I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Adam Bertocci is the millennial Oscar Wilde. He captures what it is to be a Gen Y-er, just as Wilde captured what it was to be a member of Victorian high society.

So it’s fitting that in Bertocci’s latest short story Translating the Wildest, one of Wilde’s most famous works, The Picture of Dorian Gray, is prominently featured.

But I have a confession to make: despite my literary pretensions, I had never actually read Wilde’s famous novel of philosophical horror. So, how could I be prepared to adequately review Translating the Wildest without first familiarizing myself with the source material?

You probably know the setup already, via cultural osmosis, just as I did: Dorian Gray, a handsome youth, has his portrait painted by a painter who idolizes him. On seeing it, Dorian wishes that he would not lose the physical perfection depicted in the painting–that the image of him should age and decay instead of him. (There’s probably some solid material here for a Daniel J. Boorstin-inspired reading of Dorian Gray, if you’re into that sort of thing, or need to write a paper for an English or Philosophy class.)

Well, as they say, be careful what you wish for. You might get it. And Dorian does.

That’s the basic plot of the story, and frankly, anyone familiar with Victorian melodrama will not be shocked by much of what happens here. Honestly, for as avant-garde as Wilde liked to appear to be, the theme of Dorian Gray is not that different from the elements of the Gothic villain archetype parodied in Gilbert & Sullivan’s 1887 operetta Ruddigore, where the accursed nobleman Sir Despard sings:

When in crime one is fully employed
Your expression gets warped and destroyed.
It’s a penalty none can avoid!
I once was a nice-looking youth;

But like stone from a strong catapult
I rushed at my terriblе cult –
Observe thе unpleasant result!
Indeed, I am telling the truth.

Wilde’s conception of sin is hardly any different; he just uses the portrait as an effective plot device to convey it.

Okay, but that’s just the bare bones of the plot. As you might expect from such an eminent purveyor of witticisms, the writing is chock-full of clever quips and cleverer ripostes, especially from the mouth of the cynical Lord Henry Wotton, who continually tempts Dorian Gray into acts of increasing depravity with his non-stop banter at various fancy parties.

And banter at various fancy parties is the main activity in this book. When I think of Gothic horror, I think of old mansions, creaking floorboards, and moaning ghosts, not Chopin and cucumber sandwiches. M.R. James would no doubt approve of the way Wilde keeps the horror elements to a minimum, only occasionally intruding on the otherwise fashionable and vapid scenes from the class struggle in Mayfair. Imagine a season of Frasier except there’s one episode of Dexter in the middle of it.

Gray just keeps doing one bad thing after another, until finally, there comes at last a day when, sick of crime, he vows to sin no more, and so, in agony, calls welcome Death to free him from his cloying guiltiness.

So, I guess what I’m saying here is if you want a Victorian meditation on morality that also has plenty of wit and Gothic horror, watch Ruddigore instead. I recommend the Stanford Savoyards’ production from 2012, with production design inspired by Tim Burton. 

But how does all this inform Mr. Bertocci’s latest offering?

Well, perhaps I am as much a product of my time as Wilde was of his, and just as the Victorian tropes of Dorian Gray seem trite and predictable with the benefit of critical distance, so too will Translating the Wildest appear as a typical work of early 21st-century fiction to readers in future centuries. If there are any.

But to me, it seems far more inspired than many books, including the classic that the protagonist is translating.

First off, unusually for Bertocci, this book is science-fiction. Set in the year 2187, it’s written with an epistolatory framing device, the book is framed as a series of messages from a woman named Amicayle, who is translating Wilde’s prose into the language of the Ilvenica, the mysterious, but seemingly peaceful race of intelligent aliens who have come to Earth and a seeking to learn more about our history and culture.

What follows is a chaotic running commentary on her attempts to capture the meaning of Wilde’s novel while juggling her own personal life and, eventually, some strange happenings involving the Ilvenica themselves.

It’s one of Bertocci’s most original works. Stylistically it’s a departure from his slice-of-life millennial literary short stories, while still retaining the same wit and insight his loyal fans have come to expect. While I didn’t think Dorian Gray itself was the classic it was hyped up to be, I was still glad I read it just to be able to enjoy Translating the Wildest to the fullest. That said, it isn’t essential that you read the former to appreciate the latter.

Through the lens of Victorian literature, Bertocci explores the meaning of art, humanity, and our place in the universe. Earlier I compared Dorian Gray to Frasier with a serial killer episode; Translating the Wildest is like an episode of The X-Files with a literary criticism episode. And as Wilde himself might have said, “the only thing worse than the truth being out there…”