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Teleny or the Reverse of the Medal
The homoerotic novel Teleny is an important antithesis to the prudish idealism of the neo-classic and neo-romantic lyric love poetry of the fin du siecle. It is a work of unmasking the cynical double moral standards of the Victorian era: The love of Camille and Teleny is shattered by social reprisals. The book was published in 1893 in 200 copies by Leonard Smithers who praised it as being "the most powerful and cleverly written erotic romance which has appeared in the English language" during that era, "a book that will certainly rank as the chief of its class."
144 pages, Paperback
First published December 1, 1893
155 people are currently reading
2850 people want to read
About the author
Oscar Wilde
5,369 books38.7k followersOscar Fingal O'Fflahertie Wills Wilde was an Irish poet and playwright. After writing in different forms throughout the 1880s, he became one of the most popular playwrights in London in the early 1890s. He is best remembered for his epigrams and plays, his novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, and his criminal conviction for gross indecency for homosexual acts.
Wilde's parents were Anglo-Irish intellectuals in Dublin. In his youth, Wilde learned to speak fluent French and German. At university, he read Greats; he demonstrated himself to be an exceptional classicist, first at Trinity College Dublin, then at Magdalen College, Oxford. He became associated with the emerging philosophy of aestheticism, led by two of his tutors, Walter Pater and John Ruskin. After university, Wilde moved to London into fashionable cultural and social circles.
Wilde tried his hand at various literary activities: he wrote a play, published a book of poems, lectured in the United States and Canada on "The English Renaissance" in art and interior decoration, and then returned to London where he lectured on his American travels and wrote reviews for various periodicals. Known for his biting wit, flamboyant dress and glittering conversational skill, Wilde became one of the best-known personalities of his day. At the turn of the 1890s, he refined his ideas about the supremacy of art in a series of dialogues and essays, and incorporated themes of decadence, duplicity, and beauty into what would be his only novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890). Wilde returned to drama, writing Salome (1891) in French while in Paris, but it was refused a licence for England due to an absolute prohibition on the portrayal of Biblical subjects on the English stage. Undiscouraged, Wilde produced four society comedies in the early 1890s, which made him one of the most successful playwrights of late-Victorian London.
At the height of his fame and success, while An Ideal Husband (1895) and The Importance of Being Earnest (1895) were still being performed in London, Wilde issued a civil writ against John Sholto Douglas, the 9th Marquess of Queensberry for criminal libel. The Marquess was the father of Wilde's lover, Lord Alfred Douglas. The libel hearings unearthed evidence that caused Wilde to drop his charges and led to his own arrest and criminal prosecution for gross indecency with other males. The jury was unable to reach a verdict and so a retrial was ordered. In the second trial Wilde was convicted and sentenced to two years' hard labour, the maximum penalty, and was jailed from 1895 to 1897. During his last year in prison he wrote De Profundis (published posthumously in abridged form in 1905), a long letter that discusses his spiritual journey through his trials and is a dark counterpoint to his earlier philosophy of pleasure. On the day of his release, he caught the overnight steamer to France, never to return to Britain or Ireland. In France and Italy, he wrote his last work, The Ballad of Reading Gaol (1898), a long poem commemorating the harsh rhythms of prison life.
Wilde's parents were Anglo-Irish intellectuals in Dublin. In his youth, Wilde learned to speak fluent French and German. At university, he read Greats; he demonstrated himself to be an exceptional classicist, first at Trinity College Dublin, then at Magdalen College, Oxford. He became associated with the emerging philosophy of aestheticism, led by two of his tutors, Walter Pater and John Ruskin. After university, Wilde moved to London into fashionable cultural and social circles.
Wilde tried his hand at various literary activities: he wrote a play, published a book of poems, lectured in the United States and Canada on "The English Renaissance" in art and interior decoration, and then returned to London where he lectured on his American travels and wrote reviews for various periodicals. Known for his biting wit, flamboyant dress and glittering conversational skill, Wilde became one of the best-known personalities of his day. At the turn of the 1890s, he refined his ideas about the supremacy of art in a series of dialogues and essays, and incorporated themes of decadence, duplicity, and beauty into what would be his only novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890). Wilde returned to drama, writing Salome (1891) in French while in Paris, but it was refused a licence for England due to an absolute prohibition on the portrayal of Biblical subjects on the English stage. Undiscouraged, Wilde produced four society comedies in the early 1890s, which made him one of the most successful playwrights of late-Victorian London.
At the height of his fame and success, while An Ideal Husband (1895) and The Importance of Being Earnest (1895) were still being performed in London, Wilde issued a civil writ against John Sholto Douglas, the 9th Marquess of Queensberry for criminal libel. The Marquess was the father of Wilde's lover, Lord Alfred Douglas. The libel hearings unearthed evidence that caused Wilde to drop his charges and led to his own arrest and criminal prosecution for gross indecency with other males. The jury was unable to reach a verdict and so a retrial was ordered. In the second trial Wilde was convicted and sentenced to two years' hard labour, the maximum penalty, and was jailed from 1895 to 1897. During his last year in prison he wrote De Profundis (published posthumously in abridged form in 1905), a long letter that discusses his spiritual journey through his trials and is a dark counterpoint to his earlier philosophy of pleasure. On the day of his release, he caught the overnight steamer to France, never to return to Britain or Ireland. In France and Italy, he wrote his last work, The Ballad of Reading Gaol (1898), a long poem commemorating the harsh rhythms of prison life.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 318 reviews
September 17, 2019
If you're a fan of MM books and want to,not just step,but leap out of your comfort zone this might well be one to try.
First published in London at the end of the 19th century,it's described as a pornographic novel and I can imagine it being extremely racy back then.....what am I saying it's racy now( other words could definitely be used) .Prepare to be shocked but also prepare to be a bit consumed as well.
The story centres around a young Frenchman Camille Des Grieux who becomes infatuated with a Hungarian pianist, Rene Teleny.And it seems the attraction/infatuation is returned.Camille knows he's attracted to men but tries to fight his feelings for Teleny,especially when he can't control his jealousy.
I've probably made it sound like a simple,passionate affair but there's a lot more to this book.It's quite depraved and definitely disgusting at times as the seedy world of sexual desire is explored.Strangely some of the more shocking scenes didn't bother me much,I was much more concerned with the outcome of the passionate affair between Camille and Teleny.
I'm not sorry I read it at all.My only real complaint was the abrupt,unsatisfactory (for me ) ending.
(...) I was his. Far from being ashamed of my crime, I felt that I should like to proclaim it to the world. For the first time in my life I understood that lovers could be so foolish as to entwine their initials together. I felt like carving his name on the bark of trees, that the birds seeing it might twitter it from morn till eventide; that the breeze might lisp it to the rustling leaves of the forest. I wished to write it on the shingle of the beach, that the ocean itself might know of my love for him, and murmur it everlastingly.(.. )
January 23, 2024
An autobiographical work. Not only are the characters well-developed, but the story also offers a poignant cultural testimony to the stigmatization of homosexuality and the resulting mental and emotional suffering. It is written in a very sophisticated and very refined way.
Just a minor detail (or significant, as you prefer): the language used was too provocative, that is, rebellious enough. It was imperative to rate the book as I do.
Just a minor detail (or significant, as you prefer): the language used was too provocative, that is, rebellious enough. It was imperative to rate the book as I do.
May 27, 2020
Christ alive. That was a trip.
This book was so intensely written that it sometimes physically affected me to read; I felt sick or delirious if I read it too long. The prose is so consistently and exaggeratedly florid that it makes one’s head spin—the digressions pointless, the story nearly incoherent, the paranormal flourishes bizarre. I think the best word I could use to describe Teleny would be heady, like a noxious perfume, which, if you expose yourself to it for too long, becomes as dizzying and nauseating as the stench of a corpse.
