What do you think?
Rate this book
Oscar Wilde
The biography sensitive to the tragic pattern of the story of a great Oscar Wilde - psychologically and sexually complicated, enormously quotable, central to a alluring cultural world and someone whose life assumed an unbearably dramatic shape.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
Hardcover
First published January 1, 1987
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 189 reviews
July 31, 2013
Wilde had to live his life twice over, first in slow motion, then at top speed. During the first period he was a scapegrace, during the second a scapegoat. Richard Ellmann’s superlative bio ranks alongside the finest in the genre, with his earlier James Joyce volume already firmly in the pantheon. From Wilde’s unhumble beginnings as the son of two reputable writers, to his college days in the thrall of Ruskin and Pater, to his flowerings as a poet and spokesman for aestheticism, Ellmann presents the working Wilde, a complex contrarian and sneak-tongued snark, as he slowly becomes Wilde the Myth and Wilde the Wit. Parodied and pilloried since he first dared to lecture in knee-breeches, Wilde was always swatting enemies away and poking their hypocrarses, and as his career picked up traction, the vultures suppurated on the sidelines until the blood-axe dropped on the sweaty mattress of boneheaded bastard Bosie. Ellmann writes powerfully about Wilde’s trial and incarceration. The particularity of detail is breathtaking and presented always as a coherent, flowing and utterly captivating narrative, and when Wilde emerges from Reading into the beautiful and disgusting world, into a life of humiliation, penury, skin problems, loneliness, and separation in exile, you would need a heart of stone not to laugh at the preposterous imbecilities of the society Wilde was spoofing. The harsh brainless stupidity of Victorian England collapsed, and Wilde is remembered rightly as an avatar for truth, kindness, and zingy one-liners for every occasion. This fabulously exhaustive and definitive bio has the last word on Wilde, and since no one is ever likely to top it, is essential reading for all Oscarites.
February 15, 2008
It seems obvious that this would get a 5-star review. The wit and genius of Oscar Wilde. A scandalous life. The proven track record of Ellmann. What's not to love?
Answer - nothing. Ellmann doesn't make a single misstep in this astonishing biography. Imagine the challenges facing a Wilde biographer: the contradictions of an outrageous, larger-than-life subject whose brittle public persona masked his inner torments; Wilde's enormous drive, which led to success and acclaim, but also set in motion his ultimate fall from grace. Worse: so much already written, including Wilde's own glittering one-liners - what could anyone presume to add to already crowded record?
But Ellmann, who worked for almost twenty years on this book, doesn't fail to deliver. In what will clearly be the definitive biography, he lays out details of Wilde's life, illuminates the work, and cuts through the brilliant and brittle public persona to show us Wilde's soul. All of this is accomplished with wit, intelligence and compassion -- this book confirmed Ellmann's status as the English professor I always wished I'd had.
His final assessment of Wilde: "He belongs to our world more than to Victoria's. Now, beyond the reach of scandal, his best writings validated by time, he comes before us still, a towering figure, laughing and weeping, with parables and paradoxes, so generous, so amusing, and so right."
If I may be forgiven a paraphrase of Ellmann's own words, this biography is also "so generous, so amusing, and so right." Sadly, overuse by undiscriminating reviewers has made the assessment, 'a tour de force' off-limits in a serious review. But I feel compelled to dust it off anyway, together with a few other adjectives from the forbidden list. Here goes:
"Ellmann's magisterial work, destined to be the definitive biography of Wilde, is a brilliant, breathtaking tour de force."
Answer - nothing. Ellmann doesn't make a single misstep in this astonishing biography. Imagine the challenges facing a Wilde biographer: the contradictions of an outrageous, larger-than-life subject whose brittle public persona masked his inner torments; Wilde's enormous drive, which led to success and acclaim, but also set in motion his ultimate fall from grace. Worse: so much already written, including Wilde's own glittering one-liners - what could anyone presume to add to already crowded record?
But Ellmann, who worked for almost twenty years on this book, doesn't fail to deliver. In what will clearly be the definitive biography, he lays out details of Wilde's life, illuminates the work, and cuts through the brilliant and brittle public persona to show us Wilde's soul. All of this is accomplished with wit, intelligence and compassion -- this book confirmed Ellmann's status as the English professor I always wished I'd had.
His final assessment of Wilde: "He belongs to our world more than to Victoria's. Now, beyond the reach of scandal, his best writings validated by time, he comes before us still, a towering figure, laughing and weeping, with parables and paradoxes, so generous, so amusing, and so right."
If I may be forgiven a paraphrase of Ellmann's own words, this biography is also "so generous, so amusing, and so right." Sadly, overuse by undiscriminating reviewers has made the assessment, 'a tour de force' off-limits in a serious review. But I feel compelled to dust it off anyway, together with a few other adjectives from the forbidden list. Here goes:
"Ellmann's magisterial work, destined to be the definitive biography of Wilde, is a brilliant, breathtaking tour de force."
March 1, 2019
Better Book Title: "Dude, you really need to break up with that asshole."
I've been an Oscar Wilde fan for many decades now, but I was always afraid to read this because it's THE DEFINITIVE BIG GIANT SCARY BIOGRAPHY on him. These kind of books always intimidate me, and until very recently I don't think I had the attention span it takes to take this one on. However, now that the world is spinning down a black hole of dystopian carnage, this book served as a welcome distraction! Instead of checking the news, I just went to read every. damn. footnote. Sad homosexual Victorians, sign me up.
This is the only biography of this type that I couldn't put down, and I was pleasantly surprised at how engrossing it is. I feel like I understand Oscar Wilde much more, and also how creepy the Victorian period was. It's always good to look on the bright side of life, because things could always be so much worse!
The last few chapters are painfully sad, and convey just what life in the worst case scenario could possibly be, except in Paris?
This is a textbook example of "Dude, you should really break up with that asshole" because his boyfriend was a straight up awful person. The only good thing I can say about Lord Alfred Douglas was that he did contribute significantly (within his snobby ass social circle that is) to queer rights at a very early point in history. After that, he pretty much called it a day as far as good deeds are considered.
If you love Oscar Wilde and want to escape reality, you should read this.
I've been an Oscar Wilde fan for many decades now, but I was always afraid to read this because it's THE DEFINITIVE BIG GIANT SCARY BIOGRAPHY on him. These kind of books always intimidate me, and until very recently I don't think I had the attention span it takes to take this one on. However, now that the world is spinning down a black hole of dystopian carnage, this book served as a welcome distraction! Instead of checking the news, I just went to read every. damn. footnote. Sad homosexual Victorians, sign me up.
This is the only biography of this type that I couldn't put down, and I was pleasantly surprised at how engrossing it is. I feel like I understand Oscar Wilde much more, and also how creepy the Victorian period was. It's always good to look on the bright side of life, because things could always be so much worse!
The last few chapters are painfully sad, and convey just what life in the worst case scenario could possibly be, except in Paris?
This is a textbook example of "Dude, you should really break up with that asshole" because his boyfriend was a straight up awful person. The only good thing I can say about Lord Alfred Douglas was that he did contribute significantly (within his snobby ass social circle that is) to queer rights at a very early point in history. After that, he pretty much called it a day as far as good deeds are considered.
