Since America’s most important financial institute went bankrupt in 2008, society has been struggling to survive a severe economic crisis. People cut down on personal expenses, hoping for the storm to pass, but the recession seems to be far from diminishing. In fact, it’s getting worse since Greece’s economy started suffering; Greek debt grew by 40% in three years while the country’s production rate dropped alarmingly.

 

The reason for all of this goes back to when the economic crisis began in 2007, because people couldn’t pay back loans, causing banks all over the world to declare bankruptcy. As a result, a recession was generated, thus inducing people to save money and prepare for what was in store.

 

Consequently, Greece’s tourism-based economy was greatly affected by the sudden lack of tourists, admitting that tourists are undoubtedly rare during a recession. Therefore, Greeks took loans that they couldn’t pay, thus generating a new series of bankruptcies amongst European banks.

 

As a result to the crisis, jobs will evidently be lost and so the government will get fewer taxes. Therefore, the budgets for healthcare, education and retirement pensions will be reduced. There will be more conflicts between bosses and employees over salary, which might eventually cause strikes, like the one that took place at Canada Post this year. Also, riots and demonstrations could occur, similar to Montreal’s “Outraged” camping in front of the city’s stock market.

 

Indeed, all of these consequences are certainly due to the economic crisis getting worse and Greece’s economy being disastrous, but the solutions to this problem are less certain. Nevertheless, Greece’s government could try creating jobs by starting new construction works and encouraging the population to buy only from local sellers. Still, if Greece’s economy doesn’t get back on track soon, the world could be living through one of the most serious recessions that it’s had in a long time.

Of most books that I’ve read over the past few weeks, I am ready to say that The Picture of Dorian Gray, written by the quite remarkable Oscar Wilde, has succeeded in catching my attention. Other than having been written in a particularly rich and outstanding way, it displays a wonderfully deep representation of our peculiar human nature and its capability of being influenced and changed.

The Picture of Dorian Gray is a story that revolves pretty much around the psychological change of a pure and charming character, the young Dorian Gray. His friend, Basil Hallward, who is bewildered by Dorian’s beauty, asks permission to paint him. The portrait comes out wonderful, but there seems to be an eerie singularity about it; it reflects the model’s soul.

As the story unfolds, we are shown how Dorian’s gentle disposition is slowly altered by the influence of his cynical friend, Lord Henry. The latter encourages him to take advantage of his charm, his youth, his attractiveness and put conscience aside. And so, the hero begins to be vain, shallow and finally evil, committing crimes of the heart, of the moral mind. He pushes away the people he loves in the most horrid ways and loses himself. Curiously, Dorian never ages, his face bares no marks of his corrupted mind. His portrait, on the other hand, has drastically changed.

Human vices and the fatal influence of others are key in this novel. The main character’s beauty and fortune led him to suffering and hate, results of an inappropriate life. If his inclinations would had been of a better and more intellectual kind, his mind would have kept its virtues and stayed away from life’s harmful temptations.

And so, Oscar Wilde has a particular way in showing the darkest truths that leaves you off in disquieting reflection. This novel is a perfect example of his interesting style. The Picture of Dorian Gray is, in my opinion, his utmost masterpiece, followed by Lord Arthur Saville’s Crime, a short story that is also quite peculiar, but in a lighter and more absurd way.

The beach was quiet, but the wind was harsh as it blew against me, making my slim, baggy clothes tremble on my skin. Occasionally, strands of hair came hiding my eyes, my lips or my cheeks while I walked. A storm was coming; I could feel it. The dark clouds, the strong blasts of air, the restless waves… everything predicted a tempest.

 

Thunder rumbled. It would rain soon.

 

But why should I have cared? The skies could rage at me all they wanted, I would never listen; I never had and never would.

 

A raindrop landed on my left cheek. I stopped, lifted my head upwards and grinned a distorted smile. I displayed my open, empty hands to the clouds. I had nothing, couldn’t they see? I glared down at my bare hands, thoughtfully contemplating the creases on my skin, and let a teardrop fall in them. I clenched my fists and frowned as I gazed upwards again.

 

“Take away my regrets!”I screamed at the sky. “Take away my rage, my sorrow, my pain! Take everything that’s left!”

 

I collapsed and tears started falling. My voice was scorching while I wept, while I cried to the vastness of the sea. But they were all stubbornly blind, ignoring my grief selfishly. They would never forgive.

 

And then, as the skies fell over me, they let me utter one last, weary murmur: “What have you done?”