The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

I've long been a fan of Robert Louis Stevenson's novels and poems, and have long wanted to read his horror story The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, published in 1886.  I picked up an audio version at the library, and was surprised it was only 2 discs and 2.5 hours long.  So much shorter than I expected that I doubled-checked that it was, in fact, an unabridged version.

While it was a short book, a novella really, I found it plenty long actually.  The first part dragged a bit.  It is a framed story, in which Dr Jekyll's lawyer and friend tells of his suspicions regarding his friend's protege, a Mr. Hyde, who is Dr Jekyll's sole beneficiary in his will and who strikes everyone who encounters him as evil incarnate.

I found the dancing around in this first half of the book to be tedious--I was eager to get to who Jekyll and Hyde were and found the lawyer's musings to be a trifle dull and a bit coy.  However, once I got to the part where the lawyer read the letter Jekyll left to be read should something happen to him, the story got much more interesting.

While listening to Jekyll's story of his descent into hell, I couldn't help but think of both Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.  The former was published 4 years after Jekyll and Hyde in 1890, and the latter was published near the beginning of the 19th century, in 1818.

Jekyll/Hyde explores the idea of a person having two natures--one good and one evil (or the ego and the id, in Freudian terms).  Jekyll, the doctor, experiments with drugs that enable the evil nature within him to come to the forefront of his personality, and when this happens his body undergoes a physical transformation as well.  What this means is that when Jekyll takes the drug, he becomes Mr Hyde is personality as well as physical appearance.  This means Jekyll can enjoy doing evil things because no ones knows that Jekyll has become Hyde.  By taking the drug, he can put on a mask and let loose the dogs of war with no consequences to his reputation.  His conscience, however, still functions, and as Hyde's devilry increases, Jekyll feels remorse and responsibility.

In a similar manner, Dorian Gray's beauty hides his true evil nature, which the portrait accurately reflects.  Jekyll becomes Hyde when he lets his evil nature reign; Dorian's body masks his evil nature, which no one can see unless they view his portrait.  

With regards to Frankenstein, both Dr Frankenstein and Dr Jekyll are talented scientists whose major character flaw is unbridled ambition, and their pursuit of glory leads to their downfall.  Not only that, but their downfalls are very similar.  The monster gets out of hand, assumes control of the situation, and will not be bridled.

I think it's so interesting the Frankenstein and Jekyll/Hyde and Dorian Gray bookend the 19th century--Mary Shelley really did anticipate many of the themes that increasing industrialization and scientific reliance that writers and other artists explored 80 years later.

The Picture of Dorian Gray

Oscar Wilde's only novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, has long been on my reread list. I read it first probably in my late teens and had forgotten most of the details over the years, except, of course, the basic premise--that a painting of a beautiful young man ages instead of the man himself. It's such a brilliant premise and Wilde is such a witty writer that I was surprised to find myself disappointed in the novel midway through it.

Here are a random collection of thoughts on the book.

It's a retelling of the myth of Narcissus, the boy who fell in love with his image when he caught sight of it reflected in a pool, and died because he could do nothing besides look at himself. Certainly, Dorian fell in love with himself and the idea of youth and beauty being the only thing worth having or being, and certainly this took him down a self-destructive path.

Dorian, beyond owning the picture, is a fairly dull character. At first, he is a blank canvas, so to speak, on which both Basil Hallward and Lord Henry Wotton fashion the character of Dorian. I was so frustrated that Dorian, as soon as he realized that the picture would age instead of him, leaped to the notion that he would sin and the picture and not his face/body would reflect that sin. Only once, or maybe twice, did Dorian even consider the possibility that he would not live a life of depravity once he knew that the world would not see the wages of sin on his face.

The dialogue was the best part of the book by far. Reading the novel made it clear that Wilde's talent was as a playwright and not as a novelist. The novel is weak in the narrative, especially in the early part of the second half, when Wilde is describing Dorian's eighteen years from when he first receives the painting to his final days. He tediously describes the fantastic, esoteric, artistic, and intellectual pursuits of Dorian and I didn't believe him for a minute. This was clearly a MarySue fantasy, and Wilde never showed the reader that Dorian was particularly talented or even intelligent. He was portrayed as a beautiful, innocent, and idealistic young man who crashed into hedonism. I found that I could help skimming chapter 11, and I was thankful when the action resumed and Lord Henry and his witticisms returned to the story.

Lord Henry is an older version of Algernon from The Importance of Being Earnest. At one point in the novel, one of the characters says that his name should be Prince Paradox, and that might be the truest statement in the entire book. Henry's wit is exclusively based on turning a phrase inside out, a classic being "Dorian is too wise not to do foolish things now and then..."

Lord Henry is also clearly cast as the serpent in the Garden of Eden, with the book he gives Dorian which is credited with the latter's descent into depravity, being the Apple from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. This is Symbolism 101, and I expected more from Wilde.

I wanted this to be a Faust story in which the protagonist actively sells his soul for knowledge, or even beauty--believe it or not, the musical Damn Yankees kept running through my mind while I was reading about Dorian Gray. In that story, at least, Joe sold his soul to be a young, strong, best-there-ever-was baseball player. Dorian, on the other hand, uttered a casual wish that the picture would age and he wouldn't--he never strugged with the decision, and his wish wasn't even a fervent prayer. It was an adolescent response to flattery. And Wilde's account of Dorian's attempt to reform at the end was as unbelievable as his brilliance as an artiste--the problem is that Wilde didn't take the time to develop Dorian as a real character that I could understand on any level.

I can't imagine ever rereading this book. I enjoyed it too little this round to bother with it again. I found it preachy, self-consciously clever, and somewhat poorly executed, especially when Wilde's prose turned purple. It was tedious at times, with occasionally flashes of brilliant dialogue.

The version that have, like most I imagine, includes the Preface that Wilde wrote for the second edition of the novel. In it, he says that "There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written." Implicit in this statement is that The Picture of Dorian Gray is well written. Certainly I don't think this is an immoral book. On the contrary, it is a hit-'em-over head moral tale. But I don't think it is a particularly well written book either. The premise is brilliant, but it is the premise for a short story or a play rather than a novel. I felt nothing but relief when Dorian finally stabbed his picture and died--now I could put the book back on the shelf and move on.

I'm not sorry I reread the book. I've carried this notion in my head that it is a much better book than it is and it adjusts a bit the place I give Wilde in the pantheon of great writers.