It takes that Victorian hallmark of sensual hysteria—of describing everything, every sound, sight, touch, taste, and smell, as far more heightened than they are in reality—to such an extreme that the story becomes this insane phantasmagoria, like the crazed ravings of a lunatic. You only really encounter this frenzied calibre of debauchery nowadays when authors describe a character’s senses as abnormally intensified by fever or hallucinogens, but in Teleny, this is just the way the world exists.
But what’s the sex like? you ask. Horrible. Disgusting. Dizzying. And I don’t say this as a prude. The sex scenes in this book have a horrifying quality of the grotesque to them—there are two that involve dying during a sexual act—and even the passages that are intended to be erotic or arousing can come off like body horror. Like this line: “To me it seemed that all the pores of my skin were tiny mouths that pouted out to kiss him.” (137) I understand that this is supposed to be sensual, but really it made my stomach churn, my mind likening the narrator’s body to the terrible creation of some twisted scientist in a horror movie. Sex in this book is tied so closely to pain, death, sin, and illness that I can’t imagine a single modern reader who would be aroused by the sorts of descriptions the author employs, like those of caustic acid or tears or blood or searing pain or pleasure so intense it ceases to really be pleasurable at all. And it’s not even the sort of thin-line-between-pleasure-and-pain thing one might find in kinky or sadistic/masochistic erotica.
The rape scenes—two of them—are brutal and protracted. Misogyny runs rampant throughout. In Teleny, sex seems fatal, terrifying, and grotesque, abstracting and objectifying the human body to such a degree that it doesn’t even bear any resemblance to an act of love or affection.
But it can also be hilarious. There were quite a few times this story made me laugh out loud, mainly in the anatomical errors perhaps owing to the Victorian lack of sexual education (in particular the author seems to labour under the belief that, when aroused, a woman’s clitoris “weeps” some sort of discharge or lubrication, and that a man’s penis, when he has sex with a woman, hits the back wall of her uterus). As I read, I marked down all the different names that were used to describe the penis, and I list them here for your entertainment:
- Priapus (34)
- a ‘birdie’ (39)
- prickle (45)
- the little blind God of Love (77)
- instrument (78)
- limp tool (83)
- acorn (94)
- ramrod (94)
- piston (94)
- phallus (109)
- this wingless god (119)
- the rod (124)
- the little god (124)
- the whole turgid column (126)
- Sir Priapus (150)
- the right sort of handle (150)
- battering-rams (151)
- fluttering instrument of pleasure (168)
- frisky phallus (168)
- pivot (179)
- quivering rod of pleasure (179)
- my fluttering bird (180)
- my nightingale, as they call it in Italy (180)
I would be remiss, of course, if I didn’t remark upon the gay aspects of this book, which are numerous and sometimes thought-provoking. The Victorian Era was quite fond of pathologisation, that is the identification and codification of medical conditions. During this time, homosexuality went from being thought of as a sin to which some people were drawn to an actual mental imbalance stemming from improper childhood development. People even went so far as to brand things medical conditions or mental illnesses that we now consider character traits, like independence or stubbornness in women becoming “hysteria” or gay people being known as “sexual inverts”—this pathologisation suggested a deviation from the norm that was so profound it merited diagnosis and treatment.
But Teleny rejects this wholeheartedly in favour of a shockingly modern view of sexual orientation: Camille, the narrator, never once thinks he can cure or fix his proclivity, he knows he must live with it. And he feels little shame about it because, to him, it’s how he was made, and therefore isn’t something to be lamented. This isn’t very far from how we think of homosexuality today, in what I would call the age of identity as opposed to pathology. This passage struck me in particular:
And though the story ends in tragedy, it isn’t the tragedy of self-denial, which as a Gay™ myself is refreshing to see. And Camille’s rants on the hypocrisy and moralism of a society that condemns a sexuality that harms no one still hold true today.
But I don’t want to lay the praise on too thick. I despised reading this book. It reminds me of an ouroboros, so full of lust and gluttony it perpetually consumes itself, frantically and horrifically and in this it alienates the reader completely. Here lies the purplest prose, the most mesmerisingly disturbing sex scenes, the stupidest deus ex machina I’ve ever experienced. And it was an experience. I suppose I’m glad to have had it, if only because my curiosity about this book is now wholly sated, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy to set it aside forever and never read it again.
***
Pre-review, 9/4/17:
Yep.
I did it.
I bought a Victorian gay porn book. With my own money.
It came in the mail today and the cover has a Warhol-esque quadriptych of colourful butts and Oscar Wilde portraits. It is garish and fantastic and I regret nothing.
I'd read that it was rare and purported to have been written, at least in part, by Wilde, and when I found it on thriftbooks for $4 (it was the last copy in stock) there was no stopping me.
So here I've got a porno book from 1893 that I can never in good conscience read in public, with two more butts on the cover than any book should have, and a blurb on the back perplexedly stating that "It is a bizarre book, alternating porn with florid purple passages, a hymn to sodomy with an angry attack on notions of the 'natural.'"
Best $4 I've ever spent, easily.
(I hear there's a prequel...)
This book was so intensely written that it sometimes physically affected me to read; I felt sick or delirious if I read it too long. The prose is so consistently and exaggeratedly florid that it makes one’s head spin—the digressions pointless, the story nearly incoherent, the paranormal flourishes bizarre. I think the best word I could use to describe Teleny would be heady, like a noxious perfume, which, if you expose yourself to it for too long, becomes as dizzying and nauseating as the stench of a corpse.
It takes that Victorian hallmark of sensual hysteria—of describing everything, every sound, sight, touch, taste, and smell, as far more heightened than they are in reality—to such an extreme that the story becomes this insane phantasmagoria, like the crazed ravings of a lunatic. You only really encounter this frenzied calibre of debauchery nowadays when authors describe a character’s senses as abnormally intensified by fever or hallucinogens, but in Teleny, this is just the way the world exists.
But what’s the sex like? you ask. Horrible. Disgusting. Dizzying. And I don’t say this as a prude. The sex scenes in this book have a horrifying quality of the grotesque to them—there are two that involve dying during a sexual act—and even the passages that are intended to be erotic or arousing can come off like body horror. Like this line: “To me it seemed that all the pores of my skin were tiny mouths that pouted out to kiss him.” (137) I understand that this is supposed to be sensual, but really it made my stomach churn, my mind likening the narrator’s body to the terrible creation of some twisted scientist in a horror movie. Sex in this book is tied so closely to pain, death, sin, and illness that I can’t imagine a single modern reader who would be aroused by the sorts of descriptions the author employs, like those of caustic acid or tears or blood or searing pain or pleasure so intense it ceases to really be pleasurable at all. And it’s not even the sort of thin-line-between-pleasure-and-pain thing one might find in kinky or sadistic/masochistic erotica.
The rape scenes—two of them—are brutal and protracted. Misogyny runs rampant throughout. In Teleny, sex seems fatal, terrifying, and grotesque, abstracting and objectifying the human body to such a degree that it doesn’t even bear any resemblance to an act of love or affection.
But it can also be hilarious. There were quite a few times this story made me laugh out loud, mainly in the anatomical errors perhaps owing to the Victorian lack of sexual education (in particular the author seems to labour under the belief that, when aroused, a woman’s clitoris “weeps” some sort of discharge or lubrication, and that a man’s penis, when he has sex with a woman, hits the back wall of her uterus). As I read, I marked down all the different names that were used to describe the penis, and I list them here for your entertainment:
- Priapus (34)
- a ‘birdie’ (39)
- prickle (45)
- the little blind God of Love (77)
- instrument (78)
- limp tool (83)
- acorn (94)
- ramrod (94)
- piston (94)
- phallus (109)
- this wingless god (119)
- the rod (124)
- the little god (124)
- the whole turgid column (126)
- Sir Priapus (150)
- the right sort of handle (150)
- battering-rams (151)
- fluttering instrument of pleasure (168)
- frisky phallus (168)
- pivot (179)
- quivering rod of pleasure (179)
- my fluttering bird (180)
- my nightingale, as they call it in Italy (180)
I would be remiss, of course, if I didn’t remark upon the gay aspects of this book, which are numerous and sometimes thought-provoking. The Victorian Era was quite fond of pathologisation, that is the identification and codification of medical conditions. During this time, homosexuality went from being thought of as a sin to which some people were drawn to an actual mental imbalance stemming from improper childhood development. People even went so far as to brand things medical conditions or mental illnesses that we now consider character traits, like independence or stubbornness in women becoming “hysteria” or gay people being known as “sexual inverts”—this pathologisation suggested a deviation from the norm that was so profound it merited diagnosis and treatment.
