Finding queerness, Britney Spears, the Bad Art Friend, and superyachts in the classics
from Dorian Gray to Gatsby
As I hurtled my car up the 15 freeway recently on the way to Las Vegas to visit my dad, perhaps it was appropriate I was listening to The Picture of Dorian Gray. In the same way Dorian Gray clings to eternal youth and beauty, Las Vegas is a city that doesn’t seem to believe much in history or the past.
I’ve been on a bit of a classics kick recently with the help of the Audrey audiobook app, whose tagline is “Read the classics with an expert guide.” I figured listening with Audrey would make it easy to catch up on classics I’d never read. And it does, but having a thoughtful guide who gives cultural and historical context also helps me connect the present to the past in ways I hadn’t considered.
Take Dorian Gray. I knew the basic outline of the plot: a young man has his portrait painted, and as time passes, the painting, which he keeps stashed away in an attic, ages, but he stays forever young. The painting is discovered one day, and Gray’s secret is revealed. (Sorry/not sorry for the spoiler alert — I figure most people know at least that much!)
I also knew the book was written by Oscar Wilde, who was gay. What I did not know, but learned from audiobook guide Nat, was the queer subtext of the original 1890 version of the book. I also learned a second version released in 1891 “toned down some of the explicit queerness” at the request of Wilde’s editor. This second version is more common, but Audrey uses the original.
Needing to tone down some of the queerness sounds a lot like Florida’s “Don’t say gay” law and the slew of legislation and book bans and challenges that seem hell-bent on erasing queer existence from our culture.
But if queerness is consistently erased through censoring and banning, it’s always going to seem like some aberrant new “trend” (how many times have we heard it’s just a phase) instead of part of our collective humanity. As Nat mused in one of the audio notes, “Texts like Dorian Gray are so important for showing the history of queerness, which goes back way beyond 1890, anyway.”
Though the Victorians can sometimes seem stuffy and remote, Dorian Gray brings the angst of repressed desire and suffocating cultural mores to the forefront, making it feel more relevant than I had expected.
In The Yellow Wallpaper, a short story published around the same time (1892) by American author Charlotte Perkins Gilman, I saw echoes of none other than Britney Spears’ conservatorship.
The narrator of The Yellow Wallpaper is a young mother undergoing “the rest cure” at the insistence of her physician husband, who diagnosed “temporary nervous depression — a slight hysterical tendency” after the birth of their baby.
The narrator is confined to an upstairs nursery in an isolated mansion, told to rest, and denied mental stimulation — even a pen and paper for writing1. She becomes increasingly unhinged and delusional, fixated on the wallpaper pattern, convinced she sees a creeping figure in the design.
The story was based on real experiences Gilman had when she struggled with what we now know as postpartum depression. The result is a classic of early feminist literature and gothic horror.
Any woman dismissed by a doctor without genuinely being listened to can relate. I was struck by parallels between the Victorian weaponization of psychiatry against women and the silencing some women still experience when trying to advocate for their mental health. Even to the point of a prominent public figure like Spears (who also likely suffered from postpartum depression) being confined under involuntary conservatorship for over 13 years.
Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, performed as a radio play, explores power dynamics and self-fulfillment through the lens of upper-middle-class couple Nora and Torvald in 1879 Norway.
The play was scandalous to 19th-century European sensibilities and still resonates over 140 years later. Marriage in any era is a complex dance of what one shares with one’s spouse and what one keeps to oneself. Themes of money, independence, trust, betrayal, and the yearning for authentic self-expression run through the play’s just over two-hour runtime.
But an equally fascinating bit of context for me was the note indicating Ibsen based the play on actual events that happened to a woman who was a good friend of his. This brings up all kinds of questions about who gets to tell what stories when they’re based on actual, living people. Those are still very relevant questions writers wrestle with today, reflected recently in both The Bad Art Friend and the “Cat Person” allegations.
Maybe the classics are more relevant than I’d thought.
On the drive back from Vegas, I listened to another classic. It wasn’t new to me, but I hadn’t read The Great Gatsby since my mid-twenties. This time, I found myself focusing not on the tragedy of Gatsby’s self-destructive love/obsession for Daisy Buchanan but on the power and privilege displayed by the Buchanans, Gatsby, and even Nick Carraway. If the Gatsby characters were alive today, I’m pretty sure the Buchanans would own a superyacht, where the superrich go to escape — the paparazzi, their neighbors, and often, accountability.
Does it take courage to see the present in the past? I think so. For to see the present in the past forces us to admit we are part of a continuum, perhaps not as wholly unique and original as we might have thought. And that’s a bit of an ego hit to absorb.
I look forward to delving into more classic literature with the Audrey guides by my side2. Maybe Kafka’s Metamorphosis, maybe some Keats, or Anne Brontë’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. There’s a rumor Moby Dick might even be in the offing. My only recommendation for upcoming audiobook selections is I’d love some writers of color. An Audrey guide for Their Eyes Were Watching God, Invisible Man, or some James Baldwin would be amazing.
As an added bonus, each audiobook comes with a custom Spotify playlist. My favorite so far is the one for A Doll’s House. Where else will you get Hole’s “Doll Parts” juxtaposed with Loretta Lynn’s “The Pill”?
So there you have it, my friends. Do you read classic books? If not, why? If you do, have you been surprised by similarities to present day that you weren’t expecting? How does reading the classics make you feel? I’d love to know your experience. Reply to this email or leave a comment below. All respectful discussion is welcome.
It’s ironic to note that when Victorian men exhibited signs of anxiety and depression, they were given the opposite prescription — vigorous exercise and intellectual pursuits, which we now know to be far more effective.
I am not an affiliate and don’t get any bonus for recommending Audrey. Just a fan!
Another great read, thank you
This is so interesting. I love The Yellow Wallpaper, but never thought about it in a modern context. It absolutely sounds like conservatorship, and other types of female societal gaslighting. You could even make an argument that being siloed into social media influencer content about being a "perfect" woman and/or mother is a form of living with yellow wallpaper. This concept will stick in my mind for awhile, I can tell!