If you love Oscar Wilde and want to escape reality, you should read this.
February 21, 2008
I am not, as I once claimed, Oscar Wilde. I lost the green coat—the one I wore to America, with tufts of fur falling out of the collar, with shapely cuffs. I lost the books (their dedications), shoes (the tipped ones, the ones you lace right up to your britches), and the shape of my wife’s mouth when she said it, when she called my name, even that, even when I didn’t come.
And because I am not Oscar Wilde, because someone’s body is thinning in the dirt, I can still say this. Say, through this blue sheen, that he (Did you know they found shit smeared on the sheets of his bed? That boys young enough to climb stairs climbed the stairs of his suite?) that Oscar Wilde bled from the eyes and mouth right before—
And I wonder (justly) if something might have exploded there, in his head, maybe something in the ear, something eating straight through. Maybe it was a little itch, a syphilis, that scratched the eyes’ interior. A disease that lived inside the tongue and the skull couldn’t hold it, couldn’t (either he or the wallpaper had to go).
Oscar, if you place a glass of water on the bed, someone is bound to knock it over. The boy will spill it, the boy will capsize—a beautiful Greek boy—he will ride the sea’s black coattails all the way down. Your hyacinth, Oscar, will break the vase, break every part of the vase, out of beauty.
So Oscar pushed up his shirtsleeves and (there, there are my hands—now take them) let them lead. The law. He listened (he never listened before) to the funny sound that hunger made, the crescendo, the bells turning up their skirts, the throttle of his throat, the ropes of his intestines wrung out. During the course of two years (it was only two years), the buzzing began. It was one prison, then another (there were only three); and he grew too large for the space, for a cell suited to the taking and leaving of prostitutes. He was too large for such of ceiling, for the blur of windows placed just below the ceiling, for all things having to do with penance.
He wanted to read Dante in prison. He wanted the darkness he squinted into to take a form, any form, to become black pages, one after another ruffling under his fingers. He wanted the weight to shift from his right hand to the left, and then the book would end like an accordion squeezed shut, finally silent.
He wanted to learn Italian, so after prison the words would not appear misplaced. He wanted to ride of the back of those words, to stuff himself into the new tongues forming around his teeth. I will write a play, he said. And he didn’t. I will write a poem, he said, and it was bad. I have forgotten everything he said, and the slits of eyes stared back at him.
Maybe there will be new boys. New cigarette cases. Lectures. He thought this, but No. His wife changed her name and died. He never looked at his children again. He held a hand mirror, held it over his anus and strained to see. And in this thinning hair, in this new kind of bankruptcy, there was nothing to send to the children in prison, the ones locked up for shooting rabbits. For them, nothing.
And because I am not Oscar Wilde, because someone’s body is thinning in the dirt, I can still say this. Say, through this blue sheen, that he (Did you know they found shit smeared on the sheets of his bed? That boys young enough to climb stairs climbed the stairs of his suite?) that Oscar Wilde bled from the eyes and mouth right before—
And I wonder (justly) if something might have exploded there, in his head, maybe something in the ear, something eating straight through. Maybe it was a little itch, a syphilis, that scratched the eyes’ interior. A disease that lived inside the tongue and the skull couldn’t hold it, couldn’t (either he or the wallpaper had to go).
Oscar, if you place a glass of water on the bed, someone is bound to knock it over. The boy will spill it, the boy will capsize—a beautiful Greek boy—he will ride the sea’s black coattails all the way down. Your hyacinth, Oscar, will break the vase, break every part of the vase, out of beauty.
So Oscar pushed up his shirtsleeves and (there, there are my hands—now take them) let them lead. The law. He listened (he never listened before) to the funny sound that hunger made, the crescendo, the bells turning up their skirts, the throttle of his throat, the ropes of his intestines wrung out. During the course of two years (it was only two years), the buzzing began. It was one prison, then another (there were only three); and he grew too large for the space, for a cell suited to the taking and leaving of prostitutes. He was too large for such of ceiling, for the blur of windows placed just below the ceiling, for all things having to do with penance.
He wanted to read Dante in prison. He wanted the darkness he squinted into to take a form, any form, to become black pages, one after another ruffling under his fingers. He wanted the weight to shift from his right hand to the left, and then the book would end like an accordion squeezed shut, finally silent.
He wanted to learn Italian, so after prison the words would not appear misplaced. He wanted to ride of the back of those words, to stuff himself into the new tongues forming around his teeth. I will write a play, he said. And he didn’t. I will write a poem, he said, and it was bad. I have forgotten everything he said, and the slits of eyes stared back at him.
Maybe there will be new boys. New cigarette cases. Lectures. He thought this, but No. His wife changed her name and died. He never looked at his children again. He held a hand mirror, held it over his anus and strained to see. And in this thinning hair, in this new kind of bankruptcy, there was nothing to send to the children in prison, the ones locked up for shooting rabbits. For them, nothing.
May 20, 2019
Amazingly well researched and carefully written, this is the definitive biography for all fans of Wilde, but also for everybody interested in a period in time where major changes were happening. Cases like Wilde's surely helped to spring forward the openess and freedom that characterized the Roaring Twenties. Superb.
July 16, 2021
Just one word: Impeccable!
Ever since my brother first introduced me to Oscar Wilde while I was still in secondary school, I have been obsessed with everything written by the man. The Picture of Dorian Gray has been one of my favourite classics for years now and when my current pre-master programme requested me to conduct a literature review paper on a self-chosen topic, I could not put Wilde out of my head.
After having decided to conduct a research on Wilde's vision of the Aesthetic Movement, with a focus on Dorian Gray, my tutor introduced me to this biography and boy.. am I glad that I decided to read it.
I'm usually not a very big fan of non-fiction / biographies. They are truly interesting but as a reader, I prefer escaping to one of the many magical fictional worlds that have been provided to us by so many talented authors. Yet this biography by Richard Ellmann immediately pulled me into the world of Wilde and I loved every second of it. The tale of Wilde's life, and the most important events in it, is told in such a detailed and attention-grabbing manner. The story is written with so much grace and it clearly shows the immense respect the author must have had for (let's be honest) everyone's most beloved Aesthete.
However, the book is written from a rather subjective point of view which I personally did not mind that much, but I can imagine that some might prefer reading a biography written in more objective manner.
Besides providing me with lots of new knowledge, Ellmann also allowed me to change my views of Wilde, especially when it came to his artistic (mainly aesthetic) principles. At first, I was scared to dive into this book, considering that it's quite a BIG book but also because I was afraid that it would provide me with an image of Wilde that I would end up not liking so much after all, but to be honest; Ellmann achieved the complete opposite. It made me realise that Oscar Wilde went way beyond his art, he truly was (and still is, in my humble opinion) larger than life and I cannot help myself but to consider Wilde as a piece of art himself.
The book made me feel all kinds of emotions, regarding the man's life, his many wonderous achievements and the various ways he was regarded and treated by many, and this made me love it even more.
Ellmann truly provided me with more reasons to greatly admire the witty genius that is Oscar Wilde and I highly recommend this book to everyone who has an interest in Wilde, 19th-century cultures and aesthetics, or literary art in general.