But Teleny rejects this wholeheartedly in favour of a shockingly modern view of sexual orientation: Camille, the narrator, never once thinks he can cure or fix his proclivity, he knows he must live with it. And he feels little shame about it because, to him, it’s how he was made, and therefore isn’t something to be lamented. This isn’t very far from how we think of homosexuality today, in what I would call the age of identity as opposed to pathology. This passage struck me in particular:
Had I committed a crime against nature when my own nature found peace and happiness thereby? If I was thus, surely it was the fault of my blood, not myself. Who had planted nettles in my garden? Not I. They had grown there unawares, from my very childhood. I began to feel their carnal stings long before I could understand what conclusion they imported.
And though the story ends in tragedy, it isn’t the tragedy of self-denial, which as a Gay™ myself is refreshing to see. And Camille’s rants on the hypocrisy and moralism of a society that condemns a sexuality that harms no one still hold true today.
But I don’t want to lay the praise on too thick. I despised reading this book. It reminds me of an ouroboros, so full of lust and gluttony it perpetually consumes itself, frantically and horrifically and in this it alienates the reader completely. Here lies the purplest prose, the most mesmerisingly disturbing sex scenes, the stupidest deus ex machina I’ve ever experienced. And it was an experience. I suppose I’m glad to have had it, if only because my curiosity about this book is now wholly sated, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy to set it aside forever and never read it again.
***
Pre-review, 9/4/17:
Yep.
I did it.
I bought a Victorian gay porn book. With my own money.
It came in the mail today and the cover has a Warhol-esque quadriptych of colourful butts and Oscar Wilde portraits. It is garish and fantastic and I regret nothing.
I'd read that it was rare and purported to have been written, at least in part, by Wilde, and when I found it on thriftbooks for $4 (it was the last copy in stock) there was no stopping me.
So here I've got a porno book from 1893 that I can never in good conscience read in public, with two more butts on the cover than any book should have, and a blurb on the back perplexedly stating that "It is a bizarre book, alternating porn with florid purple passages, a hymn to sodomy with an angry attack on notions of the 'natural.'"
Best $4 I've ever spent, easily.
(I hear there's a prequel...)
December 23, 2023
Poetic, tragic, and grotesquely beautiful, this one is NOT your aesthetically friendly historical romance of today. It's grimy, raw, and imperfect. I hung on every word. But I'm not going to be able to unsee some of the mental images anytime soon, so consider yourself duly alerted.
July 21, 2012
I really wanted to rate this book highly. The language is beautiful. It has a more-or-less coherent story arc. Both qualities are not what one expects in porn. Four stars for style.
Four stars for covering the bases, i.e. the basics of queer erotic life. He covers rape fantasies, masochism, voyeurism, and many more I'm sure I'm forgetting.
Four stars for capturing the essence of love in the Decadent style.
Minus MANY MANY stars for the horrendous, and to me inexplicable description of the rape of a housemaid and subsequent self-abnegation. The narrator attempts to rape the housemaid, and doesn't succeed in penetrating her. During the episode she claims to want to commit suicide and he claims she really wants it, despite her denials. Then another servant attempts to rape her and succeeds. She throws herself out a window. The narrator casually wonders if he had some part in her suicide, and then moves on.
Despite my love of Victorian pornography I can't get past this blatant example of male privilege, and I have a really hard time accepting that my beloved Oscar Wilde probably wrote it.
Four stars for covering the bases, i.e. the basics of queer erotic life. He covers rape fantasies, masochism, voyeurism, and many more I'm sure I'm forgetting.
Four stars for capturing the essence of love in the Decadent style.
Minus MANY MANY stars for the horrendous, and to me inexplicable description of the rape of a housemaid and subsequent self-abnegation. The narrator attempts to rape the housemaid, and doesn't succeed in penetrating her. During the episode she claims to want to commit suicide and he claims she really wants it, despite her denials. Then another servant attempts to rape her and succeeds. She throws herself out a window. The narrator casually wonders if he had some part in her suicide, and then moves on.
Despite my love of Victorian pornography I can't get past this blatant example of male privilege, and I have a really hard time accepting that my beloved Oscar Wilde probably wrote it.
March 29, 2009
Did Oscar Wilde write it? Who cares? You don't read this book because you want to check another title off your "I've read everything Oscar Wilde wrote" list. You read this book because it's a product of the times Oscar was living in. This is Victorian erotica/porn/literature! You'll learn just as much about the period from this book as anything written at that time, and along with the education, you'll get a few smiles and a few sniffles.
December 26, 2018
I seriously took my time before actually reviewing this on purpose. I just had to think about what on Earth I just read.
So lets go by parts:
- I was recommended this book because I was looking for gay characters to read about. As a straight guy with no gay-friends (at least not that I know of) I have little to no idea how exactly homosexual relationships work. However, for a story, I needed to add a gay character so off to research I went. The last books I remember to read with gay characters in them were the Song of Ice and Fire books but there neither Renly nor Loras were properly developed (actually, it was so mitigated that I only realised they were gay when the TV show came out).
- This book came as a recommendation because it was apparently gay literature written by (or partially by) Oscar Wilde. And since I love The Picture of Dorian Gray, I thought "Well, if you have to read gay literature, at least read some written by a writer you know is good".
And so off I went to read "Teleny". And God was I in for a disturbing ride.
First of all, I highly doubt Oscar Wilde wrote this. It's not badly written overall. A bit sloppy here and there but not at all badly written. I've read worse. Say...Twilight. Or The Stone Dance of the Chamelion. That one had gay characters too but was so bad I didn't even bother read the rest of the books. But it's got nothing to do with Oscar Wilde's style.
The book has a sort of interesting take, as the narrator is, apparently, talking to his shrink. And that ought to set the tone for the book. Probably a shrink would help me make some sense out of the message of this book.
But this is gay porn. Plain and simple. It has an attempt at making the love affair between Teleny and Camille more psychological, true. And as far as that goes, it's not so different from the relationship men and woman have. I could relate the feelings Camille had towards Teleny with feelings I've had towards girls and vice-versa. So that's good, I think. I'll take it that, from the psychological point of view, homosexual relationships function just like heterosexual ones.
Then came a rape scene. I was honestly disgusted by it. In an attempt to try and deny his gay tendencies, the narrator rapes a servant girl and tries to pass it as a fulfilment of HER wishes. She obviously ends up committing suicide, something that Camille quickly forgets about. The reader, however, doesn't.
And then came the gay porn. And God, there was a lot of it. I'm ok with reading gay porn. I've enough literary tolerance for that. It does nothing to me, but fine.
However, if badly written straight porn puts me off, badly written gay porn is even worse. I honestly doubt that men in the XIX century France were THIS perverted. This is just too perverted, even for Frenchmen.
Oh and lets not forget the gay orgy where, apparently, half of Paris male society was...an orgy that has a man shoving a bottle up is arse. Obviously, the sooner I thought to myself "That sh*t's gonna break" the sooner it broke. And the guy died of internal bleeding because he couldn't, obviously, go to a Hospital.
Well, I hope this serves as a lesson to any person, male or female, that decides it's a good idea to shove glass objects inside their body.
I honestly was pretty shocked by all the sorts of depravity in the gay sex scenes. But then again, it shouldn't REALLY have come as a surprise.
