I thought it may be amusing to write about Wilde without quoting him. But that would be impossible. So let’s start off with one: “If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they’ll kill you.” Sometimes they’ll kill you anyway. They certainly killed him.

He’s a complicated figure and I’ve always been a bit disapointed that he’s often viewed as a purely gay icon. This reduces him, not because homosexuality is immoral — which it is, when done well — but because it’s just a shame to see anyone defined by their sexual practices. In its own way, I find loving him because he was gay as wrong as hating him for it. One must always realize that you’re dealing with complete people.

There’s a lot to admire about this man. One thing, of course, is how he conducted himself in court and, indeed the fact he showed up at all. He could have ran to France. A lot of people did. The day after he he was charged with homosexuality, Calais was full of young, male, English aristocrats. But Oscar never shied away from a fight. Aside from being gay, he was also Irish. A fact his mother reminded him of when he thought about fleeing.

Oscar has the trait that I most often admire in people. That is, he did not, by the standards of his day, have much, but what he did have, he had a lot of and was not afraid to use it. He lacked the benefits of class, race, wealth or even proper sexual orientation. But he did have genius. Three actually. One for prose, one for conversation and one for life.

I doubt he saw much of a difference between the three.

His prose is, I think, some of the best ever produced in English. His conversational ability is legendary. And about his life, he said: “I put all my genius into my life; I put only my talent into my works.” When one realizes that this is true, and yet his works are still masterpieces, that says quite a bit for the man’s life. He brought art alive.

But my favourite thing about him is his ability to turn things upside down. You see it in his quotes: “Work is the curse of the drinking classes” but also in certain incidents such as the speech he gave after one of his plays. The audience demanded that he speak and he appeared on stage with a cigarette, which was absolutely shocking to the Victorians –women fainted, I’m sure– and told the audience: “I know it’s rude for me to smoke on stage but it’s also rude to interrupt me while I’m smoking.” It doesn’t sound like much today but, back then, it made headlines. People were horrified. Editorials were written.

Aside from also looking down on the aristocrats because they were not him, thus turning conventional morality upon its head, while building an imaginary hierarchy that he could stand atop of — the only place to pass judgment from — he even used this ability to overturn himself. Dorian Grey is a refutation of his own philosophy of aestheticism, delivered by the only person who could refute it. Himself.

And yet, as shocking and irreverent as he was, the man had an essential humanity and kindness that is too often overlooked. When I was in my misery, Wilde’s letter to Lord Alfred Douglas, “De Profundis”, was a great help to me. There is so much more to Wilde than even the wit. There’s also a great deal of wisdom. I feel as if I owe him a personal debt.

But perhaps it’s paid in part. In London, during the midst of his destruction, when his friends had abandoned him, he lived on Oakley Street. This can only mean one thing. Oscar Wilde heard my name long before I ever heard his.