The Picture of Dorian Gray

Enthralled by an exquisite portrait of himself, Dorian Gray makes a Faustian bargain to exchange his soul for eternal youth and beauty. Thus is he able to indulge his desires while only his picture bears the traces of his decadence and the gradual corruption of his soul.

Wilde's only novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray was a succès de scandale. Early readers were shocked by its hints at "unspeakable sins," and the book was later used as evidence against Wilde in the trials for "acts of gross indecency" that would make him the most notorious sexual outlaw of his time. A knowing account of a secret life and an analysis of the darker side of late Victorian society, Wilde's compelling examination of art and morality still fascinates readers more than a hundred years after its first publication. This edition has all new apparatus, but retains Peter Ackroyd's introduction from the previous edition as an appendix.

A lush, cautionary tale of a life of vileness and deception or a loving portrait of the aesthetic impulse run rampant? Why not both? After Basil Hallward paints a beautiful, young man's portrait, his subject's frivolous wish that the picture change and he remain the same comes true. Dorian Gray's picture grows aged and corrupt while he continues to appear fresh and innocent. After he kills a young woman, "as surely as if I had cut her little throat with a knife," Dorian Gray is surprised to find no difference in his vision or surroundings. "The roses are not less lovely for all that. The birds sing just as happily in my garden."

As Hallward tries to make sense of his creation, his epigram-happy friend Lord Henry Wotton encourages Dorian in his sensual quest with any number of Wildean paradoxes, including the delightful "When we are happy we are always good, but when we are good we are not always happy." But despite its many languorous pleasures, The Picture of Dorian Gray is an imperfect work. Compared to the two (voyeuristic) older men, Dorian is a bore, and his search for ever new sensations far less fun than the novel's drawing-room discussions. Even more oddly, the moral message of the novel contradicts many of Wilde's supposed aims, not least "no artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style." Nonetheless, the glamour boy gets his just deserts. And Wilde, defending Dorian Gray, had it both ways: "All excess, as well as all renunciation, brings its own punishment."