She liked to claim that she was descended from Dante and had been an eagle in a previous life. His mother, Lady Jane Wilde, was an Irish-nationalist poet who wrote under the pseudonym Speranza (“hope,” in Italian). His father, Sir William Wilde, was a surgeon, a polymath, and a philanthropist whose terrific energy masked private bouts of depression. Wilde grew up surrounded by complex, performative personalities. Threatened with blackmail in 1893, over a stolen letter that he had written to his lover, Lord Alfred Douglas, Wilde responded by having its contents translated into French and published as a sonnet-an altered version of the real text, but perhaps no less authentic for being so. The refracted versions of self that appear in his writing allowed him to test out real-life modes of being in turn, the acts of duplicity he practiced in his life generated daring new forms of artistic self-expression. But by minimizing discussion of Wilde’s work, and the patterns of thought the work reveals, Sturgis underplays one of the most important means that Wilde possessed for organizing the contradictions of his personality. Sturgis’s “ Oscar Wilde” (Knopf) should be commended for resisting its subject’s self-mythologizing it’s exactly the kind of account that Wilde would have been least likely to compose. Where Ellmann considers Wilde’s decision to remain in London rather than flee his arrest to be the sign of a hero’s preference for suffering, Sturgis, while granting Wilde “a touch of defiance,” argues that “inertia probably played a greater part.” As a redress, he sets out to trace “contingency” rather than design, presenting Wilde’s self-divisions as the product of contextual necessities, not of liberated choice. Sturgis, a British critic whose previous work includes a biography of Wilde’s contemporary Aubrey Beardsley, sees Ellmann’s literary approach as having a “warping effect” on the facts. The writer who “thought of the self as having multiple possibilities,” Ellmann suggests, was drawn in his work to motifs of duplication and duplicity: mirrors, portraits, doubles, dialogues. There’s a self-conscious literariness to this reading. On trial, where others might have been cowed by the solicitor general’s attack, Wilde dodged it through what Ellmann calls a “triumph” of imaginative displacement. What made him singular was his multiplicity. His star rose, Ellmann argues, because he was capable of playing many parts it fell because he defied a doctrinaire age and refused to relinquish the power to choose among those parts. Biographers who do aim to “compass” the whole story, as Hesketh Pearson (1946), H. Montgomery Hyde (1975), Richard Ellmann (1988), and now Matthew Sturgis have sought to do, are obliged not only to recognize the many Wildes but to do something about them.Įllmann’s method in his “ Oscar Wilde,” a sympathetic humanist treatment long seen as the canonical one, is to frame Wilde’s life as a Greek tragedy and his self-contradictions as integral to the scale and the complexity of his heroism. “Oscar Wilde lived more lives than one, and no single biography can ever compass his rich and extraordinary life,” Neil McKenna tells us at the beginning of “ The Secret Life of Oscar Wilde” (2005), before choosing just one of those lives to tell-Wilde’s sexual and emotional history. Among Wilde’s modern biographers, faced with a subject whose life has been flattened out for exemplary purposes by various communities (gay, Irish, Catholic, socialist), it’s axiomatic to acknowledge his multidimensionality, his slipperiness. Martyrs don’t usually admit to feeling “sickened” by accounts of their own behavior, and any ambiguities or contradictions in their personalities tend to be glossed over by their hagiographers. The point is, who says it.” At the critical moment, he was able to transform the drama in his imagination by taking both roles, substituting the real Lockwood with an alternative Wilde, one who could control the courtroom and its narrative. I saw then at once that what is said of a man is nothing. But the sensation was short-lived: “Suddenly it occurred to me, How splendid it would be, if I was saying all this about myself. He was “sickened with horror” at what he heard. His catalogue of accusations, shot through with moral disgust, struck Wilde as an “appalling denunciation”-“like a thing out of Tacitus, like a passage in Dante,” as he wrote two years later. It was a Saturday in May, 1895, the final day of his trial for “gross indecency,” and the solicitor general, Frank Lockwood, was in the midst of a closing address for the prosecution. Oscar Wilde was in the dock when he observed himself becoming two people.
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