Oscar Wilde
Life:
Oscar Wilde was born in 16 October 1854 in Dublin and he was the son of a famous doctor.
Oscar was immediately recognised as a brilliant student and after his school years he went on to
study at Trinity College —> Soon he won a scholarship to continue his studies at Oxford where he
studied Classics and graduated.
He left for London where he published his rst collection in 1881.
the following year he left for a lecture tour in America and another lecture tour, this time is England
and Ireland, helped Oscar to create a name for himself as a leading gure in the aesthetic
movement.
He found employment as the editor of a women’s magazine and in 1888 he published the happy
prince and other tales ( stories for children).
Only two years later he published his only novel: The picture of Dorian Gray —> The novel was
attacked as an immoral work.
Indeed One year later he published a new edition adding six chapters and a pre-face in which he
attempted to deal with the criticisms he had received.
His preface outlines his philosophy of art based on the principles of Aestheticism: art is neither
moral nor immoral, it has no moral purpose, but beauty in itself is a supreme value.
Anyway After the scandal, his rst play, Lady Windermere’s fan, was staged and it was an
immediate success—> the public and critics encouraged Wilde to devote himself to the theatre.
soon he also published: A woman of no importance, an ideal husband and his masterpiece The
importance of being Earnest.
Sadly, Oscar was involved in a legal case that would lead to his ruin: he had an a air with a woman
whose father accused him of homosexuality and he was sentenced to two year imprisonment and
hard labour.
When he came out of prison he was physically and psychologically a broken man and he lived alone
in France; he died in 1900. (Nineteen hundred)
The picture of Dorian Gray
Plot:
The picture of Dorian Gray tells the story of a rich, beautiful young man who has his portrait painted
by Basil Halleard.
One day, at Basil’s studio, he meets Lord Henry and they have a conversation about the transience
of youth and beauty.
Dorian is struck by this thought and makes a pledge: He will sacri ce his soul if he can maintain his
youth and beauty while the portrait itself will bear all the signs of time.
Under Lord Henry’s in uence Dorian leads a life of pleasure, sin, crime and corruption but his life is
hidden by the fact that he remains young and beautiful while the image in the portrait becomes old
and ugly.
At the end of the story, responsible for the death of an actress and the murder of Basil, killed after
he found out his secret, Dorian stabs the portrait.
Dorian is found dead now transformed into a horrible old man beside the portrait which has returned
to its original beauty.
The theme of double
When the novel was published it came as a shock for most Victorian readers who believed that the
purpose of art was education.
Instead The portrait of Dorian Gray proclaimed beauty as the unique purpose of art and life and
discarded that morality with contempt.
How ever the novel does teach a moral lesson in the end: as Dorian’s sins and choices lead to his
own destruction.
His appearance remains beautiful and innocent but he is not innocent and beautiful inside, as the
portrait ( the dark side of his personality) witnesses.
Instead Dorian’s double life is only a sign of his hypocrisy: he uses his innocent and beautiful
appearance to commit crimes without paying the consequences.
Style and narrative technique
The novel uses the supernatural elements of the gothic novel and it is told by an unobtrusive 3rd
person narrator.
Wild also uses dialogue to reveal his character’s personalities and everything is describes in great
detail.
Aestheticism and the cult of beauty
Aestheticism was an art movement that developed in Europe in the late 19th century.
It claimed that ART EXISTS FOR THE SAKE OF BEAUTY AND DOES NOT HAVE TO SERVE ANY
MORAL, POLITICAL OR DIDACTIC PURPOSE —> it was a reaction to the utilitarian philosophy of
the industrial revolution and to the Victorian respectability and morals.
The preface of the picture of Dorian grey:
The preface is one of the best examples of Wilde’s aphoristic style and contains his deep re ections
on art, the role of the artist in the world and the function of the critic.
Traduzione:
L’artista é il creatore di cose belle.
Rivelare l’arte e nascondere l’artista é il ne dell’arte.
Il critico é colui che può tradurre in diversa forma o in nuova sostanza la sua impressione delle belle
cose.
