indulge in one’s own vanity and to take advantage of his good looks, the young man makes a wish that could become his downfall when he exchanges his soul for eternal youth. As Dorian lives out a selfishly decadent lifestyle, he remains the picture of a perfect gentleman to those around him, but his portrait displays the consequences of an ageing and sinful existence.

First published in 1890 and written with Oscar Wilde’s alluring wit and breathtaking imagery, The Picture of Dorian Gray is a timeless Gothic tragedy, perfect for those interested in classic fantasy and horror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Read Books Ltd.
• Release date: Aug 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781528786003

Oscar Wilde

Born in Ireland in 1856, Oscar Wilde was a noted essayist, playwright, fairy tale writer and poet, as well as an early leader of the Aesthetic Movement. His plays include: An Ideal Husband, Salome, A Woman of No Importance, and Lady Windermere's Fan. Among his best known stories are The Picture of Dorian Gray and The Canterville Ghost.

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THE PICTURE

OF DORIAN GRAY

By

OSCAR WILDE

First published in 1890

This edition published by Read Books Ltd.

Copyright © 2018 Read Books Ltd.

This book is copyright and may not be

reproduced or copied in any way without

the express permission of the publisher in writing

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available

from the British Library

Contents

Oscar Wilde

THE PREFACE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

Oscar Wilde

Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde was born in Dublin in 1854. His parents were successful Dublin intellectuals, and Wilde became fluent in French and German early in life. He studied at Trinity College, Dublin, and subsequently won a scholarship to Magdalen College, Oxford, where he was heavily influenced by John Ruskin and Walter Pate. Wilde proved himself to be an outstanding classicist. After university, he moved to London and became involved with the fashionable cultural and social circles of the day. At the age of just 25 he was well-known as a wit and a dandy, and as a spokesman for aestheticism – an artistic movement that emphasized aesthetic values ahead of socio-political themes – he undertook a lecture tour to the United States in 1882, before eventually returning to London to try his hand at journalism. It was also around this time that he produced most of his well-known short fiction.

In 1891, Wilde published The Picture of Dorian Gray, his only novel. Reviewers criticised the novel's decadence and homosexual allusions, although it was popular nonetheless. From 1892, Wilde focussed on playwriting. In that year, he gained commercial and critical success with Lady Windermere's Fan, and followed it with the comedy A Woman of No Importance (1893) and An Ideal Husband (1895). Then came Wilde's most famous play, The Importance of Being Earnest – a farcical comedy which cemented his artistic reputation and is now seen as his masterpiece.

In 1895, the Marquess of Queensbury, who objected to his son spending so much time with Wilde because of Wilde's flamboyant behaviour and homosexual reputation, publicly insulted him. In response, Wilde brought an unsuccessful slander suit against him. The result of this inability to prove slander was his own trial on charges of sodomy, and the revealing to the transfixed Victorian public of salacious details of Wilde's private life followed, including his association with blackmailers and male prostitutes, cross-dressers and homosexual brothels. Wilde was found guilty of sodomy and sentenced to two years of hard labour.

Wilde was released from prison in 1897, having suffered from a number of ailments and injuries. He left England the next day for the continent, to spend his last three years in penniless exile. He settled in Paris, and didn't write anymore, declaring I can write, but have lost the joy of writing. Wilde died of cerebral meningitis on in November of 1900, converting to Catholicism on his deathbed.

THE 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 saddle-bags 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 any one. 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 dragon-fly 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 stock-broker, 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 some one was looking at me. I turned half-way 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 some one 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 precis 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 every one.

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

Reviews for The Picture of Dorian Gray

[carl_alves_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

The Picture of Dorian Gray is a classic story that after reading it, it is more of a good idea rather than a good book. Dorian Gray is the ultimate narcissist, so much so that he makes a Faustian pact for him to be young and beautiful forever after he receives a portrait from his artist friend Basil Hallward. While his looks remain unchanged, the portrait becomes old and corrupted as he does terrible things in his life, starting with driving his fiancée to commit suicide after breaking up with her because of a poor performance on stage.As I mentioned, it’s a cool idea but not a particularly good book. For one thing, there isn’t a single likeable character in the whole book. Dorian is agonizingly weak and shallow. Basil is soft and wishy-washy. His friend, Henry, is utterly amoral. When a peasant character dies, he’s not concerned about the man’s life but only that the man who killed him in a hunting accident will be considered a bad shot. The characters are thoroughly misogynistic and prejudiced. The novel is filled with long, painful conversations that seem to go nowhere and get old real quick. By the time I got to the end of the novel, I was glad that it was done.Carl Alves – author of Blood Street

