A blog against the superficial

The will to write is arresting.  It brings upon a squirming sensation that one can only be freed from by putting pen to paper.  The longer one sits upon that will the more they are consumed and compelled to pursue it.  So... yeah.  I finished reading The Picture of Dorian Gray nearly three days ago and since then have wanted to write something on my reading experience.  That is a pretty long gestation period, and part of the reason for that is that I have quite a few bases I would like to cover.

This blog entry should be seen as a review article, of sorts.  While it might have conventional elements, I would like to more so focus on my response to the text, however incomplete it may be, and the insight that can reveal into the value of fiction.  In essence I intend to apply a quote I saw by-chance posted on Tim Ferris' blog:

• '“In Amazon reviews, which would you rather have people talk about: you or your book?” 'The answer was, of course: “Neither. You want them to talk about THEMSELVES… the results they achieved, the before-and-after awesomeness in their lives.”' (link)

In context the quote was more so discussing non-fiction, but I also think it could be applied to fiction texts.  Now I am not saying that reading about the life of a man granted eternal youth, by having his soul reside (and show decadence) in a portrait has been exactly life-changing.  But, I do want to emphasise the personal benefit that can be had from reading fiction.

Part of my reason for doing so stems from a frustration born during my last summer job.  There was a women there who day after day managed to bring up a discussion about Fifty Shades of Grey (I very much hope you groaned when reading this sentence).  It wasn't all bad, I heard somewhat amusing one liners like 'It is the wettest summer on record... because of Fifty Shades of Grey' and had some lewd discussions with co-workers about whether it would be okay to read Hustler at the bus stop, but in spite of the humour it did begin to grate.  Why is it that with all the amazing literature available people insist on absorbing themselves in utter trash?  I posed that question to her, perhaps in a more tactful manner, and was quite disheartened by the response I was given: 'Because it is real'.  I should clarify that she wasn't a complete psychopath, she didn't of course mean it was a recount of true events, but that it was real in the sense that it beared resemblance to reality (yeah, I don't think so either, but allow me to get to the point).  There are some out there, some even quite intelligent, that avoid novels for similar reasons.  They think it a waste of time to concern themselves with the magical and that they can gain far more worldly insight from reading a non-fiction book.  I am going to attempt to explain why that perception is flawed.

The best novels brim with value.  Some --like those by Huxley and Wells-- do this at a highly conscious level, establishing a superb balance between conveying elaborate ideas/insights and telling a great story.  I would argue Oscar Wilde's first and only novel The Painting of Dorian Gray (1891) is a phenominal example of this fusion.

The tale begins with three characters, the painter, the subject (Dorian Gray) and a man that resists definition, the delightfully cynical Lord Henry.  Dorian begins as a love-object for the painter, innocent, handsome and a source of great artistic inspiration.  It is Henry that awakens Dorian to the power of his good looks, telling him that 'the world belongs to him for a season' before time rids him of his bloom.  This urges Dorian's fateful prayer that the painting might bear burden of time's wrath, while he himself walks unscathed, onsetting his destructive journey down the road of vanity.

It is great testament to the power of Wilde's book and the power of the epigram that readers might even find themselves falling under Lord Henry's spell.  'Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only thing one never regrets are one's mistakes'.  I know upon reading that quote I myself sincerely felt my life has been lacking in colour.  That I have been far too sensible, and perhaps need do something completely outrageous.  Imagine how this would influence a man who has inherited great wealth and has a face which inspires trust in all those around him.

And outrageous things Dorian does.  He begins his transformation by visiting a third-class theatre each and every evening purely because of the 'genius' of a young girl performing there.  A girl capable of playing all of Shakespeare's heroines, without any substance of her own.  Dorian eventually proposes and they become engaged without him even having told her his name (she refers to him as 'Prince Charming').  It is her love for him that destroys her capacity to act, by giving her some level of substance beneath the thin veneer that Dorian cared for.  With that lost he heartlessly ends their relationship, almost as soon as it started.  Thus, following her suicide, the first mark of cruelty becomes etched on the face of the portrait.

From this point onwards, following the contemporary belief in Physiognomy (that appearance resembles character), Dorian's portrait undergoes increasingly vulgar transformations.  Even his attempts to reform prove detrimental.  After having left a girl, in hope of sparing her further harm, Lord Henry remarks 'well, the fact of having met you, and loved you, will teach her to despise her husband and she will be wretched.  From a moral point of view, I cannot say that I think much of your great renunciation.'  This led me to really reflect upon beauty and whether it really does help or hinder the individual, or those around them.

In spirit of the text and my affinity for aphorisms/epigrams I even came up with my own, after having finished the novel.

• Beauty ensnares and destroys.  It takes the individual in vanity, those around them with jealousy and both in adoration of the superficial.

It was only Dorian's ignorance that spared him, for a time, from vanity.  He himself later acknowledges this fact remarking '[the girl] knew nothing, but she had everything that he had lost.'

This poignancy and an appreciation that you, the reader, are not adored for your looks could never be found in non-fiction.  I mean, can you imagine that silicon bumped bitch, yeah you know the one I mean, writing in her autobiography about how empty and devoid of meaning her life is?  How every relationship is a disappointment to her, or ends in scandal, and how she would trade all her money and fame to reclaim her innocence and experience things as she had done, before her life had been poisoned by vanity?  Even if perhaps you suspect it I very much doubt you feel much sympathy.  Sometimes you can only find the truth in fiction.

Having come to the end of this review (of sorts), I admit that I might have done the book some discredit, having only focused on the more superficial aspects of the plot, and neglecting to mention other prominent themes, like homosexuality and heritage.  To some extent this is because they were more subtle, at least to me, as I am far from being a literary academic.  Having since read an academic introduction to the novel a re-read is definitely merited at some point.  Within this I find great joy in the inexplicit nature of art.  It really can make a person think, and discover their own insights and interpretation, while also leaving so much more for yourself or others to uncover.

My suggestion then is to buy a version of the novel that includes an in-depth introduction (the most recent Penguin Classics edition that I have is amazing, I very highly recommend it), but to ignore said introduction entirely on your first reading.  Read the novel first only to find your own truths, then afterwards the introduction to discover the spectrum of worldly insights that can be found in the wonders of fiction.