La più elevata, quanto la più modesta forma di critica é una sorta di autobiogra a.
Coloro che trovano brutti signi cati nelle cose belle sono corrotti senza essere a ascinanti. Questa é
una colpa.
Coloro che scorgono bei signi cati nelle cose belle sono le persone colte. Per loro c’è speranza.
Essi sono gli eletti: per loro le cose belle signi cano solo bellezza.
Non esistono libri morali o immorali. I libri sono scritti bene o sono scritti male. Questo é quanto.[…]
La vita morale dell’uomo é parte del contenuto dell’artista, ma la moralità dell’arte consiste nell’uso
perfetto di un mezzo imperfetto.
L’artista non desidera dimostrare nulla. Persino le cose vere possono essere dimostrate.
Nessun artista ha intenti morali. In un artista un intento morale é un imperdonabile manierismo
stilistico.
Nessun artista é mai morboso. L’artista può esprimere qualsiasi cosa.
Il pensiero ed il linguaggio sono per un artista strumenti di un’arte.
Virtù e vizi sono per un artista materiali d’arte.
Dal punto di vista della forma, il modello di tutte le arti è l’arte del musicista.
Dal punto di vista del sentimento, il modello è l’arte dell’attore.
Ogni arte è a un tempo super cie e simbolo.
Coloro che vanno al di sotto della super cie lo fanno a loro rischio e pericolo.
Coloro che interpretano il simbolo lo fanno a loro rischio e pericolo.
È lo spettatore, e non la vita, che l’arte in realtà rispecchia.
La diversità di opinioni intorno a un’opera d’arte indica che l’opera è nuova, complessa e vitale.
Quando i critici dissentono tra loro, l’artista è d’accordo con se stesso.
Possiamo perdonare a un uomo di aver fatto una cosa utile, purché non l’ammiri. L’unica scusa per
aver fatto una cosa inutile è di ammirarla intensamente.
Tutta l’arte è completamente inutile.
AMERICAN LITERATURE
During the 18 century in America we can nd two types of literature:
BORDER NARRATIVE: adventures and stories related to the conquest of the west.
During this century English and Dutch had settled in America.
At the beginning the relationship between colonists and natives was convenient since the natives
knew the land perfectly and they could lead the colonists but, as long as they didn’t need them
anymore, the colonists decided to subdue the natives.
POEMS OF DAILY LIFE AND EXPERIENCES: these poems had a poor artistic value since they é
where just imitations of European literature.
The true American literature began in the 19 century and between the mort important authors we
can nd
Edgar Allan Poe
Poe Wash was born in 1809 in Boston. he was the son of poor, itinerant actors.
His father, who was an alcoholic, left his family and his mother died the next year.
Edgard was brought up by the Allans and that’s why we call him Edgar Allan Poe.
After attending school, rst in the states and then in England, he went to the university.
There he ran into debt and, after his family refused to pay, he left Boston and joined the army
—> he only spent 7 months there.
Back to America he moved to Baltimore where his aunt lived.
He fell in love with his little cousin Virginia.. they married in 1836 when she was 14 and he was 27.
The years that followed were very productive: he published a lot of tales.
Virginia died in 1847 and poe’s health declined too: he started drinking and in 1849 he was found
passed out in the street and in a few days he died.
Reputation:
Poe was accused of alcoholism, perversion and drug addition and that’s why America decided to
not publish his works. Thanks to the french poet Charles Baudelaire, who found his tales, he
became a famous poet especially in Europe.
Poe saw the human self as divided into INTELLECT, CONSCIENCE and SOUL.
the rst was concerned with truth, the second with duty and the third with beauty.
Since poetry was a means to the discovery of beauty, it had nothing to do with truth and morals
and also Poe spoke up for Beaty in a age where poets liked to use sadness and melancholy.
The single e ect
- His rst principle was brevity cause the story should be read in a single sitting so anything could
distract the reader from the work.
- The characters should be shown at some revealing moments of crisis rather than while
developing and maturing.
- the sitting was often circumscribed.
- Poe often used the single e ect : a key note (person or object) to arise the reader’s curiosity.
