"dorian" keeps ringing my ear. In an absence of mind I'd blurt out "dorian" in a quiet whisper. This is unreasonable. But I'm aware Dorian and his disposition affected me somehow, I know not whether on the positive or the negative side. But dorian has been gritting my heart for this week. I spent the whole day last Saturday reading in Starbucks Dorian, and I spent the past few nights reading Dorian in bed cushioned on my stuffed toy bear. Dorian is the central subject of my recent time.
I finally finished the book last night. It really fascinates me. Its poetic dancing language, its exquisite juxtaposition of poisonous but charming words, its assertive tone concerning beauty and aging. My ultimate comment would be dangerous but delightful. The plot isn't too convoluted, but highly absorbing simply owing to Mr. Wilde's masterful disposal of the English language. Now it's on my list of English reading.
We all have two selves, one good, the other bad. Some incidents or character can be so profound an effect on us that it'll alter the course of our lives to a fresh course, good or bad. It also depends on how malleable your own character is. In an effort to learn from the characters you admire, are you losing yourself? Well, sometimes one tends to be obsessive with self so that one loses a much bigger picture of the whole. Petit bourgeois, no, I'm definitely not one of them. Narcissus, no, there's much about me that I dislike. Well, just to practise English,hehe.
I can't help loving Dorian, his youth, his beauty, his simplicity, his narcissism, his self-indulgence. He reflects some part of our own souls.
some hot words and two patterns that Mr Wilde used many a time: exquisite, wild, adoration, beauty, soul, dominate yes: [...] no: [...]
[dorian in my words] Dorian was a pure, innocent boy in his late teens that had yet to come of age when he first met Lord Henry whose dangerous ideas were going to influence Dorian profoundly. Basil had been a common friend to both of them. He had had a wild adoration for Dorian's youth and to him Dorian was an artistic inspiration, epitome of art. That day Basil painted an exquisite portrait of Dorian who had been sitting for him while conversing with Lord Henry. Lord Henry said that beauty was to fade with aging and the portrait would painfully remind him of this. Dorian quickly took in this revelation and for the first time realized to his horror that his beauty wouldn't stay permanent with him. He prayed carelessly that he'd sell his own soul to keep his youth and beauty. This call was answered by the devil. And there began his self-indulgence.
Lord Henry's unorthodox theories proved a profound influence on Dorian's shaping of his character. Despite this Lord Henry himself was immune to the dark side. He did too much thinking. Yet our poor Dorian fully bought those ideas and he started to practise them in full convince. He would repeat to himself "to cure the soul by the senses; to cure the senses by the soul", lines that Lord Henry carelessly remarked out of pure cynicism. Lord Henry's character, of his own will or not, invariably dominated Dorian. Dorian was too credulous, especially of dangerous but charming theories. But at the final stage, even Lord Henry couldn't make his opinions penetrate Dorian's callous mind which had run awry.
Dorian fell in love with Sybil, an actress with a cheap theatrical troupe. To the beholder's eye, Sybil was much more than the whole the world could offer. He was enthralled by her acting. However, the ending was tragic. Sybil killed herself on grounds that Dorian had heartlessly broken with her simply because she had realized that her role on the stage was artificial but that her love for Dorian, Prince Charming, was true, and so she gave a horribly bad performance.
At age 38 he was as young as he had been some twenty years ago. Time hadn't marred his beautiful face, but underneath he'd undergone a nearly irretrievable shift. He cultivated tasteful habits like collecting various precious stones. Meanwhile, however, he dealt with most dark things like smoking poppies. His deterioration culminated when out of a fit of hatred he stabbed Basil, the painter of the fatal portrait, to death.
The final few chapters are a twist of turn, leaving much to reflect on. After deaths of James(brother of Sybil who vowed to get revenge if Sybil was mistreated) and Alan(who was blackmailed into destroying Basil's body with his chemical expertise), he wanted to be good. He spared a lady in countryside England who had fallen in love with him. But deep inside there was still something getting on his nerves. Yes: it was the picture of him that'd been locked up in the attic for years. No one but him(and Basil who'd been murdered) could lay the eyes on the picture. It had gone wrinkled, ugly, sneering in wickedness. How horrible! He had thought his single good deed could at least trigger a positive change of expression in the portrait. No: it didn't. The portrait, more than ever, was sneering at his own hypocrisy. He was devastated already. His good look was only a disguise of inner debauchery. Suddenly he drew the knife that had been sunk into the back of Basil and pointed it at the portrait. A cry of agony was heard. He died. Something dramatic was that at that moment the portrait became youthful, innocent again whereas the dead man lying on the floor could only be recognized by his exquisite rings. The man was as ugly as the portrait had been when sin was creeping in.