Previously in this series.
You are being talked about. It is very disagreeable.
You are not being talked about. It is even more disagreeable.
You have sinned, and sinned greatly in the eyes of the world, out of a most desperate love.
No matter how dreadful the occasion, you manage to keep your cuffs un-buttered and your cravat un-spoilt. To be bankrupt of morals is forgivable, but to be bankrupt of style is not.
You are a woman who grows to become like her mother, or you are a man who does not.
Your family is dysfunctional in the extreme. You don’t even know the names of half your relations, which does not render them very relatable.
Your butler lies for you with delightful eloquence.
Your husband has violated the strict moral code around which you have organized your life. In despair, you turn to your closest male friend, who had earlier urged you to come to him if ever you needed a friend. He stops contemplating his buttonhole long enough to be witty at inopportune moments. This does not help you at all.
A woman of ill repute has hidden herself in the rooms of a noted dandy. You have never heard of anything so shocking.
You speak exclusively in bon mots and aphorisms.
You have never known one or both of your parents, but through a series of mishaps, at least one of them reappears.
You know the price of everything, and the value of nothing.
You place a high value on draperies of all sorts.
Most gentlemen you meet are neither gentle nor men. They like to read privately inscribed cigarette cases. The modern era is so dreadfully bankrupt of manners.
You are surprisingly and subtly Keen on Jesus.
“The purification of love is sacrifice,” you announce in a drawing room, and are met with compliments and facile witticisms, rather than people looking at you oddly and asking if you are drunk.
You like to talk idly about the modern marriage and the modern husband over the tea things.
Someone has described a ball guest to you by comparing them to an objet d’arte, complete with untranslated French.
You’d rather face anything than the censure of the world, and yet, that is exactly what you are forced to do.
There are only two things in the world. One is bad, but the other is worse.
You can resist anything but temptation.
Your greatest consolation is pleasure.
Any sin can be absolved by a good dressmaker.
You are a young woman and declare yourself something of a Puritan, despite the fact that you are enormously wealthy, mention at least three parties you have recently attended, and have changed into many fancy ball gowns already.
A member of the aristocracy has condescended to give you some advice.
You become easily distracted by witty conversation.
You are an older woman with not just a past, but several.
Your love has been soiled, and the object symbolizing it tainted, quite tainted!
You like nothing better than a paradox.
You make it a rule to talk only with perfectly charming people.
You have just met the most perfect Gorgon! You’re not entirely sure what a Gorgon is, but you are quite sure the lady is one.
A well-dressed, upper-class woman has danced, which has resulted in a baffling series of consequences.
You would call a spade a spade if you had ever actually seen a spade in your life.
You know that in matters of grave importance, style, not sincerity, is the vital thing.
Someone has complimented your beauty with an elaborate and somewhat disturbing animalistic metaphor. You’re not entirely sure how to respond.
You always pass on good advice. If it really is good, you cannot possibly use it yourself; you must reserve it for guests.
You are a political man engaged in a rather complicated relationship with your much older mentor. Much can be read into his interest in you.
There are distinct social possibilities in your profile.
You love to talk of nothing. It is the only thing you know anything about.
Everyone is sitting in the gutter, but you are looking at the stars.
The only thing you really know about life is that, no matter the meaning of the next, love is the meaning of this one.
Tags: books, elyse martin, how to tell what novel you’re in, oscar wilde, plays
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You openly despise social obligations and events but the thought of not attending them never crosses your mind
“There is only one thing worse than playing squash together, and that is playing it by yourself.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxXW6tfl2Y0
“Your butler lies for you with delightful eloquence.” If this means Lane, then it’s wrong. he’s a manservant, not a butler. A mistake commonly made about Jeeves, who although he can battle, is a man, cf the first collection of stories starring him ‘My man, Jeeves’.
‘battle’ should be ‘buttle’. Curse this autocorrect.
… I find this deeply saddening. I had hoped that the ability to use a sword (or similar) was relevant to whether someone was a butler.
Cf: Willikins.
Jeeves is a man of many hidden talents. I’m sure he *could* battle if he had to.
(Also, I believe that “a gentleman’s gentleman” is his preferred term…)
You’re both right! Though Jeeves serves as Bertie’s “gentleman’s personal gentleman” rather than his butler, Bertie does lend him out as a butler on several occasions in the books. Also, Bertie points out (in “Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves” — thanks, Wikipedia) that “if the call comes, (Jeeves) can buttle with the best of them”.
So you’re both technically correct … which, of course, is the best kind of correct.
See, I misread it anyway as “Your butter lies for you” and was really having quite a time figuring out what that could possibly mean.
Sounds kind of poetic
My butter lies for me
My muffins utter soft falsehoods to stem the tide of advancing aunts
Their antique cow creamers mock me from the distant dining room
The soft sussuration of pancakes, like waves on a beach, the tide receeding.
And still the butter lies.
You can resist anything but temptation.
brb getting my first tattoo
“You are an older woman with not just a past, but several.” My life goal, right there.
Achievement unlocked!
I loves me some fancy drapes and I don’t know most of my relatives! I’m nearly there!
You have a very special handbag displayed under a glass case.
I need more pasts.
There are often baffling consequences after I dance, now I understand why.
You are calmly eating muffins. There is no other way to eat them. (see also: un-buttered cuffs)
You have been exposed to comment on a train station platform.
You learn that magic does indeed exist, but its only purpose is to teach you a lesson about morals.
You speak exclusively in bon mots and aphorisms.
Well, I do try…
Possibly relevant! I wrote a short story about people literally trapped inside a Wildeian play and forced to conform to its manners for the Sockdolgar a while back : OOC (bonus points if you get that reference)
http://www.sockdolager.net/ooc/
I have not finished this yet due to being at work, but I am enjoying it immensely. Thank you. That wouldn’t be “out of cucumbers,” would it?
“Out Of Character” but I like that even more
You gyrate wildly between the most abject cynicism the modern world has yet seen, and the absolute drippiest, most lyrical Romanticism it can imagine. You believe the stars to be God’s daisy chain, and you despise yourself for this.
TRUTH. I particularly liked the following quote for just that reason.
“You are surprisingly and subtly Keen on Jesus.”
When Oscar Wilde gets poetic, he really goes all out. I mean, as all-out as 19th-century English language writers get, but still. SO GOOPY.
You can’t parody a comedy.
You do not like women, but you admire them, and it amounts to much the same thing.
Your name is Earnest. Even if it isn’t. Everyone’s name is Earnest. (I feel like The Toast will create a downvote option specifically for this post, but I will make my cheap shots where I can!)
One does not “appear” in an Oscar Wilde play. One simply hones the arts of drollery and epigram until Oscar Wilde is moved to record one’s character in a bit of light theatre.
You place a high value on draperies of all sorts.
Who among us does not?
Come on, you’re just quoting the man at this point.
The soft sussuration of pancakes, like waves on a beach, the tide receeding.
And still the butter lies.
You speak French as if you were born to it, and you know the phrase for "work of art" is "oeuvre d'art", not "oeuvre d'arte". You also know the final -t- in "art" is silent.
Are CRT good enough or LED are best for picture quality? I have seen that LED are best. What is your opinion about it?