The Model Millionaire

A little too good. This story is well written, well thought out, witty, clever, socially aware and, really, everything it should be. Why then don't I like it? Well, that's a tough question to answer. It certainly isn't because I don't like Oscar Wilde. The man is a veritable genius and although, as Aphra Behn proved, "wit can never be defense enough against mortality," mortality is no match for wit. Wilde's dying words, "either that wallpaper goes, or I do," border on inspirational. I had nothing but the highest praise for The Importance of Being Earnest, and yet I don't like The Model Millionaire.
Neither is it because of the writing, it's all very well written and I found it really quite funny. The end was satisfying, Wilde, being a master of last words, ties his story in a tight little knot, which returning readers will know how much I appreciate that.
"Unless one is wealthy there is no use being a charming fellow." Even the opening line is great. It's bitter, it feels like a sad regretful discovery just made. The line is reminiscent of a man sick of the world he lives in making lemonade. It's a house-ism, something which could only really be said by an asshole but which is funny because it's said in such a matter-of-fact manner that is speaks to us.
It isn't the characters either. Poor Hughie is friendly, generous, and interesting. His artist friend, Trevor, is larger-than-life, but I mean that in the best way possible. Everyone, really, is likable and interesting. What more could I ask for?
So, it isn't the writer, the writing, the characters, or the wit. No, it's none of these things. I think what it boils down to is the story itself. I didn't really buy it. It was all a little Disney (not that I have anything against Disney in and of itself), a little too deus ex machina for me. I didn't believe for instance that one of the wealthiest people in Russia would fancy having a painting of himself in rags. I didn't buy him giving Hughie the ten thousand pound wedding present either. Maybe I was just in a sour mood. Maybe I don't know enough about wealthy Russians, maybe I wasn't in a state to be reading a comedy but the story left me with a cold feeling in the end. I finished and didn't really feel like I'd read anything worth reading. Fluffy, in a word.
Despite all that, however, the wit was enough to keep me interested to the end and I had no real "issues," as it were, with the story. I just didn't really like it. All in all, it was funny, very well written, and even more clever, but it is by no means Oscar Wilde's best work, there's much better out there.