[olivermagnus · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Dorian Gray is a strikingly handsome young man whose beauty attracts degenerate aristocrat Sir Henry Wotton. Dorian's picture has been painted by a talented artist Basil Hallward and Sir Henry becomes desperate to meet Dorian. Sir Henry persuades Dorian to pose for a picture painted by Basil and during the painting sessions, Henry “educates” the young and impressionable Dorian about life. Sir Henry's obsession with youth and his cynical, materialistic outlook on everything begin to slowly affect Dorian. Dorian descends into a decadent world, where he commits despicable deeds while everyone else feels the effects. Lives are destroyed and crimes are committed but Dorian's self-indulgent and depraved life continues. The story takes a twist from here as the picture begins to develop a life of its own.

The novel is considered a literary masterpiece, complete with Gothic atmosphere and Oscar Wilde's understanding of human nature. It's seems just as relevant today where we are constantly searching for youth and our obsession with fighting age through youthful appearance. The Picture of Dorian Gray remains the symbol of the search for the Fountain of Youth, even though it comes with a tremendous price tag.

I thought this was a fantastic book and even though the language is very flowery, it's typical of novels written in the 1890's. Once I got into the cadence of it, I found the writing to be fascinating. I'm sorry I never read the book before, but maybe I needed to be older to appreciate the themes of beauty, morality and immortality. I think Wilde would be delighted to know that his book has been generating both good and bad opinions for over a hundred years.

[dbsovereign · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Don't look at yourself too closely in the mirror or you might spot some wrinkles starting to crack through. Wilde's foray into horror is stupendous!

[elizabeth_foster-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A brilliant read, with gothic undertones. A monstrous shadow is at play throughout, which grows more and more immense as the story progresses. The author was fearless in his exploration of love and passion, sensation, intellect, youth, ageing, and morality. I finished with a lingering sadness that he was vilified for exploring such themes.

[morgandax · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I read every tidbit of information in this version of the book, including the chronology and all the appendices.
It's interesting that such a short (so much so that it is not even technically a novel) book with measures taken to thwart certain interpretations, would wind up so controversial, and lead to the jailing of the author.

I found the plot interesting, and the writing a bit tiresome at times. Though that is likely more due to the period it was written, and less the quality of writing. The dialogue was surprisingly interesting though, despite the antiquity of the story. I truly enjoyed all the notes and history delivered bout both the story and author, giving it that much more depth and interest.

[lydia1879 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I'll just say that I read this edition, because there are so many editions it would take me forever to find mine. It was an old, ratty paperback that I borrowed from someone else so, needless to say, I don't think I'll ever locate it.

I really liked this book. It was scathing, witty, dry and had some of the humour that Wilde is so well-known for. The language is quite antiquated and really took me quite some time to get used to. But I took my time with it and really enjoyed it in the end. I think the dialogue took the longest to get used to, because he wasn't always clear with who said what.

I liked all the characters and thought that the narrative was really well-constructed. I thought it was a really engrossing, short story and found it really readable.

It was quite thrilling in the end and I look forward to reading more of Wilde's work.

[nx74defiant · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Very familiar story

[tomdonaghey · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The Picture Of Dorian Gray (1891) by Oscar Wilde. A classic tale of selling your soul, in this case for vanity’s sake. Dorian Gray will always look young even as his sins are transferred to the once beautiful portrait. But, as always, the price must be paid.A morality tale of the first order.

[thathikermeg · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Big fan, reread this for a project. Wish Wilde’s publisher hadn’t rushed the added chapters to this version, however.Later edit: Boy, I really didn't feel like writing much when I put that one up. Ok, this is a 4.5 star rating. I adore Wilde's prose, no matter how much my peers might criticize his aesthetic style. I know it's hypocritical to the "message" of the story (subject of the paper mentioned earlier) but I don't really care, it's indulgent and lovely and beautiful. I don't have the skills required to describe it as nicely as he could. Ah, what a guy.

[joeydag · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I read it so long ago I don't remember as much than I do from the movie.