I'm a man myself and I know how perverted we men are. Luckily for us, our girls tend to put a brake in our amounts of perversion. So it doesn't take a big stretch of the imagination to see how such brakes would not exist between guys. I was shocked but I could rationalize even that.
What I couldn't rationalize was the message of the book. It tries throughout it to pass on the message that homosexual relationships aren't different from heterosexual ones.
But then presents a main character that is almost a XIX century male Bella Swan, who's madly in love with Teleny, lives on his dependency and even threatens to kill himself if Teleny doesn't love him.
For every attempt this book makes in convincing the reader that homosexuality is a normal sexual inclination of a human being, it spends another amount showing behaviours that represent homosexuality as a truly deviant abnormality.
If I had to summarize what I learned about homosexuals in this book, I would say "They're unbalanced, co-dependent and really really horny and perverted men, with no shred of self-respect and ruled by animal-instincts". Which I think isn't neither the objective of the book nor an accurate depiction of gay men.
Again, I may be wrong. I don't know, personally, any gay men. But I have a really hard time believing Camille and Teleny represent them. One thing is certain...if any of the things narrated here represent gay men, then this book is enough to justify why homosexuals shouldn't be allowed to marry and even less adopt. All the other more serious arguments that exist to justify that wouldn't be necessary. This book would suffice.
As for the author of this...whomever he was, he was clearly gay. He describes male organs and bodies always with the nicest of adjectives but when it comes to describe what is, to me, a way more beautiful subject - a woman's body - the adjectives are always feeble and out of place. Actually, women in this book are always described as repugnant, week or manipulative bitches.
The writing itself was ok and the psychological part of the book was fine. Not Oscar Wilde, but fine. The gay sex scenes were ok for what they were even if poorly written and repetitive. The rest went from disturbing to downright disgusting.
In the end, I don't think I learned much about gay men mentality and behaviours which was the reason I picked this book in the first place. And I honestly don't think I'll try to investigate any further. I've a strong stomach and a considerably high level of literary tolerance...but not enough to read another "Teleny".
1.5/5 stars.
So lets go by parts:
- I was recommended this book because I was looking for gay characters to read about. As a straight guy with no gay-friends (at least not that I know of) I have little to no idea how exactly homosexual relationships work. However, for a story, I needed to add a gay character so off to research I went. The last books I remember to read with gay characters in them were the Song of Ice and Fire books but there neither Renly nor Loras were properly developed (actually, it was so mitigated that I only realised they were gay when the TV show came out).
- This book came as a recommendation because it was apparently gay literature written by (or partially by) Oscar Wilde. And since I love The Picture of Dorian Gray, I thought "Well, if you have to read gay literature, at least read some written by a writer you know is good".
And so off I went to read "Teleny". And God was I in for a disturbing ride.
First of all, I highly doubt Oscar Wilde wrote this. It's not badly written overall. A bit sloppy here and there but not at all badly written. I've read worse. Say...Twilight. Or The Stone Dance of the Chamelion. That one had gay characters too but was so bad I didn't even bother read the rest of the books. But it's got nothing to do with Oscar Wilde's style.
The book has a sort of interesting take, as the narrator is, apparently, talking to his shrink. And that ought to set the tone for the book. Probably a shrink would help me make some sense out of the message of this book.
But this is gay porn. Plain and simple. It has an attempt at making the love affair between Teleny and Camille more psychological, true. And as far as that goes, it's not so different from the relationship men and woman have. I could relate the feelings Camille had towards Teleny with feelings I've had towards girls and vice-versa. So that's good, I think. I'll take it that, from the psychological point of view, homosexual relationships function just like heterosexual ones.
Then came a rape scene. I was honestly disgusted by it. In an attempt to try and deny his gay tendencies, the narrator rapes a servant girl and tries to pass it as a fulfilment of HER wishes. She obviously ends up committing suicide, something that Camille quickly forgets about. The reader, however, doesn't.
And then came the gay porn. And God, there was a lot of it. I'm ok with reading gay porn. I've enough literary tolerance for that. It does nothing to me, but fine.
However, if badly written straight porn puts me off, badly written gay porn is even worse. I honestly doubt that men in the XIX century France were THIS perverted. This is just too perverted, even for Frenchmen.
Oh and lets not forget the gay orgy where, apparently, half of Paris male society was...an orgy that has a man shoving a bottle up is arse. Obviously, the sooner I thought to myself "That sh*t's gonna break" the sooner it broke. And the guy died of internal bleeding because he couldn't, obviously, go to a Hospital.
Well, I hope this serves as a lesson to any person, male or female, that decides it's a good idea to shove glass objects inside their body.
I honestly was pretty shocked by all the sorts of depravity in the gay sex scenes. But then again, it shouldn't REALLY have come as a surprise.
I'm a man myself and I know how perverted we men are. Luckily for us, our girls tend to put a brake in our amounts of perversion. So it doesn't take a big stretch of the imagination to see how such brakes would not exist between guys. I was shocked but I could rationalize even that.
What I couldn't rationalize was the message of the book. It tries throughout it to pass on the message that homosexual relationships aren't different from heterosexual ones.
But then presents a main character that is almost a XIX century male Bella Swan, who's madly in love with Teleny, lives on his dependency and even threatens to kill himself if Teleny doesn't love him.
For every attempt this book makes in convincing the reader that homosexuality is a normal sexual inclination of a human being, it spends another amount showing behaviours that represent homosexuality as a truly deviant abnormality.
If I had to summarize what I learned about homosexuals in this book, I would say "They're unbalanced, co-dependent and really really horny and perverted men, with no shred of self-respect and ruled by animal-instincts". Which I think isn't neither the objective of the book nor an accurate depiction of gay men.
Again, I may be wrong. I don't know, personally, any gay men. But I have a really hard time believing Camille and Teleny represent them. One thing is certain...if any of the things narrated here represent gay men, then this book is enough to justify why homosexuals shouldn't be allowed to marry and even less adopt. All the other more serious arguments that exist to justify that wouldn't be necessary. This book would suffice.
As for the author of this...whomever he was, he was clearly gay. He describes male organs and bodies always with the nicest of adjectives but when it comes to describe what is, to me, a way more beautiful subject - a woman's body - the adjectives are always feeble and out of place. Actually, women in this book are always described as repugnant, week or manipulative bitches.
The writing itself was ok and the psychological part of the book was fine. Not Oscar Wilde, but fine. The gay sex scenes were ok for what they were even if poorly written and repetitive. The rest went from disturbing to downright disgusting.
In the end, I don't think I learned much about gay men mentality and behaviours which was the reason I picked this book in the first place. And I honestly don't think I'll try to investigate any further. I've a strong stomach and a considerably high level of literary tolerance...but not enough to read another "Teleny".
1.5/5 stars.
September 22, 2014
There is no evidence that Oscar Wilde had any part in the writing of this novel. It appears to be the work of several authors. In parts it's a homosexual love story in others it's low grade Victorian porn. Seems to have been influenced in part by Dorian Gray and The Marquis De Sade. Really it is only significant is as a literary curio.
March 15, 2023
„Grzech to jedyna rzecz, dla której warto żyć.“
„Teleny“ (lub „Teleny, or the Reverse of the Medal“) to powieść pornograficzna (częściej nazywana erotyczną, choć nie oddaje to w pełni zawartości), której autor nie jest znany, ale przypisywana jest Oscarowi Wilde'owi. Pierwszy raz wydana w 1893 roku (dwa lata przed aresztowaniem pisarza za kontakty homoseksualne) od razu zyskała miano skandalu. Nic dziwnego skoro ocieka cielesnością. Wypełniona jest opisami zbliżeń, bolesnego pragnienia cudzego ciała czy wydzielin. Bywa brutalna czy niesmaczna, a jednak napisana została pięknym językiem, w jakim wszystko elektryzuje od uczuć. Bo w świecie namiętności obecne są również silne połączenia dusz, miłość oraz codzienne lęki i niepewności.
