The Green Carnation, by Robert Hichens
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The Green Carnation, by Robert Hichens
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He slipped a green carnation into his evening coat, fixed it in its place with a pin, and looked at himself in the glass, the long glass that stood near the window of his London bedroom. The summer evening was so bright that he could see his double clearly, even though it was just upon seven o'clock. There he stood in his favourite and most characteristic attitude, with his left knee slightly bent, and his arms hanging at his sides, gazing, as a woman gazes at herself before she starts for a party. The low and continuous murmur of Piccadilly, like the murmur of a flowing tide on a smooth beach, stole to his ears monotonously, and inclined him insensibly to a certain thoughtfulness. Floating through the curtained window the soft lemon light sparkled on the silver backs of the brushes that lay on the toilet-table, on the dressing-gown of spun silk that hung from a hook behind the door, on the great mass of gloire de Dijon roses, that dreamed in an ivory-white bowl set on the writing-table of ruddy-brown wood.
The Green Carnation, by Robert Hichens- Published on: 2015-03-16
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 9.00" h x .19" w x 6.00" l, .27 pounds
- Binding: Paperback
- 84 pages
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Most helpful customer reviews
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful. When André Gide finds you scandalous By Cat Bistransin This novella features two lead characters that are obviously based on Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas. Not being pornography, it lacks steam, nor is it detailed enough to be true roman à clef. Oscar himself pronounced it dull; thus, it perhaps should be left to readers who study the lives of these two men, although it is gripping the author mentions Oscar by name amid references to other denizens of London, including Oscar's wife Constance.Oscar had invented green carnations as a symbol of Uranian love; his circle of men wore them to various performances of his plays. When accused of writing the novel for attention, he rigorously denied it, although the book would feature prominently in his trials for gross indecency.Students of the Oscar and Bosie affair are aware that Lord Alfred liked boys, the younger the better. When the fictitious Alfred begins to groom the son of the woman he was courting, a mere page or two establishes the real-life character of the degenerate nobleman. Indeed, he joked to Oscar that his eldest son Cyril, a child of ten or so, would be for him someday. Among the many men shocked by this admission was André Gide, which should tell you everything you need to know about Alfred Douglas, who many blame for the whole indecency debacle.As the novel is underwritten, reading time is short, so go for it if you want a brief glimpse into this end-of-century succès de scandale. As a stand-alone work, I'm not sure that it is of any interest to modern readers, but you make your own choices. . .
6 of 7 people found the following review helpful. delightful By Penelope McLeod I found the story and subtle yet obvious revelations of the green carnation to be a tantalising glimpse into the subtlety of sexuality in the eighteen hundreds. I recommend it as indolent, decadent and a complete delight for any one interested in an insight into the lives of Oscar Wilde and Alfred Douglas.
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful. There was a rumor that Wilde wrote this.. By Christopher (o.d.c.) "But do you really object to the green carnation?""That depends. Is it a badge?""How do you mean?""I only saw about a dozen in the Opera House to-night, and all the men who wore them looked the same. They had the same walk, or rather waggle, the same coyly conscious expression, the same wavy motion of the head. When they spoke to each other, they called each other by Christian names. Is it a badge of some club or some society, and is Mr. Amarinth their high priest? They all spoke to him, and seemed to revolve round him like satellites around the sun.""My dear Emily, it is not a badge at all. They wear it merely to be original."Another minor masterpiece, seldom seen in bookstores, free to all in the Kindle store.Esme Amarinth is Oscar Wilde, and Lord Reggie is Alfred Douglas (Madame Valtesi is Ada Leverson)- The novel, when published anonymously, created a bit of a sensation. Stanley Weintraub opens his introduction to the 1970 paperback with Oscar Wilde's letter to the Pall Mall Gazette denying authorship. In truth, the caricature is too cruel to have been a self-caricature:"My lectures have been gravely discussed. My plays have been solemnly criticised by the amusing failures in literature who love to call themselves 'the gentlemen of the press.' My poems have been boycotted by prurient publishers; and my novel, 'The Soul of Bertie Brown,' has ruined the reputation of a magazine that had been successful in shocking the impious for centuries. Bishops have declared that I am a monster, and monsters have declared that I ought to be a bishop. And all this has befallen me because I am an artist in absurdity, a human being who dares to be ridiculous."Reading this a second time, I was a little less enthralled than at first by the constant paradox. For those most absurdly brilliant bits, however, I rate this book as highly as Intentions itself:"She walked into the breakfast-room, where she found Lord Reggie alone. He was holding up a table-spoon filled with marmalade to catch the light from a stray sunbeam that filtered in through the drawn blinds, and wore a rapt look, a 'caught up' look, as Mrs. Windsor would have expressed it."Good morning," he said softly. "Is not this marmalade Godlike? This marvellous, clear, amber glow, amber with a touch of red in it, almost makes me believe in an after life. Surely, surely marmalade can never die!"
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