Introduction

A House of Pomegranates is the title of Oscar Wilde’s second collection of fairy tales, published in 1891. Rather than borrowing that title from one of the stories, it unifies all four of them under a common image, the pomegranate. This has inspired several critics, such as Pendlebury (2011) and Ruggaber (2003) to argue for the need to read these stories as not only stylistically but also thematically connected. The fruit of the pomegranate represents degeneration and regeneration, which makes it one of the typical duplicitous and elusive symbols usually employed by Wilde. On the one hand, the pomegranate refers back to the Greek myth of Persephone, who became trapped in the underworld on account of eating the fruit’s seeds, but on the other hand, the pomegranate is also a symbol of resurrection in Christian lore (Fleurot, 2014). Therefore, the fruit not only links the Greek and Christian myths together, but also stands as a symbol of both life and death.

This article builds on the idea that the stories in A House of Pomegranates are thematically connected and argues that, apart from a common focus on the topic of degeneration and rebirth, they share another key theme: the hierarchical divide between nature and civilisation, the animal and the human, the rich and the poor. Jarlath Killeen has previously noted that the dichotomy between life in the country and life in the city appears frequently in Wilde’s literary production (2007). This is the case of A House of Pomegranates, given that all four stories include animal characters and present a contrast between the realm of nature, embodied in the forest, and the realm of civilisation, represented by the city. An ecocritical approach to these stories allows us to deepen into the analysis of this nature/culture divide and to highlight its connection to the hierarchical and ecophobic nature of the Victorian class system. For instance, each tale focuses on the main character’s journey from nature into civilisation. This article argues that this transition not only refers to the protagonist’s evolution from an animalised state into a civilised one, but is also connected to discourses about social climbing. In fact, apart from growing up in nature, all main characters share a humble upbringing: the Young King is brought up by goatherds, the Star-Child by woodcutters, the dwarf by charcoal-burners, and although readers are not explicitly informed about the Fisherman’s childhood, he bears his profession in his name. It therefore seems that there exists a connection between nature, animality and the disadvantaged social classes in these tales. By contrast, the city appears to be associated with civilisation, and civilisation with beautiful and opulent palaces, thus connecting civilised society with the upper social classes.

Despite this apparent identification of animality with poverty and civilisation with wealth, it is necessary to carefully analyse how these concepts are portrayed in order to fully understand the tales’ standpoint regarding animality and civilisation. By applying an ecocritical approach to the two tales that open and close the collection, “The Young King” and “The Star Child”, this article aims to discern whether environment and character representation are constructed from an ecophobic angle, or whether they challenge traditional connotations associated with the nature versus culture divide. Ecophobia has been defined by Del Principe as the fear humans experience when in contact “with all that is nonhuman” (2014, p. 1). To determine if these narratives approach character construction from an ecophobic perspective, I analyse the portrayal of nature and the animal to see if animality is used to de-humanise characters and justify their subservient position, or if it is employed to question the legitimacy of the discourses that sustain the hierarchical divide between civilised and animal subjects.

An Ecocritical Approach to Fairy Tales: Animality and Social Class

Ecocriticism is a critical theory that emerged in the 1990s and focuses on studying the relationship between humans, animals and their environment (Keetley & Wynn, 2018). It revises the foundations that sustain the current definitions of humanity and animality and questions the assumed superiority of the civilised animal, the human. Ecocritical scholars have argued that the first dualism that sustains the rest of the western world’s hierarchical structures is the divide between nature and culture (White, 1996; Bleakley, 2000). This dichotomy is based on the idea that human beings are the only creatures capable of rational thought, and thus the only ones able to attain objective knowledge and develop civilisation and culture (Buchanan, 2012; Gross, 2012). As such, they are to be considered superior, a superiority that in turn justifies the exploitation of animals and nature at the hands of civilised society (DeMello, 2012).