Opisana w niej historia to coś więcej niż romans Camille Des Grieux i Rene Teleny, pragnienie ciała drugiego mężczyzny, lęk przed własną orientacją, opinią innych czy możliwą boską karą. Odbite zostają brudy drugiej połowy dziewiętnastej wieku, ale też piękno uczuć. Za homoseksualność może czekać kara, ale wielu gotowych jest podjąć ryzyko, czy to dla cielesnych doznań, czy w imię miłości. W rzeczywistość natomiast wkrada się nadprzyrodzone, pewnego rodzaju telepatia, która ma tylko podkreślić, jak blisko mogą być dwie osoby od chwili, gdy oczy pierwszy raz się spotykają.
Choć Wilde podkreśla wagę uczuć, to jednak w centrum znajduje się cielesność. Opisana bardzo dosadnie. Bez subtelności, bez „smaku“ czy lęku przed tym, jak zareaguje czytelnik na wzmiankę o wzwodzie, gwałcie czy orgiach. Może odpychać, może się nie podobać, ale jak napisał autor — „Nie ma książek moralnych lub niemoralnych. Są książki albo dobrze napisane, albo źle, to wszystko“ — a „Teleny“ moim zdaniem zaliczają się do powieści bardzo dobrych.
Chciałam przeczytać w formie ciekawostki — jako że dotychczas twórczość Wilde'a bez wyjątku przemówiła do mojego serca — tymczasem zauroczyła mnie, a jej brud wywołał fascynację. Jasne, pewne opisy z dzisiejszej perspektywy mogą być pozbawione sensu (dawna a aktualna wiedza o ciele to przepaść), ale nie ujmuje to powieści. Natomiast świadomość czasów, w których powstała i które odbija (homoerotyzm był wówczas w Anglii karany, a przecież książka została pierwszy raz wydana w Londynie), dodaje wiele. Gdyby tylko jakieś wydawnictwo zadbało o nowe wydanie, w dokładniejszym przekładzie, z przypisami i wprowadzeniem lepszym niż to Johna McRae... Wtedy byłabym w pełni zadowolona!
Jeśli zdecydujecie się przeze mnie przeczytać — umywam ręce. Ale też będę zachwycona!
przekł. Andrzej Selerowicz, aktywista społeczności homoseksualnej z lat osiemdziesiątych
Lista TW byłaby zbyt długa, ale przede wszystkim: myśli samobójcze, próba samobójcza, samobójstwo, gwałt.
„Teleny“ (lub „Teleny, or the Reverse of the Medal“) to powieść pornograficzna (częściej nazywana erotyczną, choć nie oddaje to w pełni zawartości), której autor nie jest znany, ale przypisywana jest Oscarowi Wilde'owi. Pierwszy raz wydana w 1893 roku (dwa lata przed aresztowaniem pisarza za kontakty homoseksualne) od razu zyskała miano skandalu. Nic dziwnego skoro ocieka cielesnością. Wypełniona jest opisami zbliżeń, bolesnego pragnienia cudzego ciała czy wydzielin. Bywa brutalna czy niesmaczna, a jednak napisana została pięknym językiem, w jakim wszystko elektryzuje od uczuć. Bo w świecie namiętności obecne są również silne połączenia dusz, miłość oraz codzienne lęki i niepewności.
Opisana w niej historia to coś więcej niż romans Camille Des Grieux i Rene Teleny, pragnienie ciała drugiego mężczyzny, lęk przed własną orientacją, opinią innych czy możliwą boską karą. Odbite zostają brudy drugiej połowy dziewiętnastej wieku, ale też piękno uczuć. Za homoseksualność może czekać kara, ale wielu gotowych jest podjąć ryzyko, czy to dla cielesnych doznań, czy w imię miłości. W rzeczywistość natomiast wkrada się nadprzyrodzone, pewnego rodzaju telepatia, która ma tylko podkreślić, jak blisko mogą być dwie osoby od chwili, gdy oczy pierwszy raz się spotykają.
Choć Wilde podkreśla wagę uczuć, to jednak w centrum znajduje się cielesność. Opisana bardzo dosadnie. Bez subtelności, bez „smaku“ czy lęku przed tym, jak zareaguje czytelnik na wzmiankę o wzwodzie, gwałcie czy orgiach. Może odpychać, może się nie podobać, ale jak napisał autor — „Nie ma książek moralnych lub niemoralnych. Są książki albo dobrze napisane, albo źle, to wszystko“ — a „Teleny“ moim zdaniem zaliczają się do powieści bardzo dobrych.
Chciałam przeczytać w formie ciekawostki — jako że dotychczas twórczość Wilde'a bez wyjątku przemówiła do mojego serca — tymczasem zauroczyła mnie, a jej brud wywołał fascynację. Jasne, pewne opisy z dzisiejszej perspektywy mogą być pozbawione sensu (dawna a aktualna wiedza o ciele to przepaść), ale nie ujmuje to powieści. Natomiast świadomość czasów, w których powstała i które odbija (homoerotyzm był wówczas w Anglii karany, a przecież książka została pierwszy raz wydana w Londynie), dodaje wiele. Gdyby tylko jakieś wydawnictwo zadbało o nowe wydanie, w dokładniejszym przekładzie, z przypisami i wprowadzeniem lepszym niż to Johna McRae... Wtedy byłabym w pełni zadowolona!
Jeśli zdecydujecie się przeze mnie przeczytać — umywam ręce. Ale też będę zachwycona!
przekł. Andrzej Selerowicz, aktywista społeczności homoseksualnej z lat osiemdziesiątych
Lista TW byłaby zbyt długa, ale przede wszystkim: myśli samobójcze, próba samobójcza, samobójstwo, gwałt.
January 29, 2009
I have to admit that I AM a prude. I found this book a little embarrassing to read in public, but once I started, I really couldn't stop. It is an erotic novel, but it is extremely well-written. The book isn't quite in Oscar Wilde's style, but that can be attributed to the fact that he supposedly wrote this with several others.
The characters were well-developed, and I found the main character, Camille Des Grieux, extremely sweet. It seemed to me in the beginning like the two characters had been thrown together just for the purpose of the book, and I generally never approve of things like that, but I thought it was pulled off extremely well. You cared for the relationship, and that is something that is extremely rare in books these days.
My one criticism of the book would be the ending. It was somewhat unresolved, and it was a little hard to understand. I recommend reading the prologue again after finishing the last chapter (I accidentally skipped it, and I thought it was quite a suitable ending).
The characters were well-developed, and I found the main character, Camille Des Grieux, extremely sweet. It seemed to me in the beginning like the two characters had been thrown together just for the purpose of the book, and I generally never approve of things like that, but I thought it was pulled off extremely well. You cared for the relationship, and that is something that is extremely rare in books these days.
My one criticism of the book would be the ending. It was somewhat unresolved, and it was a little hard to understand. I recommend reading the prologue again after finishing the last chapter (I accidentally skipped it, and I thought it was quite a suitable ending).
February 5, 2020
Victorian erotica is reallllllllly something else.
April 2, 2015
Esta novela puede o no haber sido escrita por Oscar Wilde. Parece ser que esta es una obra colectiva, llevada a cabo por un grupo de pupilos, bajo el tutelaje wildeano. Lo que me apasiona de Wilde, esa frescura y escándalo, wit verbal de sus obras de teatro, aquí no aparece. La riqueza de las descripciones sí me recuerdan a su poesía y sus cuentos infantiles. Esto es una novela-fresco, donde la firma final ahora la atribuimos a un maestro. Lo que encuentro llamativo es su carácter colectivo, más o menos anónimo.
A modo de ejercicio se pueden distinguir cuatro voces -narradores- en esta novela-fresco.
