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Review
'One of those rare writers whose imaginations change the way we see the world' JG Ballard
It's the summer of 1981. Charles and Di ('the Royal Broodmare') are about to get married. The inner cities are in flames. Henry Wotton, upper-class, homosexual drug addict, is at the centre of a Chelsea set dedicated to timeless dissolution. His friend Baz Hallward, one-time Warhol groupie and video installation artist, discovers a most remarkable man, the very epitome of male beauty. His name? Dorian Gray. If this all sounds strangely familiar, it's because Will Self has shamelessly appropriated and reworked Oscar Wilde, in much the same way Graham Swift took Faulkner's As I Lay Dying and turned it into Last Orders. No accusations of plagiarism here though - Self wears his influence on his sleeve, though he gives it a characteristically modern(ist) twist. Hallward's installation, Cathode Narcissus, captures all of Dorian's allure - but perhaps it captures another part of him as well. After a night of sexual and chemical debauchery, Henry and Baz find themselves ensnared by a sinister retrovirus, one which is to become synonymous with the Eighties. Fast forward 16 years. The Broodmare's shattered body lies dying in a Parisian underpass. But what of Wotton and Hallward? How did they fare as the stock market soared and their T-cell counts plummeted? And what about Dorian, a sultan of style in an era of mass superficiality? How is it that he remains so youthful and healthy when all around hi
'One of those rare writers whose imaginations change the way we see the world' JG Ballard
It's the summer of 1981. Charles and Di ('the Royal Broodmare') are about to get married. The inner cities are in flames. Henry Wotton, upper-class, homosexual drug addict, is at the centre of a Chelsea set dedicated to timeless dissolution. His friend Baz Hallward, one-time Warhol groupie and video installation artist, discovers a most remarkable man, the very epitome of male beauty. His name? Dorian Gray. If this all sounds strangely familiar, it's because Will Self has shamelessly appropriated and reworked Oscar Wilde, in much the same way Graham Swift took Faulkner's As I Lay Dying and turned it into Last Orders. No accusations of plagiarism here though - Self wears his influence on his sleeve, though he gives it a characteristically modern(ist) twist. Hallward's installation, Cathode Narcissus, captures all of Dorian's allure - but perhaps it captures another part of him as well. After a night of sexual and chemical debauchery, Henry and Baz find themselves ensnared by a sinister retrovirus, one which is to become synonymous with the Eighties. Fast forward 16 years. The Broodmare's shattered body lies dying in a Parisian underpass. But what of Wotton and Hallward? How did they fare as the stock market soared and their T-cell counts plummeted? And what about Dorian, a sultan of style in an era of mass superficiality? How is it that he remains so youthful and healthy when all around hi