Ever since my brother first introduced me to Oscar Wilde while I was still in secondary school, I have been obsessed with everything written by the man. The Picture of Dorian Gray has been one of my favourite classics for years now and when my current pre-master programme requested me to conduct a literature review paper on a self-chosen topic, I could not put Wilde out of my head.
After having decided to conduct a research on Wilde's vision of the Aesthetic Movement, with a focus on Dorian Gray, my tutor introduced me to this biography and boy.. am I glad that I decided to read it.
I'm usually not a very big fan of non-fiction / biographies. They are truly interesting but as a reader, I prefer escaping to one of the many magical fictional worlds that have been provided to us by so many talented authors. Yet this biography by Richard Ellmann immediately pulled me into the world of Wilde and I loved every second of it. The tale of Wilde's life, and the most important events in it, is told in such a detailed and attention-grabbing manner. The story is written with so much grace and it clearly shows the immense respect the author must have had for (let's be honest) everyone's most beloved Aesthete.
However, the book is written from a rather subjective point of view which I personally did not mind that much, but I can imagine that some might prefer reading a biography written in more objective manner.
Besides providing me with lots of new knowledge, Ellmann also allowed me to change my views of Wilde, especially when it came to his artistic (mainly aesthetic) principles. At first, I was scared to dive into this book, considering that it's quite a BIG book but also because I was afraid that it would provide me with an image of Wilde that I would end up not liking so much after all, but to be honest; Ellmann achieved the complete opposite. It made me realise that Oscar Wilde went way beyond his art, he truly was (and still is, in my humble opinion) larger than life and I cannot help myself but to consider Wilde as a piece of art himself.
The book made me feel all kinds of emotions, regarding the man's life, his many wonderous achievements and the various ways he was regarded and treated by many, and this made me love it even more.
Ellmann truly provided me with more reasons to greatly admire the witty genius that is Oscar Wilde and I highly recommend this book to everyone who has an interest in Wilde, 19th-century cultures and aesthetics, or literary art in general.
January 8, 2016
Lady Wilde almost runs away with the first half of this dense, beautifully written biography that won Ellmann a Pulitzer prize.
I agree with reviewers who commented that perhaps there was a bit too much detail for entry-level readers. The sheer competency of this treatment of Oscar Wilde's brilliant, sad and troubled life means that we may never get the kind of definitive work I'd like.
Ellmann, writing to midcentury literary tastes, treats Wilde's sexuality too obliquely for young audiences today, and readers will be left confused about this central aspect of Wilde's life--central, I mean, because it was the aspect solely responsible for his downfall. In my ideal biography of Wilde, readers would clearly understand the coded boundaries and behaviors that closeted gays and lesbians of the era also clearly understood. In order to effect that, the biographer needs to write plainly and clearly about sex, erotic love and sexual practices. But who would ever revise a work so beloved, so thorough and well-researched, unless critical new source material came to light?
As I work on the translation of Élisabeth de Gramont, the "eternal mate" of Natalie Barney, I am struck by Wildeana that Ellmann doesn't even cover in a footnote. He should have done. It's a true story that strains credulity in fiction, and Oscar would have been pleased to have it included.
While on his American tour, Oscar Wilde rescued a pretty, blonde, six-year-old girl along a stretch of heavily leisured mid-Atlantic coastline. She was being taunted by her playmates. Oscar, full of the tenderness that was a lesser-known hallmark of his life on earth (beautifully treated by Richard Ellmann), decided to intervene. He took the little girl in his arms, sat her on his lap and told her a fairy tale. It was one of his own. Imagine that experience!
That girl was Natalie Barney, the great 20th century lesbian seducer, who was to make her life in Paris and write volumes of epigrams that stand up to many of Wilde's wittiest and most biting. Wilde's actions on the beach that day made a lifelong impression on Natalie Barney; so much so that she developed a magnetic attraction for Wilde's family. Around 1910 she became the lover of Bosie's wife, Olive Custance, and was the godmother of their child. And then, in the 1920s, she formed an even deeper, lengthier liaison with Oscar's lookalike niece, Dolly.
Oscar, Bosie, Dolly: Natalie Barney held them all in the palm of her hand. All because of a small kindness. One of so many Oscar is never remembered for.
I agree with reviewers who commented that perhaps there was a bit too much detail for entry-level readers. The sheer competency of this treatment of Oscar Wilde's brilliant, sad and troubled life means that we may never get the kind of definitive work I'd like.
Ellmann, writing to midcentury literary tastes, treats Wilde's sexuality too obliquely for young audiences today, and readers will be left confused about this central aspect of Wilde's life--central, I mean, because it was the aspect solely responsible for his downfall. In my ideal biography of Wilde, readers would clearly understand the coded boundaries and behaviors that closeted gays and lesbians of the era also clearly understood. In order to effect that, the biographer needs to write plainly and clearly about sex, erotic love and sexual practices. But who would ever revise a work so beloved, so thorough and well-researched, unless critical new source material came to light?
As I work on the translation of Élisabeth de Gramont, the "eternal mate" of Natalie Barney, I am struck by Wildeana that Ellmann doesn't even cover in a footnote. He should have done. It's a true story that strains credulity in fiction, and Oscar would have been pleased to have it included.
While on his American tour, Oscar Wilde rescued a pretty, blonde, six-year-old girl along a stretch of heavily leisured mid-Atlantic coastline. She was being taunted by her playmates. Oscar, full of the tenderness that was a lesser-known hallmark of his life on earth (beautifully treated by Richard Ellmann), decided to intervene. He took the little girl in his arms, sat her on his lap and told her a fairy tale. It was one of his own. Imagine that experience!
That girl was Natalie Barney, the great 20th century lesbian seducer, who was to make her life in Paris and write volumes of epigrams that stand up to many of Wilde's wittiest and most biting. Wilde's actions on the beach that day made a lifelong impression on Natalie Barney; so much so that she developed a magnetic attraction for Wilde's family. Around 1910 she became the lover of Bosie's wife, Olive Custance, and was the godmother of their child. And then, in the 1920s, she formed an even deeper, lengthier liaison with Oscar's lookalike niece, Dolly.
Oscar, Bosie, Dolly: Natalie Barney held them all in the palm of her hand. All because of a small kindness. One of so many Oscar is never remembered for.
December 21, 2012
Wilde at his wildest and mildest
After reading this book, I cannot help but review Oscar Wilde, the man and his life, as if it were a work of art in itself, as much as I can this biography of Wilde as depicted by Richard Ellmann. Wilde, as much as any historical figure, certainly as much as any creative figure, speaks loudly as an artifact of the age he embodied and from which he was consumed and discarded and as a creative figure whose own life was arguably a greater work of art than anything he ever wrote or said.
Before addressing Wilde, let’s evaluate Ellman’s book on its own merits. He presents everything you ever wanted to know about Oscar Wilde and then some. Admittedly, the voluminous number of acquaintances, companions and foes whose paths crossed with Wilde’s is overwhelming and it requires a monumental juggling act to keep track of all the players and how they intersect with each other and revolve around Wilde, the sun of this biographical solar system. Ellmann does an admirable job of this, although I was lost quite frequently and had to backtrack to find the first mention of an individual to identify the original relation to Wilde and draw a line in my mind between an individual once kindly disposed toward him and the person that ostracized and avoided him during and after his disgrace.