I- El sensualista anarco-cristiano. Aquí hay reflexiones sobre el pecado, sobre los santos, sobre el cuerpo de Jesucristo visto desde un perfil demasiado amoroso como para el protestante que fue Wilde. Fundamentalmente asociar los actos amatorios con lo natural. Y desde que se defiende a la homosexualidad como natural, el perverso es el hombre de leyes y el protestante que la condenan. Gracias a esta voz se describen con lujo de detalles todas las prácticas amatorias.
II- El misógino. Hay dos escenas de sexo colectivo en la novela. La primera es el relato que hace el protagonista de una visita en grupo a un burdel en los barrios bajos de Londres:
Pero la infamia que no termina allí, lo peor no son los edificios, si no los cuerpos de las prostitutas:
En medio de la orgía, una puta vieja y flaca muere. Se describe como sigue:
III- El burgués. El otro recuento de orgía, esta vez puramente masculina, tiene lugar en el estudio de un artista, al que se asiste con disfraces y antifaces. El lector ya tiene clarísimo a esta altura de la novela que lo bello y lo apolíneo es dominio absoluto de los hombres. Estamos en el reino de la belleza burguesa y sublime, donde imperan los espacios lujosos, el buen gusto y la dignidad:
Y sobre los cuerpos que se ofrecen:
Y alguien también muere en esta orgía. Su muerte se describe como sigue:
IV- El freudiano. Esta novela es de 1893. Época fundamental, en que médicos y neurólogos en Viena y París empiezan a mutar hacia la psicología. Los intereses que el psicoanálisis freudiano estudiará unos años después, están presentes en esta novela: el Edipo, la identificación, la represión sexual que deriva en desmayos -masculinos y femeninos-, etc. Sobre todo el proceso de identificación, aquel gracias al cual el sujeto adquiere cualidades de su objeto, en este caso, el protagonista:
Esta es la única vez que se menciona un espejo -de esta forma, con una función- en todo el libro. ¿Y por qué aquí no hay espejos ni retratos que no envejecen? Porque el reflejo el protagonista lo encuentra no en un objeto inanimado, si no en el cuerpo del amado.
Si el lector toma estas cuatro voces como resultado de una obra conjunta y como retrato de una época, se vuelve mucho más fascinante. Es una obra prohibida no sólo por lo que narra, si no por la forma en que lo narra: en una época en que la figura del autor-creador era una sola e indivisible, he aquí una novela-fresco que fue escrita, tal vez, con una libertad infinita. Libertad porque tal vez la hayan escrito por su propio placer ilegal, sin la finalidad de publicarla bajo un nombre.
A modo de ejercicio se pueden distinguir cuatro voces -narradores- en esta novela-fresco.
I- El sensualista anarco-cristiano. Aquí hay reflexiones sobre el pecado, sobre los santos, sobre el cuerpo de Jesucristo visto desde un perfil demasiado amoroso como para el protestante que fue Wilde. Fundamentalmente asociar los actos amatorios con lo natural. Y desde que se defiende a la homosexualidad como natural, el perverso es el hombre de leyes y el protestante que la condenan. Gracias a esta voz se describen con lujo de detalles todas las prácticas amatorias.
II- El misógino. Hay dos escenas de sexo colectivo en la novela. La primera es el relato que hace el protagonista de una visita en grupo a un burdel en los barrios bajos de Londres:
“Era ya tarde. Las tiendas empezaban a cerrar, excepto aquellas dedicadas a la venta de pescado, mejillones y patatas fritas. Un insoportable olor de aceite barato, mezclado con el olor infecto de los mil desagües y las alcantarillas, impregnaba el ambiente, impidiendo casi respirar (…)Una muchedumbre heterogénea llenaba las calles: borrachos de rostro bestial, arpías miserables, niños harapientos de pálida cara, viciosos y llenos de mugre, que aullaban obscenas canciones.”
Pero la infamia que no termina allí, lo peor no son los edificios, si no los cuerpos de las prostitutas:
“se levantó las faldas hasta la cintura, mostrándome sus encantos hasta entonces ocultos. Era la primera vez que contemplaba la desnudez de una mujer, y ésta la encontraba ciertamente repugnante. (…) Sus piernas, a semejanza de las descritas en el cantar bíblico, formaban dos columnas macizas, derechas como postes, y sin rastro de corvas ni tobillos. De hecho, todo su cuerpo era una masa grasienta, blanda y temblequeante. Y, si bien su olor no era el de los cedros del Líbano, sí era, ciertamente, una mezcla de moho, pachulí, pescado podrido y sudor; cuando mi nariz entró en contacto con su pubis, el olor de pescado fue entonces dominante.”
En medio de la orgía, una puta vieja y flaca muere. Se describe como sigue:
“En un acceso de lubricidad, ésta había hecho romperse sin duda una de las venas del pecho, y yacía en el suelo moribunda —¿moribunda?—. ¡Qué va! Muerta ya…
—¡Ah, la muy puerca! —exclamó la patron cuya cara hinchada asomó en aquel momento por la puerta—. Se acabó la historia con esta guarra y me debía dinero…”
III- El burgués. El otro recuento de orgía, esta vez puramente masculina, tiene lugar en el estudio de un artista, al que se asiste con disfraces y antifaces. El lector ya tiene clarísimo a esta altura de la novela que lo bello y lo apolíneo es dominio absoluto de los hombres. Estamos en el reino de la belleza burguesa y sublime, donde imperan los espacios lujosos, el buen gusto y la dignidad:
“Un millar de lámparas de las más diversas formas difundían su luz en este casto estudio cegadoramente iluminado. Había bujías de cera sostenidas sobre cráneos japoneses o sobre candeleros de bronce o plata cincelados, procedentes del pillaje de iglesias españolas; lámparas octogonales de forma estrellada, sustraídas de mezquitas y sinagogas de Oriente; trípodes de hierro adornados con fantásticas labores de forja; y candelabros dotados de espejos reflectantes, que orientaban su luz sobre los dorados cuadros holandeses…”
Y sobre los cuerpos que se ofrecen:
“Tumbados sobre sofás tapizados con antiguos damascos de tintas pálidas y dotados de enormes cojines hechos con casullas bordadas en oro y plata, y sobre divanes persas y sirios, recubiertos con pieles de león y pantera, o bien, sobre colchones recubiertos con pieles da gatos salvaje, jóvenes de hermoso rostro, casi todos desnudos…”
Y alguien también muere en esta orgía. Su muerte se describe como sigue:
“Murió, el pobre diablo. Se produjo primero un «sálvese quien pueda» en casa de Bryancourt. El doctor Charles mandó traer su maletín y comenzó a extraer los trozos de vidrio; según pude enterarme, el desgraciado sufrió estoicamente los más horribles suplicios sin exhalar un solo grito; su valor, sin duda, era digno de mejor causa. Una vez terminada la operación, el doctor le aconsejó que se le transportara a un hospital, porque sospechaba la existencia de una infección intestinal. El herido protestó:
—¡Cómo! Ir a un hospital y exponerme a las burlas de las enfermeras y los doctores… ¡Eso nunca!”
IV- El freudiano. Esta novela es de 1893. Época fundamental, en que médicos y neurólogos en Viena y París empiezan a mutar hacia la psicología. Los intereses que el psicoanálisis freudiano estudiará unos años después, están presentes en esta novela: el Edipo, la identificación, la represión sexual que deriva en desmayos -masculinos y femeninos-, etc. Sobre todo el proceso de identificación, aquel gracias al cual el sujeto adquiere cualidades de su objeto, en este caso, el protagonista:
“Eché una mirada al espejo, y en vez de verme a mí mismo, vi a Teleny; y detrás de mí, nuestras sombras aparecían unidas (…) Me miré en el espejo y me vi asqueroso. Por vez primera en mi vida deseaba tener un hermoso rostro…”
Esta es la única vez que se menciona un espejo -de esta forma, con una función- en todo el libro. ¿Y por qué aquí no hay espejos ni retratos que no envejecen? Porque el reflejo el protagonista lo encuentra no en un objeto inanimado, si no en el cuerpo del amado.