This dichotomy is explored in “The Young King” and “The Star-Child” by contrasting the forest and its inhabitants with the city and its citizens. In fact, the use of this comparison between the civilised space and “spaces of ‘wild nature’” as a marker of identity has also been explored within the field of cultural geography (Anderson, 2000, p. 3). Anderson explains how animality has been used in western cultures to assert a hierarchy of “sociospatial difference” that intertwines with discourses about race, gender, and social class (2000, p. 4). For instance, Anderson highlights how certain peoples have been assigned animal characteristics on the grounds of their geographical closeness to nature with the goal of de-humanising them (2000). Hence, the use of the animal features to define human identity extends to multiple fields of study, proving that the nature/culture divide is so ingrained in the western world’s view that ecophobia is systematic and pervasive (Estok, 2009). In DeMello’s words, animals have been used throughout history as a key measurement to “classify ourselves and others” in hierarchical terms. By assigning animal characteristics to one race, one class, or one gender, their inferiority would be proven, and so would their exploitation at the hands of the superior pair be justified (2012, p.14).

Zipes notes that fairy tales are connected to the representation of class struggle, as traditional folktales were primarily transmitted orally among peasants, and their plots used to focus on the magical escape of the hero from adversity (2006). However, in the eighteenth century these oral folktales were adapted and printed by “educated writers” with a different audience and purpose in mind (Zipes, 2006, p. 3). Folktales evolved into fairy tales aimed to instruct children and adults alike about the social and moral codes of the raising bourgeoisie. In so doing, they contributed to reconciling working-class children to “their subordinate position in society” (Killeen, 2007, p. 4). Yet the question of power dynamics remained an essential part of fairy tales, which continued to offer readers the faint possibility that they might magically climb up the social ladder (Zipes, 2006).

In the second half of the nineteenth century, some fairy tale writers, among whom Zipes includes Oscar Wilde, realised that most fairy tales weaponised the thirst for social change of original folktales, and used it as a mechanism to guarantee social order by promoting “false hopes” (2006, 107). Killeen agrees with Zipes in that Wilde’s fairy tales do have a disruptive undertone, particularly oriented at questioning and challenging Victorian morality. Yet he argues that Wilde’s tales were also partly conservative, as in the end they aim to substitute one type of morality with another (2007) According to Killeen, the moralising quality of Wilde’s fairy tales has tended to confuse both contemporaneous and current critics, a confusion that explains why most comprehensive work on the Irish writer seems to avoid including analysis of his short tales (2007). Yet, against this understanding that Wilde’s tales are “anomalous” and apparently “unrelated to his canon” (Killeen, 2007, p. 1), this article contributes to highlighting the connections between A House of Pomegranates and Wilde’s criticism, particularly, with The Soul of Man under Socialism.Footnote 1

A House of Pomegranates transgresses fairy tale conventions to a certain degree, as it manages to question the legitimacy of the stratified Victorian class system by drawing attention to the unfair treatment received by both animals and the poor (Zipes, 2006, p. 106). In fact, several authors, such as Foss (2020), McCormack (2007), Fleurot (2014) or Zipes (2006), have noticed that Wilde’s fairy tales reflect on some of the same issues that The Soul of Man does, namely, the brutalising effect of poverty on people, the need for a rebellious and nonconforming figure, and the detrimental effects of charity. This article analyses “The Young King” and “The Star-Child” from an ecocritical perspective to illustrate how these tales question the legitimacy of the hierarchical system that places the civilised subject above the uncivilised one by blurring the limits between nature and civilisation. An ecocritical approach to the representation of nature and culture in these two stories sheds light upon the depths of Wilde’s criticism of Victorian bourgeoisie, and at the same time broadens the critical work on Wilde’s short stories, which remain the least studied genre within his oeuvre (Jones, 2011; Small, 2000).

From the Forest to the City

“The Young King” begins the night before the coronation of a sixteen-year-old prince and narrates the three consecutive dreams that open his eyes to the hidden reality that ensures his opulent lifestyle. In this first tale, the king to-be is already in his palace in the city, enjoying a position of luxury that contrasts with his upbringing in a forest. Given that the main action of the story takes place entirely in the palace, the forest itself is barely described. Instead, it works as a nostalgic background of freedom and carelessness with which the rigid rules of the palace and its society are contrasted. Although the Young King is very happy in his aesthetically pleasing palace, he also acknowledges that he misses the “freedom of the forest life” and resents the “tedious court ceremonies” he is forced to attend (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 248). Nature is thus presented as a place of complete freedom, a freedom that the Young King must trade to be able to enjoy the hedonistic pleasures that aristocracy offers.