One might view the ordeal and persecution of Wilde in the 19th century and conclude that he could live very openly and comfortably in the 21st century where gay and bisexual characters appear daily in all forms of media. That would seem to be an erroneous interpretation when one sees that Wilde was inextricably linked to the time and culture in which he lived. He was a product of Victorian England and he, by design as well as circumstance, paid the price for bringing an aspect of human sexuality and behavior to the unavoidable attention of a society that dared not think of, much less, speak the name of the abomination which Wilde represented to them.
Wilde’s creativity, imagination and wit were all intertwined with his identity as provocateur, even as he sought the favor of respectable society. He felt compelled to seek out the ‘nameless’ side of human nature, specifically in a mutually destructive relationship with a powder keg of a young man, Lord Alfred Douglas. At the same time in which Oscar was fulfilling his authentic identity, that vehicle for his liberation was also the route to his undoing and downfall from the heights of success. Wilde could probably have saved himself from prison by following the advice of his long-suffering but tolerant wife Constance and his loyal friend Robbie Ross and living in exile in another country. However, he could not run. Staying and fighting, even if it led to prison was in his constitution and had been instilled in him by his very litigious mother.
Ellmann repeatedly refers to Wilde as a kind and considerate man and in many respects this is true. He was generous even when he was in dire financial straits himself and he lavished gifts and compliments in purple prose as if he possessed an endless supply of both. It appears to me, however, that his greatest sin, more so than any of his ‘indecent’ activities, was his neglect of his wife and children, the innocent victims of Oscar’s hedonistic quest for self-fulfillment.
Utimately, Oscar Wilde’s greatest creation was ‘Oscar Wilde’, a work of art that overshadows even his greatest prose work, The Picture of Dorian Gray, as well as his greatest play, The Importance of Being Earnest. It perhaps surprised him as much as anyone else that the play of his life that he originally conceived as a comedy was quickly transformed in its final act into tragedy.
After reading this book, I cannot help but review Oscar Wilde, the man and his life, as if it were a work of art in itself, as much as I can this biography of Wilde as depicted by Richard Ellmann. Wilde, as much as any historical figure, certainly as much as any creative figure, speaks loudly as an artifact of the age he embodied and from which he was consumed and discarded and as a creative figure whose own life was arguably a greater work of art than anything he ever wrote or said.
Before addressing Wilde, let’s evaluate Ellman’s book on its own merits. He presents everything you ever wanted to know about Oscar Wilde and then some. Admittedly, the voluminous number of acquaintances, companions and foes whose paths crossed with Wilde’s is overwhelming and it requires a monumental juggling act to keep track of all the players and how they intersect with each other and revolve around Wilde, the sun of this biographical solar system. Ellmann does an admirable job of this, although I was lost quite frequently and had to backtrack to find the first mention of an individual to identify the original relation to Wilde and draw a line in my mind between an individual once kindly disposed toward him and the person that ostracized and avoided him during and after his disgrace.
One might view the ordeal and persecution of Wilde in the 19th century and conclude that he could live very openly and comfortably in the 21st century where gay and bisexual characters appear daily in all forms of media. That would seem to be an erroneous interpretation when one sees that Wilde was inextricably linked to the time and culture in which he lived. He was a product of Victorian England and he, by design as well as circumstance, paid the price for bringing an aspect of human sexuality and behavior to the unavoidable attention of a society that dared not think of, much less, speak the name of the abomination which Wilde represented to them.
Wilde’s creativity, imagination and wit were all intertwined with his identity as provocateur, even as he sought the favor of respectable society. He felt compelled to seek out the ‘nameless’ side of human nature, specifically in a mutually destructive relationship with a powder keg of a young man, Lord Alfred Douglas. At the same time in which Oscar was fulfilling his authentic identity, that vehicle for his liberation was also the route to his undoing and downfall from the heights of success. Wilde could probably have saved himself from prison by following the advice of his long-suffering but tolerant wife Constance and his loyal friend Robbie Ross and living in exile in another country. However, he could not run. Staying and fighting, even if it led to prison was in his constitution and had been instilled in him by his very litigious mother.
Ellmann repeatedly refers to Wilde as a kind and considerate man and in many respects this is true. He was generous even when he was in dire financial straits himself and he lavished gifts and compliments in purple prose as if he possessed an endless supply of both. It appears to me, however, that his greatest sin, more so than any of his ‘indecent’ activities, was his neglect of his wife and children, the innocent victims of Oscar’s hedonistic quest for self-fulfillment.
Utimately, Oscar Wilde’s greatest creation was ‘Oscar Wilde’, a work of art that overshadows even his greatest prose work, The Picture of Dorian Gray, as well as his greatest play, The Importance of Being Earnest. It perhaps surprised him as much as anyone else that the play of his life that he originally conceived as a comedy was quickly transformed in its final act into tragedy.
October 28, 2008
this is one of my dearest treasures for the year 2008.what i have is actually a hardcover, picked at my 'used books' store for the price of my normal dinner at my favourite 'fast foods'. i couldnt believe it!!
it's a great story about a great person.
here is the most important thing about it: it is written with a subjective, condemning tone. and i felt the author should have surpassed the shadows of his subject's sexuality and other personality weaknesses, to simply objectively tell us the story!!!
it's a great story about a great person.
here is the most important thing about it: it is written with a subjective, condemning tone. and i felt the author should have surpassed the shadows of his subject's sexuality and other personality weaknesses, to simply objectively tell us the story!!!
May 23, 2011
Honestly this book was mostly just "ok" for me, but I'm giving it a slightly higher rating because I think Ellman deserves it.
I picked this up thinking it was going to be filled with super tawdry details of Wilde's life, but mostly it was literary criticism paralleled by events that occurred during the writing of each of his works.
So it was okay. I wish it would have been a little more Wilde and a little less Wilde's contribution to literature.
I picked this up thinking it was going to be filled with super tawdry details of Wilde's life, but mostly it was literary criticism paralleled by events that occurred during the writing of each of his works.
So it was okay. I wish it would have been a little more Wilde and a little less Wilde's contribution to literature.
April 12, 2021
Dicen los que saben que esta es la biografía más completa de Wilde. Me inclino a pensar que es muy probable, porque la cantidad de datos que tiene es monstruosa (incluso info del tipo, "en tal y tal fecha Wilde se sentó a tomar tal bebida en tal bar y se encontró con fulano y mengano", "el día tal se compró una camisa y la pagó tanto y tanto". Suena increíble que haya sobrevivido tanta correspondencia y diarios como para saberlo).
Algunas partes, justamente, se hacen cuesta arriba por esta cantidad de trivia, pero en líneas generales, me gustó mucho la biografía. Sé que algunos datos fueron cuestionados por Merlin Holland, nieto y biógrafo de Wilde, pero la verdad es que Ellman hizo un trabajo de investigación monumental.