Si el lector toma estas cuatro voces como resultado de una obra conjunta y como retrato de una época, se vuelve mucho más fascinante. Es una obra prohibida no sólo por lo que narra, si no por la forma en que lo narra: en una época en que la figura del autor-creador era una sola e indivisible, he aquí una novela-fresco que fue escrita, tal vez, con una libertad infinita. Libertad porque tal vez la hayan escrito por su propio placer ilegal, sin la finalidad de publicarla bajo un nombre.
August 16, 2021
Tam bir plaj kitabı denebilir çünkü fazlasıyla basit yazılmış bir romandı. Aşırı sevdiğimi söyleyemem ama çabuk okunan bir kitap olduğundan sıkılmadan bitirdim.
January 15, 2008
This is really ridiculous pseudo-porn. It's often attributed to Wilde but I don't think he wrote it. The style is more redolent of a Wilde-olater. It presumably turned porn-starved gay men on back in the 19th century; it amused those who appreciated camp in the 1950s and 1960s; now it just seems stupid. A Wilde hoax...his name just used to sell books. A lot of pointless "burning" and "seething" by the male protagonist and his coveted beloved. Craptacular and a total waste of money you could have spent on something much more interesting like admission to a scary medical museum or your favorite drugs.
January 29, 2025
3.5
Nie jestem pewien co do oceny, możliwe że jeszcze zmienię. Ale podobało mi się to bardziej niż powinno…
”Nie ma książek moralnych lub niemoralnych. Są książki napisane dobrze lub źle.”
W taki krótki sposób podsumowałbym „Teleny”, bo o kontrowersji też trzeba umieć pisać. A autor robi to wybitnie.
Nie da się zaprzeczyć, że w treści książka dość szokująca (choć nie aż tak, jak w czasach, gdy została wydana). Momentami wręcz niesmaczna, ale przy tym tak realistyczna, że na swój sposób piękna. Na pewno potrafię ją docenić pod tym kątem.
Jest to też pozycja ciekawa pod kątem historycznym, przedstawiając ówczesne postrzeganie kwestii, które po wielu latach w zasadzie zostały znormalizowane.
Interesująca - tak przede wszystkim opisałbym tę książkę. Poza tym pięknie napisana i choć nie jestem pewien, czy ją polecam, to mi się naprawdę podobała :)
Ps. Wciąż nie dowierzam, że coś takiego wydali w 1893
Nie jestem pewien co do oceny, możliwe że jeszcze zmienię. Ale podobało mi się to bardziej niż powinno…
”Nie ma książek moralnych lub niemoralnych. Są książki napisane dobrze lub źle.”
W taki krótki sposób podsumowałbym „Teleny”, bo o kontrowersji też trzeba umieć pisać. A autor robi to wybitnie.
Nie da się zaprzeczyć, że w treści książka dość szokująca (choć nie aż tak, jak w czasach, gdy została wydana). Momentami wręcz niesmaczna, ale przy tym tak realistyczna, że na swój sposób piękna. Na pewno potrafię ją docenić pod tym kątem.
Jest to też pozycja ciekawa pod kątem historycznym, przedstawiając ówczesne postrzeganie kwestii, które po wielu latach w zasadzie zostały znormalizowane.
Interesująca - tak przede wszystkim opisałbym tę książkę. Poza tym pięknie napisana i choć nie jestem pewien, czy ją polecam, to mi się naprawdę podobała :)
Ps. Wciąż nie dowierzam, że coś takiego wydali w 1893
June 5, 2023
3*
Anonymous (Oscar Wilde) exposing the Victorians for their dirty, kinky, horny nature will never not be entertaining. And this made me laugh out loud.
Anonymous (Oscar Wilde) exposing the Victorians for their dirty, kinky, horny nature will never not be entertaining. And this made me laugh out loud.
March 11, 2013
I read Teleny for my Finnish assignment for controversial literature. I had been intrigued to read it before, and this was a good chance to kill two birds, even if it meant I had to read the translated version. I read some of the original on the side as well but I have to say that this was one of the rare occasions where the narrative actually benefittd from the translation – albeit it made the dialogue a little corny, but I don't count that because it's mainly due to cultural differences and occurs with pretty much any translated dialogue. That's just not how you converse in Finnish! Overall, the poetic yet grotesque atmosphere appeared masterful both in the original version and in the translation.
The first half of Teleny seemed like it had a potential for a good book. Yes, it was very graphic, even kind of weird from the very beginning, but I loved the thought of Camille blowing his load over a piece of music and a set of vivid hallucinations, and the spiritual bond thereof. I also liked they way the story explored different taboos without seeming forced. It all seemed reasonable and I was expecting it all to intertwine into one great and complex plot.
I guess that's what you get from reading too much Diana Wynne Jones. You start expecting similar brilliance from everything. Which is bound to get you severely disappointed.
So, of course, my expectations were never met. The second half of the story seemed cheap and hurried and reminded me of badly written slash fanfiction. It was so bad I started making faces at the book and calling it names just to easen the frustration such bad writing left me with, and felt relieved after finishing this utter waste of my time.
I refuse to believe this was written by Wilde, at least Wilde alone. That's how bad the ending was. It was the cheapest attempt at tragedy I've seen in my life. But there's always a silver lining – for once in my life I get to call something surprisingly a worse love story than Twilight.
The first half of Teleny seemed like it had a potential for a good book. Yes, it was very graphic, even kind of weird from the very beginning, but I loved the thought of Camille blowing his load over a piece of music and a set of vivid hallucinations, and the spiritual bond thereof. I also liked they way the story explored different taboos without seeming forced. It all seemed reasonable and I was expecting it all to intertwine into one great and complex plot.
I guess that's what you get from reading too much Diana Wynne Jones. You start expecting similar brilliance from everything. Which is bound to get you severely disappointed.
So, of course, my expectations were never met. The second half of the story seemed cheap and hurried and reminded me of badly written slash fanfiction. It was so bad I started making faces at the book and calling it names just to easen the frustration such bad writing left me with, and felt relieved after finishing this utter waste of my time.
I refuse to believe this was written by Wilde, at least Wilde alone. That's how bad the ending was. It was the cheapest attempt at tragedy I've seen in my life. But there's always a silver lining – for once in my life I get to call something surprisingly a worse love story than Twilight.
November 20, 2013
The result of a Round Robin writing effort (which may or may not have included Oscar Wilde, but I highly doubt it because Wilde can actually write), Teleny makes for a very uneven read. It's highly repetitive, but I suppose that is the nature of erotica (though I must commend these characters for their stamina). The book is interesting as a cultural document, not so interesting as a novel. Whoever wrote the last section deserves to be slapped for inserting, in such a heavy handed manner, so many literary quotations (including a whole whack from Paradise Lost). "What a pretentious twat," I muttered under my breath as I read.
February 7, 2020
Muy cachondo todo, en plan La serie rosa. Y homoerótico, homoerótico, lo que se dice homoerótico es mucho desear. Es bierótico, hacedme caso. Pero se disfruta igual.
August 9, 2022
nawet Oscar Wilde nie może przekonać mnie do erotyków
November 20, 2014
Camille de Grieux apaixona-se por René Teleny, um pianista com quem estabelece uma relação quase metafísica quando o ouve pela primeira vez num concerto de beneficência. Tenta resistir à paixão que o assola, mas não consegue, e cai nos braços do pianista, com o qual tem sessões prolongadas de sexo tórrido. Mas não sente vergonha ou aversão por se ter apaixonado por outro homem: "Sentia-me alegre, contente, feliz. Teleny era meu amante e eu dele. Longe de sentir vergonha pelo meu crime, apetecia-me anunciá-lo ao mundo inteiro. Pela primeira vez na vida, compreendia a alegria dos apaixonados que entrelaçam as suas iniciais. Desejava gravar o nome dele no tronco de uma árvore, para que as aves, ao vê-lo, o cantassem de manhã à noite e a brisa o murmurasse às folhas que povoam a floresta. Queria escrevê-lo na areia da praia, para que o oceano conhecesse o meu amor e o sussurrasse eternamente.". Mas, com a paixão vem a inveja e o ciúme, de Briancourt e outros amigos de Teleny, mas também da senhora de Grieux, a mãe de Camille, que não permanecerá impassível à situação em que suspeita o filho...