The moment the Young King is recognised as the heir to the throne, he develops a strong “passion for beauty”. He is said to experience deep pleasure in admiring his new garments and jewels, and in exploring the numerous and exquisitely decorated rooms of the palace alone. The Young King states that he prefers to admire art in isolation because of an “instinct” that “beauty, like wisdom, loves the lonely worshipper” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 248). According to The Soul of Man, individualism and the pursuit of art and knowledge in isolation are the key to the subject’s complete self-realisation (1997). The people who have historically managed to isolate themselves and realise their personality to its extreme are “the poets, the philosophers, the men of science, the men of culture” (1997, p. 1042). However, as the Young King discovers, being capable of deciding “the sphere of activity that is really congenial” to oneself is a luxury only available to those “under no necessity to work for [a] living” (1997, p.1042).

The night before his coronation, the Young King’s love for beauty is directed towards the natural landscape: “…in an orchard, a nightingale was singing. A faint perfume of jasmine came through the open window” (p. 249). This last idyllic image he contemplates before going to bed is heavily contrasted with the abhorrent urban space in which he wakes up. In his dream, he is transported to a dark attic filled with a “horrible odour” where “pale, sickly-looking children” and “haggard women” weave (p. 250). It is quickly clarified by the male weaver that these people’s gaunt and weak appearance is not the product of nature, but of nurture. According to the man, the only real difference between workers and their master is that the latter “wears fine clothes while [they] go in rags, and that while [workers are] weak from hunger he suffers not a little from overfeeding” (p. 250). In other words, the weaver claims that there are no inherent differences between the wealthy and the destitute, apart from their social status; thus questioning the legitimacy of the imposed hierarchical division. The idea that difference is not innate but acquired is further reinforced in The Soul of Man, where Wilde argues that what ultimately transforms people into “beasts of burden” is being forced to work on something “uncongenial” to them by the “degrading tyranny of want” (1997, p. 1042).

This identification of the disadvantaged social classes with “beasts” illustrates how animal references are used in Victorian culture to support binary hierarchies, as they are intended to de-humanise one group and confirm their supposed inferiority (DeMello, 2012, p. 14). However, the animalisation of the poor in “The Young King” and The Soul of Man does not seem to arise from an intention to portray them as inherently inferior, but form a desire to point to the system itself as ultimately responsible for turning people into “badly fed animals” (Soul of Man, 1997, p. 1043). The physical differences that the Young King notices in the children and women working the loom are presented as the result of the difficult conditions they are forced to endure, and not as a biological marker. As the weaver explains; “we must work to live, and they give us such mean wages that we die […] and the faces of those we love become hard and evil” (250).Footnote 2

In this first dream, the Young King discovers where his coronation robe is being woven, and in the subsequent two dreams he learns that the pearls and rubies for his sceptre and crown are also the fruit of exploitation. The pearls are being retrieved from the sea by slaves who are mistreated and de-humanised, to the point of filling their ears and nose with wax before they dive into the waters; the rubies are being dug from the bed of a dry river by a group of men commanded by Avarice. These men are de-humanised as well, first by comparing them to “ants”, and second by having them be the bargaining chip in the negotiations between Death and Avarice (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 252). In fact, thanks to Avarice’s refusal to share her corn with Death, he sends a series of illnesses that progressively kill all of Avarice’s men.

These three dreams open the Young King’s eyes to the fact that “beauty […] is based on the abuse of workers” (Zipes, 2006, p. 124). In other words, the dreams help him become aware of the underlying “social injustice” that sustains the aesthetically pleasing lifestyles of the privileged “few” (Flegel, 2018, p. 51). Hence, “The Young King” seems to be the perfect literary representation of Wilde’s categorical claim in The Soul of Man that “civilisation require[s] slaves […] to do the ugly, horrible, uninteresting work” in order for “culture and contemplation” to flourish (p. 1051). By contrasting the idyllic portrayal of the forest with that of the duplicitous city, this story suggests that civilisation might be the source of its own citizens’ “barbarism” (Soul of Man, 1997, p. 1049).

“The Star-Child” also presents a division between the city and the forest, the rich and the poor. Like the Young King, the Star-Child is of noble birth, but he is abandoned as a baby in the forest and adopted by a family of woodcutters. Rather than being a utopian realm of absolute freedom, in this tale, the forest is ruled by the same laws and institutions that regulate civilisation. This is established from the beginning of the tale, when the forest’s animal inhabitants complain about the cold weather and blame it on the incompetence of the government (Wilde, 1997a, c). Therefore, “The Star-Child” blurs the boundaries between nature and civilisation by portraying animals participating in the “tedious […] ceremonies” that are supposed to be idiosyncratic only to civilised subjects (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 248).