La recomiendo no sólo a los interesados en la vida y obra de Wilde sino a cualquiera que le interese el período victoriano, porque el elenco que entra y sale de la vida del escritor es interesantísimo y variado.
Por la magnitud de la investigación realizada, la pongo en el mismo estante que Never at Rest: A Biography of Isaac Newton.
Algunas partes, justamente, se hacen cuesta arriba por esta cantidad de trivia, pero en líneas generales, me gustó mucho la biografía. Sé que algunos datos fueron cuestionados por Merlin Holland, nieto y biógrafo de Wilde, pero la verdad es que Ellman hizo un trabajo de investigación monumental.
La recomiendo no sólo a los interesados en la vida y obra de Wilde sino a cualquiera que le interese el período victoriano, porque el elenco que entra y sale de la vida del escritor es interesantísimo y variado.
Por la magnitud de la investigación realizada, la pongo en el mismo estante que Never at Rest: A Biography of Isaac Newton.
January 27, 2020
This still remains for many the gold standard and first reference for any study of Wilde. I used it as a reference book, and didn't read it cover to cover, but have read or will read most of it. It's particularly interesting for its early portrait of Wilde as a student, although the details grow a bit more sketchy about his later life, particularly after he became more involved with Douglas. I'd highly recommend this to be read in conjunction with Neil McKenna's more recent The Secret Life of Oscar Wilde. McKenna brings to light the fact that Wilde was in relationships with men long before Wilde met Robbie Ross, and much of his sexual life, while Ellmann's analysis of Wilde's major works, as well as some hilarious behind-the-scenes anecdotes about Wilde's relationships with other authors, artists, actors, and famous figures fully fleshes out the portrait of this fascinating man. Still, given Wilde's complexity, always remember that this is a great launching pad, and studying Wilde (despite his relatively short life) is a lifelong labor.
February 1, 2009
This book is a haunting and beautiful biography of the don of the Aesthetic Movement. It traces his life from his early days as the son of a prominent physician father and an eccentric socialite mother (Sperenza) to his competition with Bram Stoker for the hand of Frances Balcombe, to his early homosexual experiments and final death amod disgrace and anonymity in the exile of France.
Richard Ellmann wields his pen with alacrity, grace, and an intense sympathy for his subject that may leave you in tears. A work of astonishing beauty
Richard Ellmann wields his pen with alacrity, grace, and an intense sympathy for his subject that may leave you in tears. A work of astonishing beauty
January 20, 2023
He was a great man and wrote great stories (The Picture of Dorian Grey, The Happy Prince) and great poetry (The Ballad of Reading Gaol). He was grossly mistreated by his generation, even imprisoned, because of his gay preferences, a persecution GK Chesterton condemned. Yet his faith in a hearted Jesus far outshone the heartless and punitive faith of his persecutors.
August 12, 2023
3.5 this is such an impressive and well researched biography and a beautiful account of wilde’s life but unfortunately it just got a bit too detailed at times which made it difficult to follow
March 20, 2024
As he is the chronicler of many of the great Irish writers, Richard Ellman, he provides the life and times of The Victorian Age’s sharpest wit, Oscar Wilde…Though one of the most encompassing biographies, I’ve ever read, this aesthetic deviant just seemed pathetic, not witty and charming…I like him even less than I did when I read “The Importance of Being Earnest.”
September 1, 2019
Richard Ellmann's James Joyce is the greatest literary biography I've read. His Yeats bio is fine, also. And so is this. Though I knew the outlines of the story I was unprepared for how wild, how strange, and how tragic Wilde was. Ellmann's closing epilogue almost brought a tear to my eye.
March 20, 2015
‘I have lived. Yes, I have lived. I drank the sweet, I drank the bitter, and I found the bitterness in the sweetness and the sweetness in the bitterness.’
Se amate questo scrittore, non potete assolutissimamente perdervi questa biografia. Sappiate che quando avrete voltato l'ultima pagina, saprete quasi quante volte andava in bagno Mr. Wilde. Il lavoro svolto da Ellmann, infatti, è certosino e accurato, oltre ad aver coperto quasi un ventennio della sua vita.
Detto questo, sappiate che ho impiegato due settimane circa per costringermi a continuare la lettura dal momento che ho letto Lord Douglas. Voi vi chiederete che bisogno ne avessi mai, visto che anche le pietre conoscono per sommi capi le vicende della vita di Wilde. Be', credetemi, non sono mai stata tanto felice di essermi presa del tempo prima di proseguire una lettura. Il fatto è che passa un oceano tra “sapere la biografia per sommi capi” e “conoscere lo strazio che è stato inflitto a quest'uomo”. E dire che ho anche letto il De Profundis. Non si può dire che non fossi preparata (e, infatti, ho optato per prendere fiato prima di sapere).
Il punto è che è difficile oggi non percepire come orribilmente ingiusta la pena inflitta a Wilde, con tutto ciò che ne è seguito. Come per il massacro degli indios nelle Americhe o per la persecuzione dei cristiani nell'antica Roma, la nostra mente ha ben chiaro quanto sia stato sbagliato (o almeno lo è per quelle menti lontane da una particolare forma di stupidità). Questo, infatti, induce Ellmann a commentare, a chiusa della biografia, che Oscar Wilde è più un uomo del nostro tempo che dell'epoca vittoriana.
He belongs to our world more than to Victoria’s. Now, beyond the reach of scandal, his best writings validated by time, he comes before us still, a towering figure, laughing and weeping, with parables and paradoxes, so generous, so amusing, and so right.
Oggi non troveremmo niente di sbagliato nel pretendere che la società ci accetti per come siamo e si vergogni della propria ipocrisia, e anche Wilde era di questo avviso.
He asked it to tolerate aberrations from the norm, such as homosexuality, to give up its hypocrisy both by recognizing social facts and by acknowledging that its principles were based upon hatred rather than love, leading to privation of personality as of art.
Ma la società vittoriana inglese non aveva nessuna intenzione di cedere alla richiesta di Wilde, e sappiamo come è andata a finire. È davvero straziante leggerlo nero su bianco, sia i terribili anni della prigionia (quando malattia e malnutrizione erano scambiati per pigrizia e riluttanza al dovere), sia l'esilio (che a Wilde in alcuni momenti sembrò peggiore dello stesso carcere, quando molti che erano stati suoi amici si voltavano dall'altra parte se lo incrociavano per strada).
His stubbornness, his courage, and his gallantry also kept him there. He had always met adversity head on, to face hostile journalists, moralistic reviewers, and canting, ranting fathers. A man so concerned with his image disdained to think of himself as a fugitive, skulking in dark corners instead of lording it in the limelight. He preferred to be a great figure, doomed by fate and the unjust laws of a foreign country.
The move took place on 21 November, and proved to be the single most humiliating experience of Wilde’s prison life. Handcuffed and in prison clothing, he had to wait on the platform at Clapham Junction from two to half past two on a rainy afternoon. A crowd formed, first laughing and then jeering at him. One man recognized that this was Oscar Wilde, and spat at him. ‘For a year after that was done to me,’ Wilde wrote in De Profundis, ‘I wept every day at the same hour and for the same space of time.’