Um romance pornográfico? uma romance com cenas de pornografia? De uma forma ou de outra, um romance primeiro que tudo, sem dúvida, sendo a pornografia apenas um elemento secundário. Mas são cenas de pornografia, para todos os efeitos, hetero e homossexual, embora escritas com grande elegância e com um exagero quase barroco. As primeiras edições, no final do século XIX, foram muito pequenas e de circulação restrita por isso mesmo: a homossexualidade ainda era crime punido com prisão em muitos países! A autoria da obra, por outro lado, nunca foi completamente esclarecida, havendo fortes suspeitas que o manuscrito tenha saído da pena de Oscar Wilde. O enredo prende desde as primeiras páginas, até porque o esquema narrativo encontrado pelo autor (Camille conta as suas memórias em discurso directo), faz pressentir no tom melancólico e doloroso da voz do narrador que alguma tragédia está para acontecer. Algumas passagens são realistas, vívidas e sensoriais (a cena noturna em que Camille deambula por uma zona de engate homossexual), outras mais românticas e místicas (há quem diga que mais de um autor esteve envolvido na escrita), mas o conjunto é muito bom e o final emocionante.
Um romance pornográfico? uma romance com cenas de pornografia? De uma forma ou de outra, um romance primeiro que tudo, sem dúvida, sendo a pornografia apenas um elemento secundário. Mas são cenas de pornografia, para todos os efeitos, hetero e homossexual, embora escritas com grande elegância e com um exagero quase barroco. As primeiras edições, no final do século XIX, foram muito pequenas e de circulação restrita por isso mesmo: a homossexualidade ainda era crime punido com prisão em muitos países! A autoria da obra, por outro lado, nunca foi completamente esclarecida, havendo fortes suspeitas que o manuscrito tenha saído da pena de Oscar Wilde. O enredo prende desde as primeiras páginas, até porque o esquema narrativo encontrado pelo autor (Camille conta as suas memórias em discurso directo), faz pressentir no tom melancólico e doloroso da voz do narrador que alguma tragédia está para acontecer. Algumas passagens são realistas, vívidas e sensoriais (a cena noturna em que Camille deambula por uma zona de engate homossexual), outras mais românticas e místicas (há quem diga que mais de um autor esteve envolvido na escrita), mas o conjunto é muito bom e o final emocionante.
October 7, 2020
This is a very important book to read, but isn't a very good book to read.
There's so much unnecessary misogyny. So. Much.
I get it, narrator. You hate women. You think they're all gross and horrible and that periods are ~scaaary~. There's no need to go on about it every time a woman enters the story or is barely mentioned. I would argue that the "twist" (which one can see coming a mile away) would fall better if the narrator didn't spend so much time lamenting, insulting, raping, and being disgusted by women. Of course they're betrayers, too.
The momentary supernatural flashes in the story are interesting and I would have liked to see these explored more deeply rather than accepted at face value and ignored.
Obviously, and most clearly, this is a novella of gay porn. Lots and lots of porn. I have no problem at all with gay porn, and if you do, you shouldn't read this book. But this gay porn has got some problems.
First off, where are all the lubricants? Lube has been used since at least 350 BCE and you're telling me they didn't have any cooking oil in the late 19th century? It doesn't occur to anyone that maybe they ought to get some when people start bleeding? Yikes!
While I appreciate the application of a Romeo and Juliet ending, the story also seems to be the originator of the "bury your gays" trope which is just terribly unfortunate.
This was the first time I'd read this book in many many years, and I think it will be the last. It's a classic, and it's important, but gay erotica has come a long way.
There's so much unnecessary misogyny. So. Much.
I get it, narrator. You hate women. You think they're all gross and horrible and that periods are ~scaaary~. There's no need to go on about it every time a woman enters the story or is barely mentioned. I would argue that the "twist" (which one can see coming a mile away) would fall better if the narrator didn't spend so much time lamenting, insulting, raping, and being disgusted by women. Of course they're betrayers, too.
The momentary supernatural flashes in the story are interesting and I would have liked to see these explored more deeply rather than accepted at face value and ignored.
Obviously, and most clearly, this is a novella of gay porn. Lots and lots of porn. I have no problem at all with gay porn, and if you do, you shouldn't read this book. But this gay porn has got some problems.
First off, where are all the lubricants? Lube has been used since at least 350 BCE and you're telling me they didn't have any cooking oil in the late 19th century? It doesn't occur to anyone that maybe they ought to get some when people start bleeding? Yikes!
While I appreciate the application of a Romeo and Juliet ending, the story also seems to be the originator of the "bury your gays" trope which is just terribly unfortunate.
This was the first time I'd read this book in many many years, and I think it will be the last. It's a classic, and it's important, but gay erotica has come a long way.
May 21, 2020
Sigue sin gustarme la posibilidad de Wilde haya realmente escrito esto. No niego que podría haber colaborado en algunas partes de la historia, pero el producto final es tan divisible, cambiante, incompleto e imperfecto, que no pareciera siquiera que él haya podido estructurar una historia así.
Ya dije la otra vez que ni siquiera El retrato de Dorian Gray tiene una buena historia―en cuanto al género novelístico respecta―, y que, lo que siempre atrae a cualquiera, son los diálogos en los que participa Lord Henry. Porque es así, Wilde dominaba el arte de conversar, no el de narrar. Y, aún así, había en...
El resto de la reseña se encuentra en mi blog: https://jsaaopinionpersonal.wordpress...
Ya dije la otra vez que ni siquiera El retrato de Dorian Gray tiene una buena historia
El resto de la reseña se encuentra en mi blog: https://jsaaopinionpersonal.wordpress...
April 8, 2017
Overall I enjoyed the book. It was very graphic, and so not for the faint of heart. And by graphic I don't mean necessarily in the gaudy macabre way that a gorefest movie is graphic, but in the more sophisticated late 19th century way, where sexual or violent acts exist in sharp contrast to heightened language and luxurious prose style ment to mimic the surroundings of the leisure classes during that period. However, my initial impression of the book was unfavorable, because the author (supposed by many, though unconclusively, to be Oscar Wilde) devotes a lot of attention to describing in almost painful detail this concert Teleny plays at, where he first meets the narrator.
July 7, 2017
Un libro diferente a sus demás obras, pero no por ello de menor calidad, te describe la pasión, el amor, el deseo , la naturaleza humana sin tapujos. Se tiene que leer con mente abierta, entiendo que no es para todos.Es un libro completamente erótico pero con historia y no puede faltar, haciendo un retrato y juzgando a sociedad de su época, que un es aplicable.
"... si bien la sociedad no exige a sus miembros ser intrínsecamente virtuosos, sí les exige, en cambio, guardar las apariencias, y por encima de todo evitar el escándalo..."
"... si bien la sociedad no exige a sus miembros ser intrínsecamente virtuosos, sí les exige, en cambio, guardar las apariencias, y por encima de todo evitar el escándalo..."
February 24, 2018
Very rarely do I start a novel and do not read every word of it. The most I coud do with this one was skim read. It is incredibly dull, pretentious and melodramatic; and the writing style is grating. Don’t be fooled by the fact that Oscar Wilde is indicated as its author. No one really knows who wrote this rubbish. At best Wilde may have written only a portion of it, and probably he had nothing to do with its authorship at all - it seems incredible to me that he would risk associating his pen, even anonymously, and even when he had nothing to lose, to something so substandard.
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