A Life, Warm and Brief as a Summer's Day

Not every great writer is a great human being.  We expect the people who touch our souls with their prose to be as wonderful as their words but sadly, that isn't always the case.  There are some writers whose work I admire, that I wouldn't want within a mile of me, alive or dead.  On the other hand, I wish I could have met the Oscar Wilde in Richard Ellmann's biography of that name.  Seldom has literary genius been paired with such a decent, gentle spirit.

It's hard these days to think of Wilde's life as anything other than tragedy.  There he is in his early years, telling the customs agent he "has nothing to declare but his genius." That was an example of Oscar's hyperbole and humor but it was also a statement of fact for this Oxford educated son of Ireland.  His moral code was based on aesthetics, not just because he believed in in the innate goodness of beauty but because his own instincts usually directed him to be kind.  His observations and plays outraged Victorian society but they were outrageously funny and stylish.  No one before had let the air out of English sails with such a perfectly poised jab of humor.  And, for all of the unconventional things Wilde wrote or said, in public he led a reasonably conventional life.  He enjoyed the luxuries of an upper class existence, including the wife and two small sons he adored.  As far as Victorian society cared to see, Wilde was only wild in thought.  He made them think a little and laugh a lot and they loved him for it. How could this kind, intelligent man, fall apart at the height of his fame?

Some men are ruined by falling for the wrong woman.  Oscar fell in love with the wrong man.  The gentle soul that wrote "The Selfish Giant" had probably always known he was gay although he'd tried to live as a straight husband and father.  Until the 1890's any man who shared an intimate part of his life understood the need for silence. Then Lord Alfred Douglas appeared, with his beautiful face and mediocre talent.  Oscar was infatuated, although he never quite forgot that his own success lay in his own hands.  Lord Alfred or "Bosie"'s future was bought and paid for with family money; Oscar knew his future depended on his efforts as an artist and he tried to be as fair as he could to his wife and sons.  Besides, no matter how beautiful he was, Bosie was only happy when he had churned life into a drama.  Oscar often needed a peaceful retreat where he could think and work.

When Bosie's father (the Marquess of Queensberry, famous for his boxing rules) described Oscar as "posing as a somdomite [sic]" Bosie insisted Oscar should sue for libel.  Other friends of Oscar argued a lawsuit would be disastrous since the statement was basically true, but Bosie insisted.  So, Oscar "took to the law" and Bosie's father proved his point with the testimony of some male prostitutes.  The legal bills took all of Oscar's earnings and the scandal meant no one would produce his plays.  Society's support for him disappeared.  The transcript of Oscar's civil suit became evidence in a criminal case against him.  The conviction cost Oscar his family, his health and two years of his freedom.  While Oscar served time in prison, Bosie traveled through Europe.

Ellmann's biography captures the personal and professional dedication that abided in Oscar Wilde's life even after his release from prison.  He and Bosie were reunited for a short time but the pressures that undermined their relationship before, undermined it again.  The banished and ruined genius moved to Paris and wrote what he could, correcting copies of his earlier plays and publishing "The Ballad of Reading Gaol".  He had lost the joy necessary for writing comedy but not his witty nature.  "My wallpaper and I are in a duel to the death" he said during one of his last outings. "One of us has got to go."  On November 30, at age 46, Oscar went, leaving behind the hideous wallpaper, one or two faithful friends, some brilliant work and two boys who no longer carried his name.  People who love laughter have mourned him ever since.

Several biographies of Wilde dwell on the salacious parts of his life, and a few focus on his Irish background.  Ellmann included those as well as the disciplined artist whose work was the result of toil as well as talent and the gentle human being who could forgive almost any slight to himself.  Ellmann's Oscar Wilde scooped a Pulitzer as well as a National Book Award and is considered the definitive biography.  It's a shame the biographer did not live long enough to enjoy the praise this book received.

Ellman's biography and it's subject are like a summer itself: warm, generous, and gone too soon.  Still, we can be grateful for their gifts of warmth and, in winter, dream of sun on green leaves.