Qualsiasi cosa venga pubblicata di e su Oscar Wilde non può che essere interessante o, quanto meno, divertente.
In Twenty Years in Paris (1905), Oscar Wilde’s first biographer, Robert Harborough Sherard, describes his visit to the Hôtel d’Alsace on the rue des Beaux-Arts, where Wilde had died in penury on November 30, 1900. In July 1904, Sherard discovered that the landlord, Jean Dupoirier, had left Wilde’s shabby bedroom much as it was when the disgraced author had passed away. As Sherard observes, he was hardly the only one wanting to peek inside the tawdry chamber, with “its soiled curtains of the colour of lees of wine”. Soon after Wilde’s death, Dupoirier made a small profit by turning the room into a site of pilgrimage. Not only could devotees inspect the “leathern case” containing the “Privaz syringe” that Dupoirier had used to inject Wilde with morphine. They could also view the “the two large trunks” in which were stored “the books which he had collected during his stay in the hotel”. “He was a great reader was Monsieur Melmoth”, Sherard recalls Dupoirier remarking of the debt-ridden guest who lived quietly under this imaginative alias. “One rarely saw him without a volume in his hand.”
A proposito di Wright, qualche mese fa l’Independent scriveva:
The author, Thomas Wright, is a self-confessed Oscar fanboy. Having been “overwhelmed” by reading The Picture of Dorian Gray at the age of 16, he applied to Wilde’s old college and settled into a room housing a fireplace that had once warmed the bottom of the novel’s author. If Wright did not spend his undergraduate years in a purple silk chasuble, buttering muffins and reading aloud from the four-act version of The Importance of Being Earnest, then I don’t want to know about it.
Postato da: IM