Maybe it's the times, or my mood influenced by the times, or the combination of fats and carbohydrates I've been eating, but reading Wilde's fables now has been just right. Some of these are wrenchingly sad, many uplifting like an unexpected gift. There are talking flowers, opinionated lizards, cautious moles, princesses and princes with doubts and bad decisions, the stalwart poor, the pestiferous rich, the kindness that comes from humble circumstance. Lots of tumult of the heart.
And, of course, you have Wilde's language, often with a biblical tinge, as fairy tales often have it, but with the added Wildean touch of lushness (and occasional irony, because he can't help it). I loved this stuff.