One warder was assigned to cut his hair, which at Wandsworth had been allowed to grow out a little. ‘Must it be cut?’ asked Wilde, with tears in his eyes; ‘you don’t know what it means to me.’ It was cut.
‘Why do you not write now?’ she asked. ‘Because I have written all there was to write. I wrote when I did not know life, now that I know the meaning of life, I have no more to write.’ Then, less penitently, he said, ‘I have found my soul. I was happy in prison because I found my soul.’ Anna de Brémont felt close to tears, but they had reached the pier, and he said, ‘Contessa, don’t sorrow for me,’ and left her.
Se amate questo scrittore, non potete assolutissimamente perdervi questa biografia. Sappiate che quando avrete voltato l'ultima pagina, saprete quasi quante volte andava in bagno Mr. Wilde. Il lavoro svolto da Ellmann, infatti, è certosino e accurato, oltre ad aver coperto quasi un ventennio della sua vita.
Detto questo, sappiate che ho impiegato due settimane circa per costringermi a continuare la lettura dal momento che ho letto Lord Douglas. Voi vi chiederete che bisogno ne avessi mai, visto che anche le pietre conoscono per sommi capi le vicende della vita di Wilde. Be', credetemi, non sono mai stata tanto felice di essermi presa del tempo prima di proseguire una lettura. Il fatto è che passa un oceano tra “sapere la biografia per sommi capi” e “conoscere lo strazio che è stato inflitto a quest'uomo”. E dire che ho anche letto il De Profundis. Non si può dire che non fossi preparata (e, infatti, ho optato per prendere fiato prima di sapere).
Il punto è che è difficile oggi non percepire come orribilmente ingiusta la pena inflitta a Wilde, con tutto ciò che ne è seguito. Come per il massacro degli indios nelle Americhe o per la persecuzione dei cristiani nell'antica Roma, la nostra mente ha ben chiaro quanto sia stato sbagliato (o almeno lo è per quelle menti lontane da una particolare forma di stupidità). Questo, infatti, induce Ellmann a commentare, a chiusa della biografia, che Oscar Wilde è più un uomo del nostro tempo che dell'epoca vittoriana.
He belongs to our world more than to Victoria’s. Now, beyond the reach of scandal, his best writings validated by time, he comes before us still, a towering figure, laughing and weeping, with parables and paradoxes, so generous, so amusing, and so right.
Oggi non troveremmo niente di sbagliato nel pretendere che la società ci accetti per come siamo e si vergogni della propria ipocrisia, e anche Wilde era di questo avviso.
He asked it to tolerate aberrations from the norm, such as homosexuality, to give up its hypocrisy both by recognizing social facts and by acknowledging that its principles were based upon hatred rather than love, leading to privation of personality as of art.
Ma la società vittoriana inglese non aveva nessuna intenzione di cedere alla richiesta di Wilde, e sappiamo come è andata a finire. È davvero straziante leggerlo nero su bianco, sia i terribili anni della prigionia (quando malattia e malnutrizione erano scambiati per pigrizia e riluttanza al dovere), sia l'esilio (che a Wilde in alcuni momenti sembrò peggiore dello stesso carcere, quando molti che erano stati suoi amici si voltavano dall'altra parte se lo incrociavano per strada).
His stubbornness, his courage, and his gallantry also kept him there. He had always met adversity head on, to face hostile journalists, moralistic reviewers, and canting, ranting fathers. A man so concerned with his image disdained to think of himself as a fugitive, skulking in dark corners instead of lording it in the limelight. He preferred to be a great figure, doomed by fate and the unjust laws of a foreign country.
The move took place on 21 November, and proved to be the single most humiliating experience of Wilde’s prison life. Handcuffed and in prison clothing, he had to wait on the platform at Clapham Junction from two to half past two on a rainy afternoon. A crowd formed, first laughing and then jeering at him. One man recognized that this was Oscar Wilde, and spat at him. ‘For a year after that was done to me,’ Wilde wrote in De Profundis, ‘I wept every day at the same hour and for the same space of time.’
One warder was assigned to cut his hair, which at Wandsworth had been allowed to grow out a little. ‘Must it be cut?’ asked Wilde, with tears in his eyes; ‘you don’t know what it means to me.’ It was cut.
‘Why do you not write now?’ she asked. ‘Because I have written all there was to write. I wrote when I did not know life, now that I know the meaning of life, I have no more to write.’ Then, less penitently, he said, ‘I have found my soul. I was happy in prison because I found my soul.’ Anna de Brémont felt close to tears, but they had reached the pier, and he said, ‘Contessa, don’t sorrow for me,’ and left her.
November 15, 2012
I finally finished it and although it took me a year to read it, I finally did it. Now, this comment is representative of the fact that it is slow-going, but that mustn't deter any future readers and fans of Oscar Wilde. It took me so long because I was reading a hard copy and these days I find Ebooks much easier to navigate. Oscar Wilde by Richard Ellmann is a very detailed biography which brings out Wilde's enormous generosity and his boundless intellect. Wilde lived a life of tremendous fame and he was a phenomenon before he had produced anything significant. The end, however, is riddled with black infamy. The years in prison, the disgrace that followed, the exile in Paris broke the man. The people he had made, those he had befriended now evaded him like the plague. Certain incidents where Wilde is outright ignored left me very sorrowful. Wilde, the film, has brought out the generosity of his spirit but failed to do justice to his intellect. The years in prison were tough, involving hard labour, a life marred by disease, but it was life to come, one of impecuniosity, and without friends which tears at you. Wilde lived by his principles, and although he could've avoided the lawsuit which was his ruin, he didn't. Then he could've escaped to France and avoided prison but he faced it head on. He was a work of art fully deserving of the adoration he receives today. His life is one of sensation but it doesn't detract from his contribution to aestheticism. A life well written, this, and a must read for Wilde fans.
July 9, 2008
Richard Ellman won the Pulitzer for his work on Oscar Wilde, and with good reason: it's not only the definitive look at the Irish poet, playwright, critic, and martyr, but it's also a ripping good read. Wilde was a movie star in a time before movies, a tabloid staple, and a constant bestseller, and Ellmann makes him -- and his work -- come alive.
Following Wilde's rise to literary and theatrical fame, a series of colossally bad decisions lead to his imprisonment and disgrace -- another ending we know is coming and want desperately for our subject to avoid. In Ellmann's capable hands -- especially as he traces the poet's final frustrating years -- Wilde emerges not so much a victim of Victorian morals but rather of his own ego and genius. And we're more than ready to forgive him for it.
(Reprinted from my website at brianjayjones.blogspot.com)
Following Wilde's rise to literary and theatrical fame, a series of colossally bad decisions lead to his imprisonment and disgrace -- another ending we know is coming and want desperately for our subject to avoid. In Ellmann's capable hands -- especially as he traces the poet's final frustrating years -- Wilde emerges not so much a victim of Victorian morals but rather of his own ego and genius. And we're more than ready to forgive him for it.