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THE TALES
We can divide the tales in two groups:
A thriller story where a detective, called monsieur dupin, has to
nd the identity of a murderer.
Tales of detection He solves crimes by his capacity of
logical reasoning —> which is new in literature.
Stories where we actually know the identity of the murderer from
Tales of imagination the beginning and where the horror part doesn’t come from the
outside but from inside the self.
The theme of perverseness:
- Perverseness is that impulse which rules the dark side of human behaviour and that Poe
Believed to be hidden in every part of the world.
In his stories morality is the tension between the creativity of his narrators and the perverse
impulse that leads them to confess their crimes at the end —> so conscience becomes very
powerful.
- another feature of Poe’s stories is a close setting: his characters usually live in a small place —>
the explanation can be found in madness. All of his most famous characters are cut o from the
world and they lose contact with reality.
- Almost all tales are narrated in rst person and they become a long interior monologues with a
lot of di erent moods: sadness, fear, desire..
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True! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been
and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease
had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled
them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all
things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in
hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how
healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story
It is impossible to say how rst the idea entered my brain;
but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object
there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old
man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me
insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye!
yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue
eye, with a lm over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood
ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my
mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of
the eye forever
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know
nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have
seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what
foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work! I was
never kinder to the old man than during the whole week
before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned
the latch of his door and opened it --oh so gently! And then,
when I had made an opening suf cient for my head, I put in
a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out,
and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to
see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very
slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took
me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so
far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a
madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my
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head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh,
so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it
just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye.
And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at
midnight --but I found the eye always closed; and so it was
impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who
vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the
day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke
courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone,
and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he
would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to
suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him
while he slept
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in
opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more
quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the
extent of my own powers --of my sagacity. I could scarcely
contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was,
opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of
my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea;
and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed
suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back
--but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick
darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear
of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening
of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily. I had
my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my
thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man
sprang up in bed, crying out --"Who's there?" I kept quite still
and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle,
and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still
sitting up in the bed listening; --just as I have done, night
after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall
.
Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan
of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief --oh,
no! --it was the low sti ed sound that arises from the bottom
of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound
well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept,
it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its
dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it
well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I
chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever
since the rst slight noise, when he had turned in the bed.
His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had
been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had
been saying to himself --"It is nothing but the wind in the
chimney --it is only a mouse crossing the oor," or "It is
merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he
had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions:
but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in
approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before
him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful
in uence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel
--although he neither saw nor heard --to feel the presence of
my head within the room
When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without
hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little --a very, very
little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it --you cannot
imagine how stealthily, stealthily --until, at length a simple
dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the
crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye. It was open --wide,
wide open --and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it
with perfect distinctness --all a dull blue, with a hideous veil
over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could
see nothing else of the old man's face or person: for I had
directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned
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spot. And have I not told you that what you mistake for
madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? --now, I say,
there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a
watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound
well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It
increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the
soldier into courage
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I
held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could
maintain the ray upon the eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo
of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and
louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must
have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every
moment! --do you mark me well I have told you that I am
nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night,
amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a
noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for
some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the
beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst.
And now a new anxiety seized me --the sound would be
heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had come! With a
loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room.
He shrieked once --once only. In an instant I dragged him to
the oor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled
gaily, to nd the deed so far done. But, for many minutes,
the heart beat on with a muf ed sound. This, however, did
not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length
it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and
examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I
placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many
minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His
eye would trouble me no more
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If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I
describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of
the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in
silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the
head and the arms and the legs. I then took up three planks
from the ooring of the chamber, and deposited all between
the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so
cunningly, that no human eye --not even his --could have
detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out --
no stain of any kind --no blood-spot whatever. I had been
too wary for that. A tub had caught all --ha! ha! When I had
made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock --still dark
as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a
knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a
light heart, --for what had I now to fear? There entered three
men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as
of cers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a
neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been
aroused; information had been lodged at the police of ce,
and they (the of cers) had been deputed to search the
premises. I smiled, --for what had I to fear? I bade the
gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a
dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the
country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them
search --search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I
showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the
enthusiasm of my con dence, I brought chairs into the
room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues,
while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph,
placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which
reposed the corpse of the victim
The of cers were satis ed. My manner had convinced them.
