Ageless 'Dorian' in new era

Jay Pawlowski, Special To The News

Published January 10, 2003 at midnight

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"Some tales are full of well-matched couples," writes Will Self in his latest novel, Dorian, "but this, alas, is not one of them."

This understatement (a somewhat rare but always powerfully used device in Dorian) cannot begin to help a prospective reader fathom the level of dysfunction in this book - not to mention all the sex, drugs, glamour and murder.

It's a story of decadence, without a doubt, and it's not exactly a new one. Dorian is an imitation of Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, an 1891 novel that was dismissed by some critics as an "immoral" book. Wilde's novel told the story of Dorian Gray, a young man of unbelievable beauty who sells his soul to preserve his youth and comeliness. A portrait of him painted by his friend Basil Hallward ages instead, and the real Dorian lives a life of debauchery and malevolence.

A retelling begs to be set in the 1980s, and Self obliges. It's also perhaps fitting that the characters of Dorian are gay, since Wilde himself was imprisoned for his homosexuality. In Self's version, Basil (known as Baz to his friends) is a rising star in the London art scene, and his greatest work to date is an installation called Cathode Narcissus, which features nine video screens of Dorian's naked, perfect body. Dorian and Baz are lovers, and a love triangle ensues when Dorian meets Baz's friend Henry Wotton, who is not only fiercely condescending but also has a ravenous appetite for hard drugs.

Dorian is fascinated by the installation: "So," he says, "these ... will remain young for ever, while I grow old, then die?" But somehow the reverse happens. With Cathode Narcissus locked away in his attic, Dorian uses his unnatural magnetism to take the art scenes of London and Manhattan by storm. He becomes the quintessential self-obsessed '80s reveler, all set to the images and sounds of Princess Di, Andy Warhol, David Bowie and Soft Cell.

But there's a lot more to Dorian than his looks, and none of it is good:

"Dorian Gray liked to cruise anywhere and anything. As the years had passed, so catholic had his cruising become that he would've been perfectly at ease coming on to a constitory of cardinals in the Vatican. No grouping of people was safe from his attentions. ... Irrespective of age, gender, race or sexual orientation, Dorian Gray delighted in their seduction, and if he could afford the time to ruin them in the bargain, then so much the better."

Tainted love, indeed.

As if attempting to live up to the excesses of the decade in which it is set, Dorian spares no details regarding sex, drug abuse and more sex. This may turn away, offend, or even outrage some readers (which may, in turn, pay homage to Wilde), but the tamed excess of Self's irreverent and unrelenting voice make Dorian an exceptional read and a thought-provoking examination of the most basic of human vices.

Self's dialogue is superb as well. Henry's constant and cynical epithets at once link the book to its source and keep it fresh and entertaining: Where in Wilde's book the free-spirited Henry notes that "punctuality is the thief of time," in Self's reworking, he says, as he arrives stoned to a charity function put on by his mother, "Naturally we're extremely late . . . but then punctuality is the (expletive) thief of time, burgling precious seconds which we could've spent getting higher." As the story unfolds - and especially after Self's "Epilogue" folds the story back upon itself - Henry becomes the most endearing and complex character of the novel.

As the years pass, Dorian's actions reach an unbelievable level of depravity. He becomes the ghastly scourge of the gay population, even as he looks the part of its poster boy. Yet even in the darkness - as Dorian's just desserts draw nearer and the Cathode Narcissus tapes begin to fade, as Henry's clique withers and dies of AIDS, and as the strung-out junkies and Henry's formerly loveless wife begin to group as a family - Self's tale offers compassion and hope, ultimately giving Dorian a visceral and emotional conclusion.

Wilde's critics would certainly faint after reading the first paragraph of Dorian (which cannot be quoted here), but as Wilde wrote in defense of his only novel, "There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written." Say what you will about the decadence and debauchery, the smack use and the sodomy, Self's Dorian is as well-written as they come.

Jay Pawlowski is a free-lance writer living in Denver.

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