(no subject)
So I got the hacking-cough-and-snot disease from certain of my PVMs and our retreat director while on retreat in Indiana last weekend (for which I hold none of them accountable, mind you, as I love them all dearly and I would never have wanted to put a damper on our celebrations by holding myself in any way apart), and it kept me home from work yesterday. And had me attempting to work from home today, with laughable results, but that's a different post.
So yesterday, I read The Importance of Being Earnest, and promptly tried to expel my lungs from my body, I laughed so hard.
Constancy is clearly not a word in Wilde's dictionary - I love yous fly back and forth faster than much-maligned servants (and by the way, Lane is my favoritest butler that ever did but), and friendships turn on a dime and then back again. Everyone loves each other until the moment they might be rivals, and then they're sworn enemies. And through the whole thing it's quips, quips, quips. If it's happened, someone has an opinion on it, and if someone has an opinion it's probably pure snark. Well, unless it's stuck-uppity-ness, which is basically anyone who's over 35, and then they're constantly the butt of the young ones' jokes.
I think it's that exact ability of the major players, the way they just take nothing seriously, especially not themselves, that lets me love them. Those same qualities - mercurialness, self-interest, boredom - were utterly loathsome in Brideshead Revisited, where the characters all treated their problems as though they were legitimately things that others ought to care about.* Indeed, it's the overwhelming self-centeredness and ennui that turn me off to most Regency-era BritLit, so I'm thiiiiiinking that Mr. Wilde is going to help me do something more productive with my distaste than just whine about it. Namely, snark about it. XD
On a slightly different note, one of the qualities that I love about well-crafted satire is the ability it has to cut through time. Gold-diggers, fickle friendships, pontificating elders and irreverent children were certainly not restricted to the Regency, any more than food-and-shelter scarcities and asshattish "solutions" were restricted to Swift's Ireland. And even the things that haven't themselves persevered as problems are so delightfully handled that you just KNOW what Oscar was making fun of. For example, this from Algernon's Aunt Augusta: "French songs I cannot possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are improper, and either
look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse. But German sounds a thoroughly respectable language, and indeed, I believe is so." Now, the relative merits of French and German aside, can't you just imagine the reaction of high-society types at, say, Lady Gaga popping out of a cake and performing for them? Looking shocked would still be vulgar, laughing would be worse, and the only thing at all permissible would be to grin and bear it, which hardly anyone would have the presence of mind to do. I love it more every time I think about it.
Now, I'm not fooling myself about the Life-Changing Value of Earnest. It's hardly anything like a profound statement on society or love or anything else. But then it's not meant to be. And as I love fiction that can make fun of itself I'm looking forward to cackling my way through the repertoire of Mr. Wilde this winter. Dorian Gray is next.
A few choice quotes:
Algernon. "All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy.
No man does. That's his."
Gwendolen. "Outside the family circle, papa, I am glad to say, is
entirely unknown. I think that is quite as it should be. The home seems
to me to be the proper sphere for the man. And certainly once a man
begins to neglect his domestic duties he becomes painfully effeminate,
does he not? And I don't like that. It makes men so very attractive."
Aunt Augusta. Do you smoke?
Jack. Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
Aunt Augusta. I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an
occupation of some kind. There are far too many idle men in London as it
is. How old are you?
Jack. Twenty-nine.
Aunt Augusta. A very good age to be married at. I have always been of
opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either
everything or nothing. Which do you know?
Jack. [After some hesitation.] I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.
Aunt Augusta. I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of anything
that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic
fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern
education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate,
education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a
serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of
violence in Grosvenor Square.
*I wanted very badly throughout all of BR to self-insert as a stern maid that could give much-needed spankings to children or, barring that, talking-tos at adults followed by resignation in disgust. Come to think of it, I still do. They all certainly deserve it.
So yesterday, I read The Importance of Being Earnest, and promptly tried to expel my lungs from my body, I laughed so hard.
Constancy is clearly not a word in Wilde's dictionary - I love yous fly back and forth faster than much-maligned servants (and by the way, Lane is my favoritest butler that ever did but), and friendships turn on a dime and then back again. Everyone loves each other until the moment they might be rivals, and then they're sworn enemies. And through the whole thing it's quips, quips, quips. If it's happened, someone has an opinion on it, and if someone has an opinion it's probably pure snark. Well, unless it's stuck-uppity-ness, which is basically anyone who's over 35, and then they're constantly the butt of the young ones' jokes.
I think it's that exact ability of the major players, the way they just take nothing seriously, especially not themselves, that lets me love them. Those same qualities - mercurialness, self-interest, boredom - were utterly loathsome in Brideshead Revisited, where the characters all treated their problems as though they were legitimately things that others ought to care about.* Indeed, it's the overwhelming self-centeredness and ennui that turn me off to most Regency-era BritLit, so I'm thiiiiiinking that Mr. Wilde is going to help me do something more productive with my distaste than just whine about it. Namely, snark about it. XD
On a slightly different note, one of the qualities that I love about well-crafted satire is the ability it has to cut through time. Gold-diggers, fickle friendships, pontificating elders and irreverent children were certainly not restricted to the Regency, any more than food-and-shelter scarcities and asshattish "solutions" were restricted to Swift's Ireland. And even the things that haven't themselves persevered as problems are so delightfully handled that you just KNOW what Oscar was making fun of. For example, this from Algernon's Aunt Augusta: "French songs I cannot possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are improper, and either
look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse. But German sounds a thoroughly respectable language, and indeed, I believe is so." Now, the relative merits of French and German aside, can't you just imagine the reaction of high-society types at, say, Lady Gaga popping out of a cake and performing for them? Looking shocked would still be vulgar, laughing would be worse, and the only thing at all permissible would be to grin and bear it, which hardly anyone would have the presence of mind to do. I love it more every time I think about it.
Now, I'm not fooling myself about the Life-Changing Value of Earnest. It's hardly anything like a profound statement on society or love or anything else. But then it's not meant to be. And as I love fiction that can make fun of itself I'm looking forward to cackling my way through the repertoire of Mr. Wilde this winter. Dorian Gray is next.
A few choice quotes:
Algernon. "All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy.
No man does. That's his."
Gwendolen. "Outside the family circle, papa, I am glad to say, is
entirely unknown. I think that is quite as it should be. The home seems
to me to be the proper sphere for the man. And certainly once a man
begins to neglect his domestic duties he becomes painfully effeminate,
does he not? And I don't like that. It makes men so very attractive."
Aunt Augusta. Do you smoke?
Jack. Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
Aunt Augusta. I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an
occupation of some kind. There are far too many idle men in London as it
is. How old are you?
Jack. Twenty-nine.
Aunt Augusta. A very good age to be married at. I have always been of
opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either
everything or nothing. Which do you know?
Jack. [After some hesitation.] I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.
Aunt Augusta. I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of anything
that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic
fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern
education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate,
education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a
serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of
violence in Grosvenor Square.
*I wanted very badly throughout all of BR to self-insert as a stern maid that could give much-needed spankings to children or, barring that, talking-tos at adults followed by resignation in disgust. Come to think of it, I still do. They all certainly deserve it.