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By Maggie Belnap

Short stories populate many childhoods, with the aim to instill morals and virtues in undeveloped and wandering minds. Whether it’s the tale of Rumpelstiltskin or the Boy Who Cried Wolf, these tales make a powerful impression. Take our short stories quiz, based off of Oscar Wilde’s The Complete Short Stories and The Oxford Book of American Short Stories, 2nd ed, edited by Joyce Carol Oates, and see if you really know your short stories.

Scene on the Hudson (Rip Van Winkle) by James Hamilton. Public Domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Maggie Belnap is a Social Media Intern at Oxford University Press. She attends Amherst College.

The Complete Short Stories by Oscar Wilde is edited by John Sloan. He is Fellow and Tutor in English, Harris Manchester College, Oxford. The Oxford Book of American Short Stories, 2nd ed, is edited by Joyce Carol Oates. Oates is the National Book Award-winning author of over fifty novels, including bestsellers We Were the Mulvaneys, Blonde, and The Gravedigger’s Daughter. She is the Roger S. Berlind Distinguished Professor of the Humanities at Princeton University.

Oscar Wilde is the author of “The Happy Prince,” “The Fisherman and His Soul,” “The Nightengale and the Rose,” “The Star Child,” and “The Young King.” Washington Irving is the author of “Rip Van Winkle.” James Baldwin is the author of “Sonny’s Blues.”

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May I recommend the five videos put together by the stars of The Importance of Being Earnest, currently on Broadway. They're delivering dialogue from The Jersey Shore in the style of Oscar Wilde.

Here's the first one, which opens with this quote from Wilde: "Whatever harsh criticism may be passed on the construction of their sentences, they at least possess that one touch of vulgarity that makes the whole world kin."

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As we journey farther into the New Year, we’ve been reflecting on all the wonderful books published in 2010, and in doing so, we’ve also realized there are some classics worth revisiting. The authors and friends of Oxford University Press are proud to present this series of essays, drawing our attention to books both new and old. Below, Anatoly Liberman (the Oxford Etymologist) encourages us to read The Portrait of Mr. W.H.

By Anatoly Liberman

Oscar Wilde is most often quoted for his infinite wit, and those who know him are mainly aware of his comedies.  Some people are still charmed by his fairy tales (“The Happy Prince” and a few others; you should have seen how my undergraduate students – those poor products of popular culture – listen to this story!) and cannot shake off the attraction of The Picture of Dorian Gray.  But usually he is mentioned, if at all, in the context of his innumerable mannerisms, the overblown cult of the beautiful, homosexuality, and tragic imprisonment.  The Ballad of Reading Gaol is a famous title, but I wonder who reads the poem today.  More than anything else, Wilde wanted to sound brilliant, which did not cost him the least effort, because he was brilliant.  His paradoxes have become proverbial. In the form of hundreds of familiar quotations they serve as epigraphs to articles and books by our contemporaries—an incautious idea, for beside such an epigraph the rest looks pitifully ordinary.  Deafened by a cascade of paradoxes or touched to tears by sentimental dramas, even some of Wilde’s admirers did not notice that their favorite author was one of the cleverest men in the history of English letters.

My never-ending attempts to translate Shakespeare’s sonnets into Russian have recently returned me to many works I read years ago and remembered but dimly. One of them was Wilde’s essay The Portrait of Mr. W.H. It is a “novella” about the enigmatic man whom Shakespeare or his publisher called the only begetter of the sonnets.  There have been countless attempts to discover the “beauteous youth,” Shakespeare’s main addressee.  All of them failed, but it is obvious why Oscar Wilde was intrigued by the figure of the young man, the “master-mistress” of Shakespeare’s passion, the lord of his soul.  I could repeat the main line of Wilde’s reasoning, but over the years the details have faded from my memory, and now that I know so much more about the sonnets and about those who tried to read them like Shakespeare’s diary than I knew decades ago, I am immediately struck by the ingenuity and elegance of Wilde’s reconstruction.  He was familiar with all the important publications on the sonnets and studied them from the original editions.  With his photographic memory, he, most probably, knew all 154 of them by heart.  His arguments are irresistible.  Of course, Shakespeare told us that the youth’s name was the same as his, that is, William, but from lines like “a man in hue, all men in hues controlling” Wilde concluded that the lover’s name was Willie Hughes, a boy-actor in Shakespeare’s company.

However, The Portrait of Mr. W.H. is a story with its own plot.  It is about two people who hope to find some evidence that Willie Hughes existed.  Then suddenly the young man’s portrait turns up, but it is a forgery produced under the most bizarre circumstances by the investigator himself, to convince his friend!  The quest kills both men; yet they did not live for nothing.  We are in the world of Oscar Wilde in which art is more precious than reality, for reality can only imitate art.  No sacrifice is great enough if it is made for art’s sake.  The deadly spirit of make

Immediately following "Her Voice" in published collections comes "My Voice". I believe that Wilde intended for the poems to be a dialogue, most likely between either his wife or his former girlfriend, noted beauty Florence Balcombe Stoker (she dumped Wilde and married Bram Stoker) and himself. Whether the conversation is based on something that occurred in actuality or is merely played out in his mind, I think it apparent that "Her Voice" was intended by Wilde to be the words of the woman in a failing relationship, and "My Voice" to be his version of events. First the poems, then the analysis. As always, I hope you can read these aloud wherever you are - they are so much better that way, and the first poem in particular is magnificent.