(Reprinted from my website at brianjayjones.blogspot.com)
December 29, 2009
Lately it seems I'm never happy with the length and level of detail of biographies. This one was a bit too long and detailed for me. I was curious about Wilde, but not to the degree that I wanted to read the letters he wrote his mother. I think I'd have enjoyed it more at 400 pages than 600. But this quibble is more about me than the book.
I didn't know much about Wilde. I hadn't read any of his poems and wasn't familiar with his plays and his other work. I probably learned what I knew about him from Monty Python skits. The book interested me enough to seek out a few of his plays.
My main take-away from the book is that love isn't just blind, it's stupid as well. Wilde was arguably a genius, but he allowed his love to destroy him utterly.
I didn't know much about Wilde. I hadn't read any of his poems and wasn't familiar with his plays and his other work. I probably learned what I knew about him from Monty Python skits. The book interested me enough to seek out a few of his plays.
My main take-away from the book is that love isn't just blind, it's stupid as well. Wilde was arguably a genius, but he allowed his love to destroy him utterly.
October 9, 2017
A pretty good bio on Wilde. I don't know an insane amount on Wilde's personal life, so I can't state how accurate it is in regards to timeline, but I am going to assume that it is pretty accurate considering his substantial research.
WAS LONG BUT LIKE WHAT BIO ISNT.
WAS LONG BUT LIKE WHAT BIO ISNT.
February 7, 2015
An exhaustive biography; reading it exhausted me.
September 5, 2019
IT was ok.
July 8, 2014
I read it and I thought it was the best biography of all time. It helps that I love Wilde I guess.
October 25, 2021
Despite ‘Dorian’ being one of my favourite novels, I had never read a biography of Wilde and picking this up for a mere £1 and my rule of ‘buy it, read it’ meant the time had arrived. With one hundred and seventy-five other reviews, what will mine add to this?
Of course, not much. Surely it is all one wants to know of the facts of his life; his flirtation with Catholicism, the feud with Whistler, that trial and all the major works. Its 600 pages and at times it feels it.
I didn’t know that Wilde was so likeable and generous to his pals, which is nice and, of course, with 20:20 21st century hindsight he was appallingly treated by many of those same so called pals in later life for which I feel great sympathy. But, it is hard for me to come away from this book feeling any great overall sympathy for him as was in some very important respects a fool. The staggering sums of money earned and subsequently spent like water, even allowing for his generosity, should have earned him some insulation for later life - it didn’t. The ultimate belief in his own hype when he achieved popular acclaim - always a bad move. His association with Bosie who appears to be an utter asshole of the highest order - say no more. The arrogance that rent-boys would not be seen as ‘victims’, not so 'sensitive' after all. Knowing that homosexuality was illegal and the seeming belief that his social position would somehow protect him, despite warnings from friends telling him to leave the country, foolishness at best, or arrogance again.
None of this diminishes my admiration for his writing.
Despite Ellmann putting him in a most sympathetic light, Wilde still comes from a privileged background moving in a hypocritical societal structure built upon that privilege and comes a cropper when he runs into another nastier nutcase (Queensbury) who hates him. Quelle surprise!
The book has a few other issues for me. It would have been good if Ellmann had given a bit more detail on some of the characters involved. I think I am pretty well versed in the artistic/literary life of the period but there were many names I did not recognise or could have been contextualised more fully.
There is also the issue of ‘that’ photo of ‘Wilde’ in drag playing Salome which has been definitely proven to actually be the Hungarian soprano Alice Guszalewicz. Hopefully it does not appear in later editions of the book. Such whopping (full page) mistakes undermine the scholarly credentials of the book.
Overall, although I found it interesting (and extremely well written) I doubt I will ever re-read it again. This is because I didn’t come away from it thinking that I would find it a useful book to cross reference with other personages of the period, Beardsley and Smithers for example. But I also imagine if you are going to read a bumper Wilde biography it would seem to take some beating.
Of course, not much. Surely it is all one wants to know of the facts of his life; his flirtation with Catholicism, the feud with Whistler, that trial and all the major works. Its 600 pages and at times it feels it.
I didn’t know that Wilde was so likeable and generous to his pals, which is nice and, of course, with 20:20 21st century hindsight he was appallingly treated by many of those same so called pals in later life for which I feel great sympathy. But, it is hard for me to come away from this book feeling any great overall sympathy for him as was in some very important respects a fool. The staggering sums of money earned and subsequently spent like water, even allowing for his generosity, should have earned him some insulation for later life - it didn’t. The ultimate belief in his own hype when he achieved popular acclaim - always a bad move. His association with Bosie who appears to be an utter asshole of the highest order - say no more. The arrogance that rent-boys would not be seen as ‘victims’, not so 'sensitive' after all. Knowing that homosexuality was illegal and the seeming belief that his social position would somehow protect him, despite warnings from friends telling him to leave the country, foolishness at best, or arrogance again.
None of this diminishes my admiration for his writing.
Despite Ellmann putting him in a most sympathetic light, Wilde still comes from a privileged background moving in a hypocritical societal structure built upon that privilege and comes a cropper when he runs into another nastier nutcase (Queensbury) who hates him. Quelle surprise!
The book has a few other issues for me. It would have been good if Ellmann had given a bit more detail on some of the characters involved. I think I am pretty well versed in the artistic/literary life of the period but there were many names I did not recognise or could have been contextualised more fully.
There is also the issue of ‘that’ photo of ‘Wilde’ in drag playing Salome which has been definitely proven to actually be the Hungarian soprano Alice Guszalewicz. Hopefully it does not appear in later editions of the book. Such whopping (full page) mistakes undermine the scholarly credentials of the book.
Overall, although I found it interesting (and extremely well written) I doubt I will ever re-read it again. This is because I didn’t come away from it thinking that I would find it a useful book to cross reference with other personages of the period, Beardsley and Smithers for example. But I also imagine if you are going to read a bumper Wilde biography it would seem to take some beating.
October 11, 2018
We all wear a mask, each person kills the thing they love some with a word some by the sword. Truth is love.
This biography I started in my teens and got distracted. I found it too detailed and complex back then. My view of Wilde as a youth was one of pop idolism. Having picked him for my A level English literature coursework my teachers were worried as no one had studied Oscar Wilde in their classes before. It being the 1990s and despite 100 years on from Wildes time homosexuality was still taboo and teachers were forbidden by clause 28 of some Thatcherite law to discuss anything promoting an LGBT lifestyle or identity with their students. It was illegal to acknowledge alternative lifestyle and gay people in English schools in the 90s.
Picking this biography back up again in 2018 as a divorced father in his late 30s my rose tinted spectacular view of Wilde is now one of empathy, remorse and sympathy. Wilde was perpetually bullied and driven to ruin by the English pig the Marquis of Queensbury who appeared to be unhealthily obsessed with Wildes relationship with his son Sir Alfred Douglas.
I can't help thinking that if Wilde had lived nowadays he could live out his life positively as a counsellor for LGBT families or a writer/actor for film and television.
