Journal Two

The first lamb is led to the slaughter, although we now know that the real sacrifice of this novel is going to be Dorian, not Sybil. Because by trampling upon her in a show of utter cruelty, Dorian shows us with his actions that he is the doomed one in the novel--the one who will fall into sin.

That said, it's still quite murky as to whether the novel wants to romanticize Dorian's actions. The entire matter is wrapped up in an aura of theatrical tragedy, much like the plays Sybil acted in; then again, the whole matter is still quite ugly. I'm not fooled by Dorian's passionate letter of repentance; it's clear that the visible manifestation of his own evils bothered him more than Sybil's distress, the marring of his portrait more than the poor girl's feelings. Even Lord Henry is shaken at first--of course, he later comes to enjoy the boy's fluctuations in emotions, being the twisted man that he is. The whole misadventure with Sybil also reflects Dorian's own family history in many ways, seeing that his mother also perished in a fit of love-induced passion. It didn't end well for her, so the reader begins to suspect that Dorian won't meet a happy ending either, by reading the foreshadowing.

Sybil's brother James serves as a sort of foil to Dorian; he's the most interesting character for me. If things are left as they are, he could very well act as Dorian's judge and executioner, thereby answering my previous questions about how much of Wilde's views are merged into the novel. Will Dorian meet a proper punishment at the hands of the brother of she who he wronged?  Or will he somehow escape rightful judgement? (I already know the answer to this question, however, which will bring me to a rather disheartening conclusion--but that is another topic for another day.) If he were to meet his death at the hands of Vane, then it would be reasonable to conclude that Wilde still wanted to give the fairest of endings to our murky protagonist. A failure to do so would mean that Wilde is imposing his own moral code on the novel, something that transcends our typical view of "punishing the sinner", and would make more of a tragic hero of Dorian. Exactly what our smirking, smug Lord Henry would have thought of, and in sync with the views expressed in the prologue: "No art is ever morbid. The artist can express everything."

I expressed my distress over Wilde's apparent disregard for morals in my previous journal entry, but the more I consider his life, the more it becomes understandable for me. He was a bi/homosexual in an era where anything other than heterosexuality was considered unspeakable taboo; he was a brilliant artist in a sea of mundane people; he was so different from the rest of his contemporaries that he probably did not find a good reason to bind himself to the same moral codes as they. And Lord Henry, the epitome of unconventionality, must be his avatar--perhaps not everything he says might reflect his views, and some things may be exaggerated for the sake of character establishment and symbolism, but Henry is in fact the closest we have to Wilde himself.

Journal One (warning, unintentionally pompous language. I'm sorry about that.)

My copy of Dorian Gray so graciously tells me, from the very beginning, that it is "unlikely that the 'rich odour', 'heavy scent' and 'delicate perfume' of the [rose, lilac and thorn] would have 'mingled together on the summer wind'". Huh. So much for the flowery atmosphere. Thus the first cracks start to appear in this delicate oeuvre, just as the words of Lord Henry begin to pave the first wrinkles of worry in Dorian's delicate cheek (not that those wrinkles would mar, in any way, his perfect face). Aestheticism is a big theme in The Portrait of Dorian Gray, dished out in heavy doses as it is in this first chapter: from the drawn-out description of the studio, to the presence of a dashing Adonis, the first chapter reminds one of a beautiful porcelain cup, almost fragile in its perfectness. But sometimes it isn't quite clear just how much of it is sincere and how much of it is deliberately set up to be smashed. 

Dorian begins as the epitome of boyhood, pure and untouched by life, until Lord Henry sashays into his life with his beautiful voice and tempting words. He praises Dorian for his beauty, and reminds him of a fact that has never actually occurred to the boy before: someday, his beauty will fade away, and he will no longer be charming. Life will no longer hand things to him, and he will not be loved. The importance of this own beauty comes crashing into Dorian's mind, and, seized by anxiety, he makes a feverish wish that his portrait take the burden of his age, so that his own face will never grow old. Basil Hallward, who obviously loves Dorian (whether it is a platonic, artistic love or a homosexual interest, it isn't clear), is pained by this turn of events, as he loved Dorian for his boyish innocence. Henry, on the other hand, is fascinated, and continues to plant seeds of vanity in the youth's mind. And it is on Henry that I will turn my focus.

How much of what he says directly reflects Wilde's own views? How much of it is later going to be contradicted? Wilde's somewhat defensive preface to Dorian Gray drips of a love for the aesthetic, as he said: "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." Such an importance he places on beauty! Is it so important as to erase the importance of morals ("No artist has ethical sympathies")? The entire novel of Dorian Gray, as we know, is the story of a clash between beauty and morals, between romance and reason--which side is Wilde on? Is Henry his spokesman, or his devil's advocate? Are Henry's words setting up the principal value of his novel, or is it creating a backdrop that will then be broken down? Surely he can't be arguing that depravity is excusable in the face of beauty--or is he?

Is Dorian's story a beautiful tragedy, or a sordid comedy? Is it the exquisitely crafted story of an exquisitely beautiful man who falls into the hands of the Devil and sells his soul? Or is it the story of one man who stumbles into squalor as he gives his all to keep his looks? Yes, the cup is heavily cracked, and what may look like an intricate pattern could turn out to be a stain. That is what I am set out to see in this book.