Chapter 11 of the Picture of Dorian Gray has been kind of rough, at first. For me it's been love/hate.
This description of the dawn was a good start:
but then Oscar lurches into a bizarre manifesto of all Dorian's collectibles. It reminds me of the "roll call" sections of the Iliad, wherein Homer lists an utterly exhaustive manifesto of all the ships and men involved in the conflict. Wilde just rambles for seemingly ever, on with a list of items upon items that Dorian has collected in his mania. It just goes on and on. The narrator assumes a monotone, and it's nigh intolerable.
It wouldnt have been so bad, if major events didnt just happen in the book - but they have. As a reader, im on the edge of my seat waiting to see what's going to happen. Yet he just wont shut up about the "ruby encrusted saddlebag that Prince Waldemar of Wallachia once wore on his Appalachian Apaloosa". I actually lost my patience, and forwarded the recording.
Yeah, that wasnt going to sit right.
It was late, i was tired, and the next evening, i began it again from the beginning of Chapter 11. This time, i let the tale carry me, instead of me demanding where it go, and appreciated it a bit more. In hindsight, this is probably one of the most important sections of the book. Yes, it goes through a laborious account of all this collectibles, but they are meant to stand as physical manifestations of his maniacal quest of hedonism.
Bookended by the catalogue, great sections of his life are fast-forwarded, and it all comes full circle by the end of the chapter with a pretty sound, major event. In that regard, it' a very dense bit of storytelling, and at times it may require some patience.
Or maybe Wilde was just doing some good old-fashioned 19th century trolling
This description of the dawn was a good start:
"Gradually white fingers creep through the curtains, and they appear to tremble. In black fantastic shapes, dumb shadows crawl into the corners of the room and crouch there. Outside, there is the stirring of birds among the leaves, or the sound of men going forth to their work, or the sigh and sob of the wind coming down from the hills and wandering round the silent house, as though it feared to wake the sleepers and yet must needs call forth sleep from her purple cave. "
"Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern. The wan mirrors get back their mimic life. The flameless tapers stand where we had left them, and beside them lies the half-cut book that we had been studying, or the wired flower that we had worn at the ball, or the letter that we had been afraid to read, or that we had read too often. Nothing seems to us changed. Out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known."
but then Oscar lurches into a bizarre manifesto of all Dorian's collectibles. It reminds me of the "roll call" sections of the Iliad, wherein Homer lists an utterly exhaustive manifesto of all the ships and men involved in the conflict. Wilde just rambles for seemingly ever, on with a list of items upon items that Dorian has collected in his mania. It just goes on and on. The narrator assumes a monotone, and it's nigh intolerable.
It wouldnt have been so bad, if major events didnt just happen in the book - but they have. As a reader, im on the edge of my seat waiting to see what's going to happen. Yet he just wont shut up about the "ruby encrusted saddlebag that Prince Waldemar of Wallachia once wore on his Appalachian Apaloosa". I actually lost my patience, and forwarded the recording.
Yeah, that wasnt going to sit right.
It was late, i was tired, and the next evening, i began it again from the beginning of Chapter 11. This time, i let the tale carry me, instead of me demanding where it go, and appreciated it a bit more. In hindsight, this is probably one of the most important sections of the book. Yes, it goes through a laborious account of all this collectibles, but they are meant to stand as physical manifestations of his maniacal quest of hedonism.
Bookended by the catalogue, great sections of his life are fast-forwarded, and it all comes full circle by the end of the chapter with a pretty sound, major event. In that regard, it' a very dense bit of storytelling, and at times it may require some patience.
Or maybe Wilde was just doing some good old-fashioned 19th century trolling