The Picture of Dorian Gray

Basil Hallward has painted a portrait he cannot bear to exhibit. His sitter, Dorian Gray, has become so important to him that the picture seems to reveal more about the painter than its subject. In the studio, Lord Henry Wotton lounges among the cushions, offering opinions that make ordinary ideas about goodness and beauty sound foolish. Dorian listens, then looks at his own face on the canvas with a new fear of growing old.

Oscar Wilde’s Gothic story begins in this company, where admiration is flattering, possessive and difficult to distinguish from love. Basil wants to protect Dorian; Lord Henry wants to interest him. His polished remarks are funny enough to make you linger over them, but their effect on an impressionable listener gives the conversation an uneasy edge. When Dorian wishes that the portrait could age in his place, the wish grows out of a recognisable panic about losing what makes him desirable.

Wilde gives beautiful things room to exert their attraction: flowers, fabrics, a painted face, an actress’s voice. At a shabby London theatre, Dorian discovers Sibyl Vane performing Shakespeare and is enchanted by the women she can become on stage. His enthusiasm raises a question that runs through the story: what happens to another person when you love an image? The wit and luxurious descriptions make this a seductive book to spend time with, while the closeness of its friendships keeps the argument about pleasure personal. You keep listening because charm makes its questions harder to answer.