This biography is perfect in that it gives great detail. You can really get an honest account of his trial and the accusations of his sensitive crimes. It sheds great light on the oppression of western society upon its people during the late Victorian age. We are still reeling from the shock of Victorian morality some 120 years on. We are still talking about Wilde, Shelley and Coleridge. People who lived their life as they wanted until it wasn't possible to continue. Poets who were unreliable, selfish, ego centric, unpopular, debters, obsessed with their art and the soul of humanity. I'm so grateful that they pushed the boundaries of our souls to excess and lived a life less ordinary for their time. They were pioneers of the human condition and revolutionary.
'A dreaded sunny day so I'll meet you at the cemetery gates. Keats and Yates are on your side, but you lose, 'cos weird lover Wilde is on mine, surely'. The Smiths Cemetery Gates. 85.
This biography I started in my teens and got distracted. I found it too detailed and complex back then. My view of Wilde as a youth was one of pop idolism. Having picked him for my A level English literature coursework my teachers were worried as no one had studied Oscar Wilde in their classes before. It being the 1990s and despite 100 years on from Wildes time homosexuality was still taboo and teachers were forbidden by clause 28 of some Thatcherite law to discuss anything promoting an LGBT lifestyle or identity with their students. It was illegal to acknowledge alternative lifestyle and gay people in English schools in the 90s.
Picking this biography back up again in 2018 as a divorced father in his late 30s my rose tinted spectacular view of Wilde is now one of empathy, remorse and sympathy. Wilde was perpetually bullied and driven to ruin by the English pig the Marquis of Queensbury who appeared to be unhealthily obsessed with Wildes relationship with his son Sir Alfred Douglas.
I can't help thinking that if Wilde had lived nowadays he could live out his life positively as a counsellor for LGBT families or a writer/actor for film and television.
This biography is perfect in that it gives great detail. You can really get an honest account of his trial and the accusations of his sensitive crimes. It sheds great light on the oppression of western society upon its people during the late Victorian age. We are still reeling from the shock of Victorian morality some 120 years on. We are still talking about Wilde, Shelley and Coleridge. People who lived their life as they wanted until it wasn't possible to continue. Poets who were unreliable, selfish, ego centric, unpopular, debters, obsessed with their art and the soul of humanity. I'm so grateful that they pushed the boundaries of our souls to excess and lived a life less ordinary for their time. They were pioneers of the human condition and revolutionary.
'A dreaded sunny day so I'll meet you at the cemetery gates. Keats and Yates are on your side, but you lose, 'cos weird lover Wilde is on mine, surely'. The Smiths Cemetery Gates. 85.
September 26, 2019
I object to the ending. It was too sad. Why did he have to die?
But in all seriousness, the final lines of this book did make me cry. Here: "His work survived as he claimed it would. We inherit his struggle to achieve supreme fictions in art, to associate art with social change, to bring together individual and social impulse, to save what is eccentric and singular from being sanitized and standardized, to replace a morality of severity by one of sympathy. He belongs to our world more than to Victoria's. Now, beyond the reach of scandal, his best writings validated by time, he comes before us still, a towering figure, laughing and weeping, with parables and paradoxes, so generous, so amusing, and so right."
I could never give this 5 stars merely for some differences of opinion between Ellmann and I and the few errors I know this book contains, but it was still thoroughly enjoyable. It even made me laugh at times, which is a feat (perhaps more due to Wilde than Ellmann, but sometimes it was definitely Ellmann). I was never too bored, though the duller sections were usually the parts about people who were not Wilde. This is the first time I've ever read nonfiction of this length, let alone a biography of this length. I've been reading it for so long that I feel sad and sort of lonely at the idea of giving it up. It was my travel companion in the UK, and a long-time presence on my nightstand. Still, I'm also sort of relieved to be finally finished. I think I'll take a break from Oscar for a while, before continuing to read through my collection of bookish Wildeana. I need to go back to primary sources soon though--I've been reading about him for too long.
But in all seriousness, the final lines of this book did make me cry. Here: "His work survived as he claimed it would. We inherit his struggle to achieve supreme fictions in art, to associate art with social change, to bring together individual and social impulse, to save what is eccentric and singular from being sanitized and standardized, to replace a morality of severity by one of sympathy. He belongs to our world more than to Victoria's. Now, beyond the reach of scandal, his best writings validated by time, he comes before us still, a towering figure, laughing and weeping, with parables and paradoxes, so generous, so amusing, and so right."
I could never give this 5 stars merely for some differences of opinion between Ellmann and I and the few errors I know this book contains, but it was still thoroughly enjoyable. It even made me laugh at times, which is a feat (perhaps more due to Wilde than Ellmann, but sometimes it was definitely Ellmann). I was never too bored, though the duller sections were usually the parts about people who were not Wilde. This is the first time I've ever read nonfiction of this length, let alone a biography of this length. I've been reading it for so long that I feel sad and sort of lonely at the idea of giving it up. It was my travel companion in the UK, and a long-time presence on my nightstand. Still, I'm also sort of relieved to be finally finished. I think I'll take a break from Oscar for a while, before continuing to read through my collection of bookish Wildeana. I need to go back to primary sources soon though--I've been reading about him for too long.
February 23, 2021
This book of exhaustive research concerning Wilde’s life is a pleasure to read from his family history to his imprisonment years later and his resulting exile in France. Prior to reading this book, I had always had the impression that Oscar Wilde’s life (except for prison) was one wild ride (pardon the pun). And in some ways it was. He, even after experiencing financial success, was always in want of money, primarily because he was such a spendthrift, spending or giving away money he honestly didn’t have. He cared not about what people thought of his extravagant ideas, his extravagant living. Yet Wilde faced great public disapproval of how he lived his life. His only friends were other homosexual men or those liberal enough to accept him. His downfall came in the package of one man, Lord Alfred Douglas, a much younger man, an aristocrat who both loved and used Wilde. If Wilde had never met him, he might have met his match with some other party, but I doubt it. The latter part of Wilde’s sad life was battling Douglas’s father in court. Lord Percy Douglas, Marquess of Queensberry, managed to have Wilde sent to prison for two years because he didn’t want Wilde near his son. Wilde did his prison time, and it broke him, both physically and mentally. He never wrote anything substantial again, was always begging others for money, and suffered physical ailments that eventually brought on his premature death at forty-six. Ellmann’s distinguished book, more than thirty years old now, does great justice to the life of an extraordinary writer who lived, until he could no longer bear the speed of light, way ahead of his time.
December 27, 2018
Much of my moral obliquity is due to the fact that my father would not allow me to become a Catholic. The artistic side of the Church and the fragrance of its teaching would have cured my degeneracies.
Tell me dear reader, is there any boat you wish you'd gotten on that would've taken you far away from the shores of sin you presently lay upon?
English law had misdone him by punishment, and English society finished him off by ostracism.
Two writers whose graves I wish to visit- Oscar Wilde and Marcel Proust.
“The men who have realised themselves, and in whom all Humanity gains a partial realisation.”
Tell me dear reader, is there any boat you wish you'd gotten on that would've taken you far away from the shores of sin you presently lay upon?
English law had misdone him by punishment, and English society finished him off by ostracism.
Two writers whose graves I wish to visit- Oscar Wilde and Marcel Proust.
“The men who have realised themselves, and in whom all Humanity gains a partial realisation.”
Displaying 1 - 30 of 189 reviews