The forest is depicted as a cruel place, and it is connected to the lower social classes. The connection between the forest and a life of tribulation and hardship is established during a conversation between the two woodcutters that takes place at the beginning of the tale. The woodcutters are lost in the forest on a treacherous winter night, and when they finally find their way back home, after celebrating, one of them wonders: “why did we make merry, seeing that life is for the rich, and not for such as we are?” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 304). This distinction between the rich and the poor is reinforced by the physical differences between the inhabitants of the village in the forest and those of royal blood. Contrary to “The Young King”, physical differences in “The Star-Child” are indeed presented as inherent markers of a person’s social status. For instance, while the people from the village are “swarthy and black haired”, the Star-Child is fair and extremely handsome (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 305-6).

The use of physical features to highlight moral, racial, or social differences between people was a common strategy in nineteenth-century literary discourses, and it is particularly noticeable in the Gothic genre. This can be observed in the overtly hybrid nature of most of fin de siècle Gothic antagonists. Bram Stoker’s Dracula, for instance, is given an “aquiline” nose and “sharp white teeth” (Stoker, 1997, p. 23–24), whereas Richard Marsh’s the Beetle is described as possessing a strangely deformed skull whose complete “absence of [a] chin” conferred the creature a non-human appearance (Marsh, 2007, p. 16–17). One of the reasons behind the association of physical ugliness with degeneration or animality stems from a general trust in sight as the most reliable and objective of human senses (Lalvani, 1996). This in turn led to a belief in the “self-transparency of the object”, that is, in the capacity to read people’s personality traits, moral code, or lack thereof by observing their physical appearance (Lalvani, 1996, p. 1). Consequently, any deformity or disproportionate feature could be compared to those of an animal and interpreted as a sign of the subject’s degeneration (Hurley, 1996).

One of the key proponents of this theory was the criminologist Cesare Lombroso, who gave scientific validation to the idea of the body as a reflection of a person’s degree of humanity. Among other claims, Lombroso argued that criminals were inherently animal-like, and that they could be easily distinguished from non-criminal individuals thanks to the presence of certain physical characteristics that resembled animal features (Hurley, 1996). According to the criminologist, some of the most common stigmata that a ‘born criminal’ could present were “enormous jaws, strong canines”, a bird-like nose, or a disproportionate skull “common to criminals and apes” (Lombroso and Lombroso-Ferrero, 2014, p. 533). In his opinion, the possession any of these features would mark the subject as atavistic, and therefore as sub-human or animal-like. Lombroso’s theory corresponds to an ecophobic approach to identity, since it assigns a negative meaning to animality and uses it to justify the de-humanisation and ill-treatment of the criminal or degenerate subject. By distinguishing between the rich and the poor based on their appearance, “The Star Child” seems to subscribe to this ecophobic perspective. In fact, the protagonist uses his physical difference to confirm his superiority and proclaim himself “master” over his adoptive family and neighbours. The Star-Child reads people’s uglier appearance as a reflection of their “mean parentage”, that is, of their inferiority, and consequently believes he has the right to rule over them on the grounds of his beauty (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 306).

The Star-Child’s animadversion against poverty and animality is such that he rejects his biological mother because she is “a beggar, and ugly” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 307). Yet, in a way typical of a fairy tale, this cruel act leads to his own transformation into a repulsive toad-human creature. This transition from human into animal is what propels his journey from the village to the forest, and lastly to the “strong-walled city” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 309). Although he eventually becomes king of this city, on first arrival he falls victim to the same ecophobic perspective that made him “master” in the forest. The soldiers who guard the entrance “mock” and de-humanise him on the grounds of his appearance by cataloguing him as a “foul thing”, and as such, he is ultimately sold as a slave (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 309–310).