[themythbookshelf · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

There's something in nineteenth-century British literature that I am drawn to—there is a certain musicality or lyricism to it that I love, despite its inspirations often being delusional, fantastical and at times even fetishistic. So it is of little surprise that I found The Picture of Dorian Gray a sweeping read, and one that I had little dissatisfactions with, stylistically.When painter Basil Hallward first sets his eyes upon Dorian Gray, he is a young, captivating soul of speechless beauty. Combined with his social standing, his allure sets his name aflame across countless of social spheres within England. The story begins when Basil makes Dorian his muse, and asks him to sit for a portrait that, little do they both know, will become much more than the painter's magnum opus. Lord Henry, a wealthy friend of Basil, quickly enters the scene, instilling in the Adonis a roaring, dizzying passion for life: “the few words that Basil’s friend had said to him…had touched some secret chord that had never been touched before, but that he felt now was vibrating and throbbing to curious pulses” (21). It is the whimsical, at times paradoxical musings of Lord Henry that transform Dorian Gray, whose adoration for his own portrait become the root of the story’s unfoldment.This was my first proper exposure to Wilde’s work, and it surely was a pleasant experience. I do not know the reason as to why this was his only novel, but it certainly encapsulates his interest in the Aesthetic Movement (“Art for Art’s Sake”). Filled with a rather spiritualistic love for art, humor, and thrill it makes for a lovely (and easy) read, though it lacks the depth, the grittiness, that I was looking for. But this may very well be as a consequence of its loyalty to the values of Wilde’s movement, where art existed free of social, moral and even logical obligations. This novel lacks substance or a core, but ultimately our own conclusions, our own thoughts emerge out of it to appease our own sense of what good literature should be.

[jessljones · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Excellent illustration of the human psyche and the effects of status, money and arrogance.

[lucybrown_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Oscar Wilde famously proclaimed that there was no such thing as a moral or immoral book, only one that was badly or well written. I would never say that Dorian Gray is badly written. It is full of pretty words, lush descriptions and witty repartee. However, it lacks a compelling central character. It, in fact, lacks any compelling characters. It works as a morality play, but not as a fully wrought novel. We never understand Gray beyond his shiny exterior. As I read, I kept thinking, "what a book this would have been if Conrad had written it!" Then I would think what if Poe or Hawthorne had.

When Marlowe sees the horror that had become Kurtz, the reader is deeply affected. Though absent for nearly all of the book, Kurtz becomes for the reader a man of substance, depth, at one time, of integrity. When Othello, Hamlet, Oedipus fall we mourn. While deeply flawed these men represented some level of worthiness. One does not mourn the destruction of a piece of frippery. From the start Dorian is nothing more than that. A pretty boy. He is vapid, callow beyond belief. His descent into turpitude is not affecting because he was really nothing to begin with.

As for the plotting, there are large chunks that could have been axed. The catalogue of collectors and collections gave Wilde a chance at heaping on gorgeous details, but bogs down the story. Gray's rumored depravity is too vague to be believed in. Granted a great bit of the novel was axed by the publisher and Wilde himself donor is hard to fault the author here. Yet, Stevenson is able to impress us with the abject hideousness of Hyde's corruption without being especially graphic. The plot only really becomes interesting with the murder of ---.

The two foils to Gray, Lord Henry and Basil, are really no more interesting than Gray. Basil the hand wringing moralist could have been the most interesting character. Lord Henry who plays Mephistopheles to Gray's Faust is a witty bore. How Gray could have fallen under his spell is mystery.

I wound not call Dorian Gray a bad book, just marginally silly one. It earns three stars on the merit of the last 1/3. Perhaps it should have been a short story.

[barpurple · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Atmospheric and creepy. A classic that will leave you questioning your out look on life.

[mks27 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Truthfully, The Picture of Dorian Gray is not an enjoyable book to read, mainly due to the corrupt nature of the main character which represents the darker side of humanity. At the same time, the story is compelling and the writing is extraordinary. The novel itself is what Wilde illustrates through the story, that of living a double life.The Picture of Dorian Gray is a sad story of an innocent young man who sells his soul to retain his physical beauty. Although, my preference is to read novels that illustrate the goodness of humanity, I believe this cautionary tale is as relevant today as it was when it was first published in 1890. Clearly, Oscar Wilde wrote of a society and of attitudes which he was intimately familiar and, although modern society has progressed, corruption is still present and experienced daily. Wilde builds a social commentary on the Gilded Age in which he lived, where gentlemen and ladies of the upper class and, society itself, lived double lives of outward respectability and inward corruption. The author cleverly uses the story of Dorian Gray to comment on this double life, the meaning of beauty, the role of pleasure in life, the attitudes of the so-called respectable in society, and the effects of these attitudes and behaviors on the individual, their innocent victims, and society as a whole. The writing is brilliant, extremely detailed, highly intelligent, and thought provoking. Wilde uses the character of Lord Henry to communicate the most outrageous and offensive thoughts associated with the leisure class of the time and excels at constructing dialogue and communicating satire. This is not a casual read or a novel to take to the beach, but one to be savored by taking in small doses as a way to avoid being consumed by its darkness. I recommend reading this novel to experience the writing of Oscar Wilde, his crafty use of dialogue and characters to tell his tale, and to just be in the moment with a great mind’s words and thoughts. Rating: 4 stars

