I have a friend named Dorian, and recently when I told her I was reading Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, she told me her name had no association with that book.

I should hope not. She is one of the nicest humans on the planet, and Dorian Gray is one of the most despicable characters in all of lit-dom.

I finished the book and then downloaded the movie to solidify the plot in my mind. And the movie was as shudder-producing as the book.

Wilde created this character who made a Faustian deal that his face would remain young and handsome while his portrait bore all the signs of aging and, more significantly, hard living. Jesus asked what it profited a person to gain the whole world but lose his own soul, and Wilde quoted Him near the end. The book is really an extended exploration of this question: What happens when we worship the wrong object? Namely, ourselves. Beauty. Pleasure.

A good book. And in keeping with the portrait motif and in the name of equal time, I plan next to read Henry James's The Portrait of a Lady.