Today we’ll talk about the book that started it all. It was the first book I ever read because I wanted to (not because I had to), and it’s the only book I’ve read three times. I remember I was eleven years old and I had just seen the movie The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and I wanted to read the books referenced there and I thought, why not start with that one character?

The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde

The book opens with a conversation between sensitive painter Basil Hallward and his cynical friend Lord Henry Wotton, in which they discuss Basil’s latest work: the portrait of a young beautiful man. Basil is completely obsesses with said young man, but he’s afraid to introduce him to Lord Henry because he knows that Lord Henry’s ideas are quite alarming and could corrupt the boy’s innocence. His fear comes true when Dorian Gray enters the studio to sit for the last details of the portrait and, fascinated by Lord Henry’s personality, insists he stay and talk to him. That day, thanks to the portrait and to Lord Henry’s remarks, Dorian finally becomes aware of his own beauty, and, knowing that he will never be as perfect as he is now, tearfully claims to be capable of selling his own soul if that meant he could trade places with the portrait and stay young forever.

In this novel, Oscar Wilde painted his own picture of the human soul. The reader can clearly see how curiosity and desire lead a pure soul to absolute corruption. Written in an agile, thoughtful way, this book is about obsession, transgression, duplicity and art.

This is a book that I can read over and over again, and I always find new things. If you have not read it, you totally should. If you’ve only seen the movie… please read the book. It’s so much better.

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother making plans for my blog posts if life will prevent me from writing on time anyway.

Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad

Charles Marlow, the captain of a steamboat during Imperialist Europe, travels to the African Congo in search for Mr Kurtz, a feared and well-known ivory trader. Marlow’s trip isn’t only physical, but also psychological, as every situation and every problem he encounters forces him to reflect on people, nature, society, morals and the empire.

This book, with only 100 pages, is one of the shortest ones I’ve read all year. It’s one of those books that you must read if you want to call yourself literature lover. It’s a trip to the mind of a man at the center of the empire, and a reflection on the situation of the time he lived in.

I’ve never had issues with books that have virtually no plot and a lot of thoughts and introspection. Books such as Mrs Dalloway and Ulysses, I’ve enjoyed a lot. Actually, Joyce has spent the last few weeks knocking on the back of my head telling me to read another one of his works. Those books belong to modernism, but as you know, the Victorian period is one of my favorite literary periods. Still, Conrad’s Heart of Darkness didn’t do it for me.

Don’t get me wrong, the novel has brilliant elements: the story is told through the eyes of Marlow, but he’s not the narrator. The narrator is another character who is only sitting and listening to what Marlow’s telling. It’s almost as if the reader were inside the story, listening to the what’s being told. The novel’s full of symbolism and metaphors that hide underneath a text that seems easy to understand; the title, Heart of Darkness, is in itself a big metaphor.

I can’t tell you exactly why I didn’t like it, but I can tell you that it seemed kind of slow, and it dragged a little from time to time.

I recommend it for the role that it plays within the story of literature, because of what it represents and exposes, and for those sentences that made me nod with satisfaction from time to time. Who knows? Maybe you’ll love it.

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Brontë, tells the story of an orphan who has suffered abuse her entire life. After studying and teaching at a very humble and very strict boarding school, Jane gets a job as a governess at Thornfield Hall, the country estate of a mysterious man called Mr Rochester. For the first time, Jane’s life seems to head towards the happiness she’s always longed for, but as Mr Rochester’s secrets come out, Jane, who refuses to give up who she is, must make some life-changing decisions that could have fatal consequences.

This book came to my hands three months ago, when I purchased it at Blackwell’s in Edinburgh, but it wasn’t until this semester started when I saw the reading list for my 19th Century British Literature course that I decided to read it (I was planning on reading Moby Dick first).

As soon as it was published, Jane Eyre caused quite a commotion among Victorian readers. Far from being the ideal Victorian woman, Jane is not afraid to say what she thinks, she’s full of passion and anger, and the fact that her development is so transparent throughout the book has led some scholars to call it a “Bildungsroman” -German term for development novel or coming-of-age novel. Also, its Gothic and romantic elements make it harder for us to place it in a concrete literary genre, but it’s clear that Brontë did a splendid job with her work. In fact, when it first came out, people were obsessed with finding out who the real author was (she published it under the pseudonym “Currer Bell”), and there have even been people who claim that it couldn’t have been written by a woman, because the style is “too masculine”.

Now, I liked the story, even though it’s not one of my favorites. However, if there’s something worth praising here, is the way it is written. During our literature course we’ve talked about the plot and characters, and what they stand for, but I find it surprising that no one has bothered to mention how well-written it is. The way one sentence leads to another and the way the words connect so perfectly give the whole text a wonderful feeling of fluidness. The detail with which it is written got me as a reader so involved with the story, and its precision of language led me to feel what the characters were feeling, all that anger, all that confusion and the hopes of moving forward. It was great.

It’s definitely recommended for everyone. If (like me) you’re not a native English speaker, skip the translations and just read it in English, because Brontë’s use of language in the original version is absolutely fantastic.