So I stopped, took a breath, and realigned my reading habits. I soon learned that it was rife with poesies. It started with a poem that methought was just a prelude to an enjoyable evening at a faux-theatre (living room). “The Ballad of Reading Gaol,” I thought may be just another romp. How can a man who can make you laugh continuously through many of his works produce a slight of hand like that? “Lady” was amazing and it increased my passion for his works.Īlong came yet another freebie (I am not frugal but some of the best books require no physical currency). Then I read that “Lady Windermere's Fan” or whatever it was called, recently, and although it was a play, it was serious and disturbing. And that to me, was what Wilde was, ice-cream, albeit no calories. That lasts oh, about one day, and you are back at the market buying another gallon. And then you become angry with yourself for lack of discipline. You buy a quart of it and say to yourself, “hmm…this should last for an entire week,” and before that night is out, you have consumed it all. Actually I cannot get enough of it, sort of like ‘coffee almond fudge’ ice cream. I totally enjoy the colloquies of the British at the turn of the twentieth century. Not too long ago, let us say recently, I thought that Wilde was a charming playwright who wrote prolific, concise, and witty dialogue, unmatched by most.
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