I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered
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cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt
myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached,
and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still
chatted. The ringing became more distinct: --It continued
and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of
the feeling: but it continued and gained de niteness --until,
at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears. No
doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked more uently, and
with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what
could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a
sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I
gasped for breath --and yet the of cers heard it not. I talked
more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily
increased. I arose and argued about tri es, in a high key
and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily
increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the oor to
and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the
observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased.
Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I
swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it
upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually
increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men
chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard
not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected!
--they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-
this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than
this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I
could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I
must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder!
louder! louder
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed!
--tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his
hideous heart!"
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• Due to his poor health he spent much of his time at home reading.
• To satisfy his father he took a degree in law.
• He travelled Europe and there is where he composed his most famous works including his
masterpiece: “the strange case of Dr. JekyII and Mr. Hyde”.
A MIRROR OF THE TIMES
Stevenson wrote his masterpiece during the Victorian age: In this time of progress and rapid
expansion of British Empire, many writers began to doubt the ideals of progress and civilisation.
Why? —-> the Victorian society was full of contrasts because the imperial expansion was followed
by poverty, criminality and hypocrisy. all of this increased a sense of pessimism and anxiety.
Stevenson refused the values of the society so he withdrew a world where to live following the value
in which he believed.
PLOT
Dr. Jekyll was a respectable gentleman who created a potion which transformed him into and evil
man named Mr. Hyde.
Mr. Hyde committed a lot of terrible crimes but after he escaped prison he created a new potion that
brought him back to his true identity.
As a doctor the man was full of remorse and, since he couldn’t get rid of Mr. Hyde, he killed himself
after writing a letter to his friends explaining the mystery of the double identity.
THE SPLIT SELF
Dr. Jekyll appears to be the embodiment of the respectable Victorian gentlemen ( he’s reserved,
formal, handsome).
Hyde, On the other hand, is the embodiment of the uncivilised part of the humanity that hides
beneath the formal bonds of civilisation ( he’s small, pale, extremely ugly).
Taken alone the two characters do not appear very interesting, but the two are one single character.
Hyde is Jekyll’s secret alter ego.
Their relationship is mutually dependent and very ambiguous: even though Jackie disapproves what
Hyde does, he is deeply attracted by his dark side.
The characters’s duality can be interpreted as a critique of Victorian morals, in which appearances
were all important and everything was ne as long as corruption remained in the private sphere and
unknown to the word outside.
INFLUENCES AND THE NARRATIVE TECHNIQUE
Shelly and Poe represented A source of inspiration for Stevenson:
• As Poe did, Stevenson showed the dark side of humanity with a deep psychological study
• The story of the man of science who tries to separate the evil in himself from the good draws
inspiration from certain aspects of the Gothic tradition. Of course it make us think about
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley‘s novel, even if Stevensons o ers a more accurate analysis of a man’s
psychological and moral nature.
• the theme of the double nds his origins in Blake, who had identi ed a complementary in
opposites
About the narrative technique we can say that the story is told from di erent prospectives: the rst
is Mr Utterson’s —-> he is suspicious about Mr Hyde, Dr Jakyll’s mysterious friend.
Then we have a short part written by a friend, Dr Lanyon, who describes the transformation into
Hyde.
The maid’s account of Hyde’s murder of Sir Carew.
Jekyll’s letter with his own confession.
However, for most of the novel we basically follow Mr. Utterson’s limited point of view—> the e ect
is to keep us in the dark
SETTING AS SYMBOL
The setting is London and most of the action occurs at night because that is the time when Hyde
operates.
Night and fog are symbols of obscurity, symbolising Dr Jekyll’s dark side as embodied by Mr Hyde.
His house has a symbolic meaning—> The doctor uses has elegant front door, Mr Hyde uses a rear
door in a sinister building with no windows.