“The Star-Child” presents a more pessimistic portrayal of the divide nature/culture than does “The Young King”. Whereas the first tale provides a utopian realm of absolute freedom embodied in the forest, the second portrays the city and the forest as equally hostile, hierarchical places that hide “harsh briars and thorns” underneath an appealing façade (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 310 − 11). In fact, several scholars have argued that “The Star-Child” seems to work as a nihilist revision of the “The Young King” (Pendlebury, 2011). Whereas the first tale of A House of Pomegranate offers readers the possibility of escaping to a utopian landscape, the last tale of the collection further blurs the distinctions between civilisation and nature further by portraying both realms as potentially cruel and predatory.

From Animal to Human: The Role of Sympathy

The merging of nature and civilisation is also reflected in the protagonists themselves. The first clue to their hybrid identity lies in the fact that they are teenagers, and therefore they inhabit a liminal space between childhood and adulthood. In fact, according to Lombroso, this would already classify them as not fully human, since he regarded children as being closer to the animal, given their less rational and more impulsive nature (Lombroso & Ferrero, 1959; Lombroso, 1895).

Their potential hybridity is confirmed by the use of imagery connected with the Greek God Pan to describe their physical appearance. As Denisoff points out, references to pagan creatures and myths were recurrent tropes among decadent writers, with Wilde being one of the most significant contributors to the pagan revival (2021, p. 24). It is not surprising, then, to find that pagan allusions are used for character construction in both of these fairy tales. The Young King, for example, is said to be “wild-eyed”, like a “brown woodland faun, or some young animal of the forest” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 247). Here, his hybridity is twice highlighted; first, by comparing him to a faun, a mythological hybrid creature, and second, by directly equating his eyes to those of an animal. Moreover, when he is first found by hunters in the forest, he is reported to be “bare-limbed and pipe in hand,” guiding his adoptive family’s flock of goats (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 247). These references allude to the half-goat, half-man god Pan, who is the protector of shepherds and cattle in Greek mythology as well the representative of wilderness and the forest in the Roman myth (Grimal, 1979). Moreover, this deity is associated with music, and traditionally portrayed playing his famous pipe (De Cicco, 2016). The Star-Child is also described by borrowing from Pan, as he is said to be “fleet of foot”, able to dance, play the pipe, and “make music” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 306). The association of the protagonists with hybrid mythological creatures, and specifically with Pan, alerts readers of their bond with nature, and therefore, to their latent animality.

Their hybridity also extends to their social and racial identity. In the Young King’s case, this is more obviously illustrated by having him be the son of the “old king’s only daughter” and a “stranger” of “foreign beauty” who was “much beneath her in station” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 247). In other words, the Young King is the offspring of a mixed-class and mixed-race union, which makes him the ultimate hybrid character. Despite his hybridity, he is not de-humanised in the story, but quite the opposite, as he is revealed as an almost divine, Christ-like figure at the end of the tale (Zipes, 2006). Therefore, regardless of the protagonists’ animality, a closer analysis is needed to determine whether these tales approach identity construction from an ecophobic or an ecocritical angle.

The Young King’s hybridity symbolises his difference, his utter individualism. He stands as a literary example of the Christ-like subject who “resists society absolutely” that Wilde introduces in The Soul of Man (Zipes, 2006, p. 122). In this essay, Wilde argues that “the secret of Christ” is to “be thyself” completely, to realise one’s personality fully, regardless of society’s impositions (1997, p. 1047). Thus, as Zipes remarks, in Wilde’s fiction and essays the image of Christ is not used as mere religious reference, but as a “theoretical construct”, the epitome of the absolute rebel (2006, p. 122).

After his revelatory dreams, the Young King does, in fact, reject society’s impositions by refusing to wear his coronation robe, crown and sceptre. Having been made aware of their origin, the King to-be is now able to see that these beautiful objects are the result of exploitation: “…by the white hands of Pain, has this my robe been woven. There is Blood in the heart of the ruby, and Death in the heart of the pearl” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 254). Consequently, he decides to wear his old shepherd garments to his coronation. Instead of the royal robe, he wears his “leathern tunic” and “rough sheepskin cloak” and takes his shepherd’s staff as sceptre. To complete his coronation attire, the prince puts on a crown made of wild briar; an element that further emphasises his identification with Christ, and confirms his connection with nature (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 254).

