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The Picture of Dorian Gray [Anglais] [Broché]

Oscar Wilde
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Description de l'ouvrage

février 1994 Dover Thrift

From Longman's new Cultural Editions Series, Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, edited by Andrew Elfenbein, includes the novel and contextual materials from the era of Oscar Wilde.

This edition of Oscar Wilde's classic work, The Picture of Dorian Gray, highlights the novel's modernity in both its form and its revolutionary content, and traces its links to modernist literature and the culture of modernity alike.

Previous editions of the novel have only seen it in a late Victorian context, or as an extension of the aesthetic theories of Walter Pater and the “art for art's sake” movement. As presented in this new edition, however, the freshness and originality of the book emerges, along with its strong social messages. The book is a pastiche of genres that propels nineteenth-century realism into twentieth-century modernism ahead of its own time. Wilde's novel offers a myth for modernity whose hold on the cultural imagination has only strengthened over time-Dorian Gray's uncanny bond with his own portrait underscores the loss of selfhood everyone experiences in a world of images and copies, paves the way for the discourses of homosexuality and the understanding of lifestyle as identity so current today, and provides clues to the mysteries of modern ethics and politics. The edition also emphasizes the role of gender and the rise of female emancipation underlying the Sybil Vane subplot, a focus on women that intensifies the book's relevance to modern transformations of men and women alike.

--Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

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Extrait

CHAPTER I

The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame-like as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid jade-faced painters of Tokio who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement, and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and, closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.

"It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done," said Lord Henry, languidly. "You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. Whenever I have gone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been able to see the pictures, which was dreadful, or so many pictures that I have not been able to see the people, which was worse. The Grosvenor is really the only place."

"I don't think I shall send it anywhere," he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford. "No: I won't send it anywhere."

Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows, and looked at him in amazement through the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful whorls from his heavy opium-tainted cigarette. "Not send it anywhere? My dear fellow, why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters are! You do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it away. It is silly of you, for there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. A portrait like this would set you far above all the young men in England, and make the old men quite jealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion."

"I know you will laugh at me," he replied, "but I really can't exhibit it I have put too much of myself into it."

Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed.

"Yes, I knew you would; but it is quite true, all the same."

"Too much of yourself in it!  Upon my word, Basil, I didn't know you were so vain; and I really can't see any resemblance between you, with your rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves. Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you — well, of course you have an intellectual expression, and all that. But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don't think. A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful. Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told me, but whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. I feel quite sure of that. He is some brainless, beautiful creature, who should be always here in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in summer when we want something to chill our intelligence. Don't flatter yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like him.

"You don't understand me, Harry," answered the artist. "Of course I am not like him. I know that perfectly well. Indeed, I should be sorry to look like him. You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the truth. There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through history the faltering steps of kings. It is better not to be different from one's fellows. The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. They can sit at their ease and gape at the play. If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat. They live as we all should live, undisturbed, indifferent, and without disquiet. They neither bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it from alien hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are — my art, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray's good looks — we shall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly."

"Dorian Gray? Is that his name?" asked Lord Henry, walking across the studio towards Basil Hallward.

"Yes, that is his name. I didn't intend to tell it to you."

"But why not?"

"Oh, I can't explain. When I like people immensely I never tell their names to any one. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvellous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town now I never tell my people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. It is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance to one's life. I suppose you think me awful foolish about it?"

"Not at all," answered Lord Henry, "not at all, my dear Basil. You seem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties. I never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what I am doing. When we meet — we do meet occasionally, when we dine out together, or go down to the Duke's — we tell each other the most absurd stories with the most serious faces. My wife is very good at it, much better, in fact, than I am. She never gets confused over her dates, and I always do. But when she does find me out, she makes no row at all. I sometimes wish she would; but she merely laughs at me."

"I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry," said Basil Hallward, strolling towards the door that led into the garden. "I believe that you are really a very good husband, but that you are thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues. You are an extraordinary fellow. You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing. Your cynicism is simply a pose."

"Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know," cried Lord Henry, laughing; and the two young men went out into the garden together, and ensconced themselves on a long bamboo seat that stood in the shade of a tall laurel bush. The sunlight slipped over the polished leaves. In the grass, white daisies were tremulous.

After a pause, Lord Henry pulled out his watch. "I am afraid I must be going, Basil," he murmured, "and before you go, I insist on your answering a question I put to you some time ago."

"What is that?" said the painter, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

"You know quite well."

"I do not, Harry."

"Well, I will tell you what it is. I want you to explain to me why you won't exhibit Dorian Gray's picture. I want the real reason."

"I told you the real reason."

"No you did not. You said it was because there was too much of yourself in it. Now, that is childish."

"Harry," said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, "every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit the picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my soul."

Lord Henry laughed. "And what is that?" he asked.

"I will tell you," said Hallward; but an expression of perplexity came over his face.

"I am all expectation, Basil," continued his companion, glancing at him.

"Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry," answered the painter; "and I am afraid you will hardly understand it. Perhaps you will hardly believe it."

Lord Henry smiled, and, leaning down, plucked a pink-petalled daisy from the grass, and examined it. "I am quite sure I shall understand it," he replied, gazing intently at the little golden white-feathered disk, "and as for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible."

The wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and the heavy lilac-blooms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro in the languid air. A grasshopper began to chirrup by the wall, and like a blue thread a long thing dragon-fly floated past on its brown gauze wings. Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward's heart beating, ... --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Relié .

Revue de presse

It seemed to be an impossible task to outdo the former edition of 'Dorian Gray' in the World's Classics series, but Bristow has achieved his goal. The quality of the explanatory notes is, simply, superb, and the introduction is succint but informative, --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

Détails sur le produit

  • Broché: 176 pages
  • Editeur : Klincksieck; Édition : New edition (février 1994)
  • Collection : Dover Thrift
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 0486278077
  • ISBN-13: 978-0486278070
  • Dimensions du produit: 20,8 x 13,2 x 1,3 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.8 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (16 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: 55.652 en Livres anglais et étrangers (Voir les 100 premiers en Livres anglais et étrangers)
  • Table des matières complète
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Very interesting writings. 11 septembre 2011
Par X. Fermé pour cause de grand voyage. TOP 1000 COMMENTATEURS
Format:Poche|Achat authentifié par Amazon
Above all I think that the idea of ''The Picture of Dorian Gray'' is one of the greatest idea of any writer 'cause we must
realize that there might be so big a difference between the beauty of a masterpiece and what kind of man of merit we're
gonna find in whom made or inspired that masterpiece (or both of them). That artist might have been a very bad person
just like the one who might have given him that kind of feeling's power_
And so in the depths of a beautiful ocean you could discover those bad hideous revelations.
We could think what we want to think about Oscar''people got to be free''and yet who could deny that very profligate
impetuous impertinent carefree youthful red blood into his very nature?
You ought to be that reader!
For the rest you must knock down reading Oscar's writings those no trespassing signs of any bourgeois idiot!

Billy.
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15 internautes sur 19 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 une leçon de vie 25 avril 2002
Format:Broché
Ce livre est simplement un chef d'oeuvre dont on ne peut que se délecter. Il est souvent connu par ouïe dire mais rien ne vaut une vraie lecture. C'est un vrai guide de vie, un écho de Ronsard et du si fameux Carpe diem poursuivit jusqu'à ses limites. L'aspect quelque peu gothique du portrait prenant les signes des péchés du modèle pourra attirer les plus jeunes et les pousser à lire ensuite Dr Jekyll et Mr Hyde. Pour les autres: specialistes de Wilde ou non initiés, ce livre si riche pourra constituer un vrai "bréviaire de la décadence" à lire et relire pour enfin en apprécier toute la profondeur et l'esthétisme si particulier à Wilde.
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5.0 étoiles sur 5 Un beau très beau roman 14 février 2014
Par ellilou
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Oscar Wilde, qu'on a tendance à réduire à ses aphorismes et autres citations, montre toute l'étendue de son talent. livraison parfaite et livre remarquable
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4.0 étoiles sur 5 Le portrait de Dorian Gray 9 octobre 2013
Format:Poche|Achat authentifié par Amazon
Jeune homme qui vend son âme au "diable" en échange d'une jeunesse éternel dont il fait le voeu. A la place ce sera son portrait qui vieillira...
Son âme se dégrade au fil du roman, ainsi que son portrait peint par son ami l'artiste...
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5.0 étoiles sur 5 The Picture of Dorian Gray 4 octobre 2013
Format:Broché|Achat authentifié par Amazon
Ce livre est super, la couverture est très belle et donne envie de le lire, livraison rapide et efficace.
Je conseille vivement.
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5.0 étoiles sur 5 Excellent 29 septembre 2013
Par J.P
Format:Broché
Un chef d'oeuvre de la littérature irlandaise (n'oublions pas que Wilde n'est pas anglais)avec des aphorismes éclatants de beauté, étonnant de part leur côté paradoxal parfois mais qui suscitent toujours une réflexion instantanée. A lire et relire si possible dans la version originale.
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5.0 étoiles sur 5 Juste parfait 19 septembre 2013
Format:Relié|Achat authentifié par Amazon
Cette note reflète la qualité du livre. C'est tout simplement un régal ! Pour en savoir plus sur la vie de l'auteur, le contexte historique et les mœurs de l'époque. Je le recommande à tous ceux qui sont fan de littérature anglaise.
(note : Etant adolescente, j'ai juste adoré!)
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4.0 étoiles sur 5 Un classique 8 juin 2013
Par Katouwe
Format:Broché|Achat authentifié par Amazon
Un classique! J'ai aimé le film qui reprend bien le livre. Vision de la nature humaine toujours applicable au jour d'aujourd'hui.
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