Her Voice
by Oscar Wilde

The wild bee reels from bough to bough
  With his furry coat and his gauzy wing.
Now in a lily-cup, and now
  Setting a jacinth bell a-swing,
    In his wandering;
Sit closer love: it was here I trow
    I made that vow,

Swore that two lives should be like one
  As long as the sea-gull loved the sea,
As long as the sunflower sought the sun,—
  It shall be, I said, for eternity
    ’Twixt you and me!
Dear friend, those times are over and done,
    Love’s web is spun.

Look upward where the poplar trees
  Sway and sway in the summer air,
Here in the valley never a breeze
  Scatters the thistledown, but there
    Great winds blow fair
From the mighty murmuring mystical seas,
    And the wave-lashed leas.

Look upward where the white gull screams,
  What does it see that we do not see?
Is that a star? or the lamp that gleams
  On some outward voyaging argosy,—
    Ah! can it be
We have lived our lives in a land of dreams!
    How sad it seems.

Sweet, there is nothing left to say
  But this, that love is never lost,
Keen winter stabs the breasts of May
  Whose crimson roses burst his frost,
    Ships tempest-tossed
Will find a harbour in some bay,
    And so we may.

And there is nothing left to do
  But to kiss once again, and part,
Nay, there is nothing we should rue,
  I have my beauty,—you your Art,
    Nay, do not start,
One world was not enough for two
    Like me and you.


My Voice
by Oscar Wilde

Within this restless, hurried, modern world
  We took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I,
And now the white sails of our ship are furled,
  And spent the lading of our argosy.

Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,
  For very weeping is my gladness fled,
Sorrow hath paled my lip’s vermilion,
  And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.

But all this crowded life has been to thee
  No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
Of viols, or the music of the sea
  That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.

Both poems talk about the end of a relationship, but the voices are very different. Completely intentional, of course - that's why he's made clear that he's presenting things in different voices. He doesn't just mean that he's conveying the words of two different people; he's writing from completely different points of view. In "Her Voice", he's not saying, "look, this is what I heard her say," he's saying "as an author, I am stepping into her shoes, and this is how it is from her point of view."

It's not just the structure of the poems, but the word choices and the viewpoint as well. Both parties speak with regret, but it's clear that their points of regret differ. The woman that Wilde channels in "Her Voice" uses far more words and a more embellished way of making her point (as women are often wont to do); the man's version is shorter, and assumes far more of the weight of responsibility for the relationship's failure. The woman seems to indicate that she loves the man, but just can't stay in the relationship anymore; the man seems to feel crushing sorrow, and may be sickly; further, he notes that "Ruin draws the curtains of my bed". All of this comports with the facts of Wilde's life: Having been sent to jail for "gross indecency", he emerged a sickly, ruined man. His wife, who never divorced him, changed her and their sons' last name to Holland, and terminated Wilde's parental rights. Bram Stoker (husband to Florence) remained friendly with Wilde and visited him on the Continent after he left England.

Discussion of form:
In "Her Voice", the first four lines and the sixth line each have four stressed (or accented syllables), and the fifth and seventh line of each stanza has two stressed syllables. The short lines are mostly iambs (taDUM), but not always. Each of the six stanzas uses the following end-rhyme scheme within it: ABABBAA. The fluidity of the form (with the two shorter lines and the way the end-rhymes mix about) gives the poem a lightness, as well as a more emotional feel due to the ebb and flux of the lines.

In "My Voice", there are only three stanzas (half as many as in "Her Voice"), and they are written in quatrains (four-line stanzas) using a very traditional rhyme and metre: ABAB rhyme in iambic pentameter (five iambic feet per line, taDUM taDUM taDUM taDUM taDUM). "His" poem sounds more regimented and less emotional as a result of its rigid metre scheme.

In addition to discussing parting and loss, both poems make reference to dreams. In "Her Voice," the speaker talks about how she promised forever (and oh the swoony goodness of those declarations about sunflowers and seagulls!), but now feels that they were living inside a dream. The real world has turned up to burst the bubble: "Ah! can it be/We have lived our lives in a land of dreams! How sad it seems." Now that she's living in reality, she's come to take her leave. "Sweet, there is nothing left to say/But this, that love is never lost". She adds references to nature's cycles (May's roses and winter's frost) and to the idea of ships finding safe harbor, both of which are references to life going on. The final stanza, "And there is nothing left to do/But to kiss once again, and part,/Nay, there is nothing we should rue/I have my beauty,—you your Art" invokes for me echoes of Byron's "When We Two Parted", particularly when I read the two poems together and put together the ideas of ruin and paleness and the sense of wasting that is in "My Voice". (That's just my association, by the way - there's no evidence that Wilde went there himself.)

As a final point, I want to look at the final stanza of "My Voice", where the male speaker (who I will assume is actually Wilde) observes that while he is left wasted and in ruin, the woman is free to move on with her life. The problems that have brought them to the point of parting are a dream-like sort of noise, that she can set aside and move away from. One can, after all, hear the ocean inside a shell, but one can also put the shell down and walk away from it.

But all this crowded life has been to thee
  No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
Of viols, or the music of the sea
  That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.

Rebecca OUP-US

To get you excited for the 4th of July holiday we asked Donald Ritchie to blog for us. Ritchie is the author of Reporting from Washington: The History of the Washington Press Corps, Our Constitution, and The Congress of the United States: A Student Companion. His post is sure to make you feel patriotic!

Presidents and legislators often catch flack for taking holidays and not attending to the people’s business, but sometimes a timely break can help move things along. If not for a 4th of July recess, for instance, the U.S. Constitution and the federal government as we know it might never have existed. (more…)

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