Dressing up as a “Christlike beggar” is a forthright declaration of the Young King’s refusal to accept the established system, and therefore goes against the interests of “the Church, and the nobility” (Zipes, 2006, p. 123). The first people to confront him about the dangers of his actions are his courtiers, who warn him about the importance of appearance as a marker of class: “how shall the people know that thou art a king, if thou hast not a king’s raiment?” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 254). The next group of people to express their discontent are, indeed, the nobles, as they argue that the Young King’s decision to dress as a shepherd downgrades their own social position, and “brings shame upon [their] state” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 254). Curiously, the people are also against the Young King’s performance. Among the crowd, one voice rises and accuses the king-to-be of condemning his people to starvation by rejecting a life of opulence:

Sir, knowest thou not that out of the luxury of the rich cometh the life of the poor? By your pomp we are nurtured, and your vices give us bread. To toil for a master is bitter, but to have no master to toil for is more bitter still. Thinkest thou that the ravens will feed us? and what cure has thou for these things? Wilt thou say to the buyer, ‘Thou shalt buy for so much,’ and to the seller, ‘Thou shalt sell at this price?’ I trow not. (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 255)

This instance seems to be the literary representation of Wilde’s remark in The Soul of Man that “the best among the poor are never grateful”, but “discontented, disobedient and rebellious” (1997, p. 1043). At the same time, this speech also illustrates another point made in The Soul of Man, namely, how the members of a given class are hardly ever “conscious of [their] own suffering” and of the system that allows and benefits from it (p. 1044). This is why The Soul of Man argues for the need of an “agitator” to “advance towards civilisation” (p. 1044). The rebel or “agitator” must be someone who, in their profound individualism, is capable of unveiling society’s corrupt inner workings, and who is willing to spread the “seeds of discontent” necessary to stir change (p. 1044).

The violent reaction of society against the agitator, embodied in the character of the Young King, illustrates Wilde’s statement in The Soul of Man that “there are three kinds of despot. […] The first is called the prince. The second is called the pope. The third is called the people” (p. 1061). In other words, the continuance of a given hierarchical system is not solely dependent on one man, the master or prince, but it is sustained by society as a whole. Consequently, the rebel is normally persecuted by all strata of society.

In this tale, however, the prince’s attempted assassination is prevented thanks to nature’s intervention. The moment the noblemen burst into the cathedral with murderous intentions, ruby-red and pearl-white flowers magically blossom in the Young King’s briar crown, and the sun weaves a golden robe around him with his rays. This miraculous event immediately reinstates the Young King in his position of power. As he walks back to the palace, all his subjects kneel around him, which shows that “the fabric of society [has] not changed” despite his rebellious act (Zipes, 2006, p. 123). This ending illustrates Wilde’s reflection in The Soul of Man about the pointless nature of charitable acts. The Young King’s act of disobedience is regarded as superficial and purely aesthetic by the common people, since the symbolic act of wearing his old shepherd’s garment fails to offer a “cure” for the unfair hierarchical divide that it denounces (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 225). The lack of any kind of real change after the king’s performance shows that charity is incapable of offering long-lasting solutions to people’s disadvantaged situations; instead, it “merely prolongue[s]” their subservient state (1997, p.1041).

Altruism and pity are also essential themes in “The Star-Child” (Foss, 2020). In fact, it is thanks to the exercise of pity that the Star-Child is rescued from certain death. According to Foss, with this initial act of selflessness on the woodcutter’s part, Wilde would be attempting to provide an example of a transformative, useful version of altruism (2020). The act of adopting the abandoned child does not merely alleviate his suffering, but also permanently removes the Star-Child from a position of helplessness, thus truly cancelling the “hierarchical relationship between a superior benefactor”, the woodcutter, and a “helpless recipient”, the baby (Foss, 2020, pp. 27–28). Therefore, despite the darker, more pessimistic nature of this tale, “The Star Child” succeeds in something “The Young King” does not: it provides a “cure”, an example of an altruistic act that does have the power to remove the hierarchical division between benefactor and recipient.

Furthermore, pity plays a key role in the transformation of the protagonist from human to animal, and from animal back to human. As previously mentioned, the Star-Child grows to be proud and incapable of exercising pity towards animals, the weak and the poor. Consequently, when he finally discovers that rather than having been “sprung from a star”, he is the son of an ugly beggar, he rejects and denies his mother (p. 306). This act of cruelty and lack of pity propels his animal transformation, and his face becomes “the face of a toad, and his body […] scaled like an adder” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 308). Since he no longer possesses the fair and beautiful features that gave him his position of power, the village children no longer recognise him as a leader, or even as an equal.

