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Better known for his conte-cruels, this is L'Isle-Adam's first novel, self-published in 1862 at the age of 24. It would appear to have been met with indifference.
Initially it would seem to have potential, I flipped it open and the first paragraph I read was written in a lush manner that made me think the book would be some glorious excess.
Whilst that is certainly true in some parts, Brian Stablefords introduction uses phrases that are potential warning lights for the reader. These are "philosophical novel" (could have long dull sections that stalls the plot), "feigns incompleteness" (could have no satisfactory ending or just poorly realised) , "fragmentary and inconsequential" (could be bitty and not really worth the effort).
Sadly, all this is true. Our hero (who is of course young, handsome, brave and very rich) is to meet the mysterious Tullia Fabriana (who is also young, stunningly beautiful, highly intelligent and, yes you've guessed! very very rich). Tullia is also a sort of diplomatic genius working behind the scenes to influence the great and the good as she is also some sort of occultist, as a (lengthy!) digression into her childhood reveals and a secret benefactor to the poor and needy, as a needless (but thankfully shorter) digression also points out. She lives in a heavily (and exotically fortified) palace with her loyal, beautiful (etc) servant Xoryl.
Our hero is given some (lengthy!) pep talk by an older male friend of Fabriana who basically says "be brave, dont be a dick and you are young and handsome so all will be well".
And thus it carries on. Everyone is very polite with the type of 'courtly talk' that extols everyones virtues in every sentence and bores me to tears.
I have to say that I almost gave up reading this novel at its utter tedium but, and its quite a big 'but', it was (very partially) redeemed by the excessive descriptive passages which are full of proto-decadent 'over the topness'. This is a duller example selected at random: "Xoryl was silent and had a liking for isolation. She took pleasure in dreaming in her room, lying on the carpet with her elbow on a cushion, following the smoke of a narghile with her gaze, through her long black eyelashes, like the sultanas of seraglio..."
If one can accept that this is more a book of descriptive passages and ignore the duller parts of the philosophising and not really care about a plot then its quite good silly fun but I couldn't and would much rather re-read 'Dorian Gray' or 'Against Nature'.
Whilst I applaud Snuggly and Brian Stableford for the sterling work they do in bringing authors back from the wilderness (or just making them available to the English reading world- the wonderful Jean Lorrain is a great case in point) this seems to be a book where the literary quality control was over-ridden by the 'historically important' element. Horses for (PhD?) courses...
You can't think of this so much as a novel as a charged moment. It could be a vignette if Villiers didn't go off on so many tangents. He's a great short story teller, but I get the sense he kind of loses himself in the telling of the longer form.