[benfulton · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Not a life classic, yet quite enjoyable. The gimmick of the aging picture is such a brilliant one that it can't help but be a good story, and the sardonic Sir Henry is the perfect Mephistopheles, corrupting the young and innocent Dorian. The descriptions of the art and furniture that surround the upper-class characters makes for a stark reminder of what is important to them - not the suffering of the lower classes, but where they may decide to have their next meal, and whether the Chinese wall hanging is superior in quality to the Renaissance sculpture.That said, the suffering could have been brought out in more detail. The descriptions of opium dens are passable, but the melodrama surrounding Sibyl Vane is outlandish, which is a shame. More concentration on her character and tragedies really would have brought out a remarkable contrast. I suspect that if Wilde had not been attempting to, more or less, live Dorian's life, he might have accomplished a really top-flight piece of literature with this book. As it is, it's well-written and should be on everyone's checklist of great books.

[lizzybeans11 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I found Picture of Dorian Grey to be a great and easy read. The plot is fascinating - especially if you place yourself in the time period. While some have criticized the characters for lacking depth, I feel like that was sort of the point. Dorian is a shallow character and the surroundings sparkle more than he does. This is, all around, a classic horror novel.

[dcsax96 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A book about an immature young man, who comes into contact with a cynical perspective of a tired old man. It explores the theme of eternal youth and beauty, and evil within ourselves. Overall, it is a great story, which incorporates many thought-provoking themes.

[ainemcg · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Fantastically good read!! Thought this book may have dated and been difficult to read. I was very wrong. This is an excellent read that really draws the reader in and does not allow them to escape until the end! Thoroughly recommend it.

[booksfordinner · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Always loved Wilde, not only for his great gift of writing, but for his dominating personality. He had no time for anyone who was not down with his mission: art for art's sake, beauty in all forms for its own end. It seems obvious now, but it was completely revolutionary at the time.

[vrchristensen · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Oscar Wilde's only novel is, in my opinion, his greatest work. While the plays spark with wit and wisdom, with humour and satirical fun, Dorian Gray is of another class entirely. It is a serious look at the consequences of immorality, of vanity and greed and selfishness. And it does not flinch to paint the 'picture' in all of its gory details. It's contemporary today, as proved by a recent film adaptation (starring the drool-worthy Ben Barnes) which was quite accurately adapted from the book and is, to my mind, required reading. Or should be.

[rameau_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This was pretty painful to start with since it seemed like Wilde could not resist a zinger. The first chapters with Wotton are like Monty Python's Oscar Wilde sketch. However, once Gray sees the first change in the portrait, the novel becomes a ruthless criticism of everything. Wilde does not even spare himself. The descriptive passages of London at night and the interior decor are quite lush. (Also, it amazes me that people were sufficiently in awe of Huysman's Against Nature that it could be posited as morally poisoning a reader.) This is a variation on Dostoyevsky's if God does not exist, everythng is permitted. If one does not age, then one will act like everything is permitted. Wilde shows, however, that the cult of Art (for which he bore some responsibility) can never be a foundation for a right existence. Everything will pass. What does not? What should remain?

[mathewbridle · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The time I took to read this book is no reflection upon what I thought of it. Oscar Wilde's command of the English language is sublime. Simple descriptions that remain with with you of bees shouldering their way through the flower stems, or the mellow November sun,. Throughout this book drips with class an quality that suits the lead characters upper class lives so eloquently that anything else would be insulting.
This story that would sit well alongside the the life of King Solomon as he explores life through all its excesses. Dorian Gray tries everything that his corrupted soul desires knowing that it will not affect his beautiful looks. A deep exploration of vanity that highlights the futility of it all.
I loved this book, really loved it, not a wasted word in sight and to think that it is available free in ebook.

