Fascinating, horrifying, embarrassing, painful--Oscar Wilde's first trial shows what can happen when the audience doesn't get the joke.
This is a reconstruction of Wilde's first trial, where Wilde was the plaintiff, accusing the Marquess of Queensbury of libel for accusing Wilde of "posing somdomite." Even though Wilde was the plaintiff, it was clear from this transcript that Wilde was really the one on trial as he took on the burden of proof to show that he wasn't what the Marquess accused him of.
In that way, Wilde was doomed from the start, and should never have been drawn into what essentially was a spat between Wilde's lover, Alfred Lord Douglas and his father, the Marquess. As the defense trotted out damning letters and put Wilde in a situation where he had to answer directly, accounting for contact with various disreputable figures and places, he was left without recourse to his evasive wit. And, though Wilde's flippancy got laughs in the beginning of the trial, it was clear that it went downhill fast. He seemed to take it for granted that his popularity would carry him through, but ultimately he didn't have a strategy that could work with the Victorian audience.
A particular turning point in the trial was when Wilde responded flippantly to the question of whether he had relations with a particular man, by saying of course he didn't--the man was "unfortunately ugly." Oh, Wilde! The defense leaped on this moment and the implication that physical attractiveness would have more of a determining factor than gender in choosing a sexual partner.
But, more than this moment, what I found most disturbing about the trial was how much it relied on his book, Picture of Dorian Gray, and put him in the position of defending his art as a representation of himself and his moral character. Even though Wilde was the initiator of the trial, that is scary, dystopian-1984-mind police-stuff. The defense took the stance that only someone with an immoral mind could think up the immoral matter in the book, which, by any standards today is supremely tame (which ultimately doesn't matter, I believe, since I agree with Wilde that no work of art is immoral in and of itself). Wilde's defense in trial as well as in a number of letters and reviews was that he merely alluded to Dorian's immorality--it's the audience who has a dirty mind and reads this into the book.
It was a clever but losing strategy because what Victorian lawyer or judge is going to admit that the homosexuality that he sees in a work of art is his own rather than the artist's? Rhetorically, Wilde's strategy assumes that the author has a superior position to the audience, and that doesn't always sit well. The court saw the whole situation as Wilde thumbing his nose at the establishment, because, frankly, he was. He demanded the ability to hide in plain sight, consort with whomever he wanted and address these people as equals if he (not society) deemed them worthy, write unconstrained by prevailing tastes--and--to do all of this while being protected from the harassive speech of others.
I think it's right to see his story as a tragic and very conflicted one--he was proud and committed to a stance that he thought should be, by all the rules of the game, acceptable in Victorian society. He wasn't willing to flee because he thought he could run the show like a dinner party, but he miscalculated, took bad advice, and the public was more than willing to give their Socrates his poison.
This trial led quickly into the next, where Wilde actually was the defendant as charges of gross indecency were brought against him, but that's covered in various other books.
This book is very much worth having for anyone interested in Wilde or Victorian culture. Holland's introduction is fascinating as he is the grandson of Wilde and a scholar; his introduction is easy to follow and extremely interesting. There are several very illuminating supplemental materials in the appendix.