[colereadsbooks · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An incredible Gothic novel that is one of my all time favourite books.When Dorian has his portrait painted by the brilliant artist Basil Hallward, he realises he will never look as young and beautiful as he does in that oil canvas. He will age and die, and it will stay forever young. Enraged by this he cries out a plea, selling his soul for an eternally youthful face. So the story follows Dorian as he walks down a path of destruction that ultimately leads to his downfall.I love this book. I’ve read it so many times and it never ceases to amaze and fascinate me. It’s such a masterpiece. For starters it’s written in such a beautiful way, the language is so beautiful and is full of Wilde’s well known flourish and wit. It’s a wonderful example of a woeful Gothic tale.The story also continually draws you in, more and more you wish for Dorian’s redemption, that eventually he will find his way back onto the right path and move away from such destruction. I think that’s a mark of how wonderful the book is, that even when all hope is lost, you still have hope for the character.The book was seen as incredibly shocking when it was published and I can see why. Though it doesn’t go into explicit details about the kinds of behaviour Dorian resorts to, it’s not hard to conjure up some ideas. I think the book also goes a long way to criticise the society at the time and the way we very things like beauty.“Experience is merely the name men gave to their mistakes.”The characters are great, not only Dorian, but Basil and Lord Henry, forever the angel and devil on Dorian’s shoulders, attempting to steer him in the right path. Oscar Wilde truly is a master of writing. I don’t know what it is about The Picture of Dorian Gray but I return to it again and again and each time I find something new or intriguing about the text. It’s a very readable book, especially for one written such a long time ago. If you are someone who is often put off by the word classic, this is definitely one to start with. It’s not a long winded tomb of a book, but a very suspenseful and exciting story.I love the touch of supernatural in the story and the descriptions of Dorian’s portrait as it becomes marred and disfigured have always filled me with a sense of dread. “I knew nothing but shadows and I thought them to be real.” The Picture of Dorian Gray is a book that is beloved by many, and I think that alone stands as testament to what a fascinating book it truly is.

[trilliams · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Oscar Wilde wrote a great book, but, y'know, I think he might've been full of himself.

[likelectriceels · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A Picture of Dorian Grey is easily my favorite book. Being one partial to romanticized period novels, I was easily taken by the Dorian Grey's dark mysterious character and the beautiful setting of the book.The use of dark imagery in the novel was very well done. In the beginning of the novel, before Dorian's painting is done, most of the book takes place during the day. Beyond that point, most of the novel occurs at night, including the most sinister parts of the novel.I would recommend this novel to anyone who is a fan of vampire novels, like Anne Rice's novels. The seductive quality of Dorian Grey is very similar to that of say Lestat or Armand. Grey slinks about in dark clubs and dresses in fine clothes. A dark-haired dandy always comes to my mind.This novel also teaches us a lot about human nature and the human desire to live forever. Dorian wants to live on forever but when he final receives his wish, it turns out to be his curse. "Be careful what you wish for" is a prominent theme in the novel.

[violentwilight · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An amazing introspective book which allows us to get into the dark mind of the charming main character, which who it is impossible not to fall in love.

[dreamingtereza_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This novel had a magical effect on me at age 15, though at the time I found Lord Henry Wotton's incessant rambling on aesthetics difficult to follow. Even now Mr. Gray beguiles me thoroughly.

[smithsj01_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Very challenging to begin with, although I can’t explain whether this was primarily due to Oscar Wilde’s writing style or getting to grip with the gentry from Victorian times. The novel seems to span a period of about 20 years although there were some serious jumps in time as nothing seemed to take that long. It wasn’t until Dorian met a character later in the novel and mentioned an incident from 18 years earlier that I realised the time frame.A clever novel whereby we need to think about what we wish for as the grass is not always greener on the other side and we never think about the consequences of our desires. Dorian in facts dreams of what most people wish for – to remain young. He offers his soul to a beautiful portrait of himself in return for perpetual youth. This is fine to begin with and whilst his beauty does remain, the portrait takes on the images of wildness and slow dilapidation of his soul. He is involved in crime and death in pursuit of his passion, resulting in his eventual surrender.A clever novel focusing on every narcissistic thoughts of the human race have. A good reflection on the ‘dandy’ of the Victorian era and a lovely portrayal in general of life in London at this time. The blurb states that this novel caused outrage when first published, which I was aware of and can understand why. However, it also states that this novel marked the onset of his own fatal reputation (as a homosexual I would presume) and his eventual downfall – which I don’t understand why. From a difficult beginning this book had me hooked from a quarter of the way in. I look forward to seeing this interpreted on stage when I see it in September.

[tadad_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Lush and sensual language, an extremely delicious (and malicious) wit, characters so well-drawn I could feel distaste and pity creeping over me—I wish Wilde had written more than one novel.