It would seem that this tale approaches identity from an ecophobic angle, given that the protagonist’s transformation into an animal-human creature works as retribution and stands for the externalization of his inner corruption. However, I argue that rather than being ecophobic in itself, this punishment caters to the Star-Child’s own ecophobic perception of identity. Only through the animalisation of his own body could he become aware of “his ‘inherent’ hideous nature” (Simonsen, 2014, p. 25). In fact, animality itself is not associated with evil in the tale. Just the opposite: it is precisely during his animal state that the Star-Child finally gains “moral awareness” (Simonsen, 2014, p. 27). As Simonsen highlights, animality in “The Star-Child” does not represent “a step backward on the evolutionary ladder, but rather [a] progression” (2014, p. 30). By experiencing rejection and exploitation first-hand, the Star-Child is finally capable of understanding and relating to others’ pain. Therefore, being animal does not make the Star-Child less human in the story, since it is precisely during his animal state that he is finally capable of relating to fellow animals and humans alike, regardless of their social status.

Humanity and sympathy are directly connected in this tale, since it is the exercise of pity that ultimately brings the Star Child’s human countenance back. Yet “The Star-Child” also draws attention to the double nature of altruism, and its contribution to the maintenance of civilisation’s hierarchical foundation. In fact, this tale compares two types of altruistic actions, a comparison that becomes more evident during the Star-Child’s three incursions into the forest in search of gold. On his first arrival in the city, the Star-Child is sold as a slave to an evil magician, who then sends the Star-Child into the forest to retrieve three pieces of coloured gold for him. On his first trip, the Star-Child stumbles upon a hare that has been captured in a hunter’s trap. In his newfound sympathy for animals, the Star-Child prioritises freeing the hare over finding the gold on which his safety depends. This gesture emulates the woodcutter’s initial act of altruism, since by freeing the hare the Star-Child is forever removing the animal from its original disadvantaged position. Moreover, the hare offers to help him find the gold in return, which further breaks the hierarchical division between benefactor and beneficiary by making this exchange mutually profitable and transformative.

There is, however, another example of altruism in the same episode that does not have the same result. When the Star-Child finally leaves the forest with the gold in his power, he comes across a hungry leper who is begging for money. Even though the Star-Child explains that his physical wellbeing depends on the only piece of gold he carries, the leper insists, and the Star-Child finally decides to hand him the gold. Contrary to the interaction with the hare, this selfless act proves not only inefficient, but also damaging for both participants. On the one hand, the Star-Child is starved and beaten by his master, and on the other the leper’s hunger is not permanently satiated. In fact, the beggar continues to wait for the Star-Child outside the forest after each of his expeditions. The leper’s case reveals that charity does not offer long-lasting benefits because, rather than modifying the situation of those in need, it reinforces their dependence on those in power (Soul of Man, 1997, p.1041).

Furthermore, although this exchange seems fruitful for the Star-Child at first, it turns out to be extremely harmful. Initially, this act of sympathy gives him his human countenance back, which in turn allows him into the city. Moreover, it reunites him with his family and enables him to hold a position of power again, as king of the city. It would therefore seem that the tale is characterising sympathy, and more specifically, pity, not only as positive traits, but also as typically human ones. However, it is due to the “bitter fire of [the] testing” he endures during his excursions to the forest that his health deteriorates quickly and he dies only three years after having been crowned. Furthermore, although the Star-Child’s reign is characterised by “justice and mercy”, the king who succeeds him “rule[s] evilly” (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 314).

This ironic ending reveals that sympathy is neither beneficial, nor a requirement to be considered part of civilised society. Moreover, it illustrates Wilde’s warnings in The Soul of Man about the negative consequences of only exercising sympathy towards “life’s sores and maladies” (1997, p. 1063). According to his essay, it is more important to sympathise with beauty and pleasure than with pain, since “while sympathy with joy intensifies the sum of joy in the world, sympathy with pain does not really diminish the amount of pain” (1997, p. 1064). In sum, “The Young King” and “The Star-Child” present pointless charity as detrimental for the benefactor, the recipient, and society as a whole, since it contributes to the maintenance of the established hierarchical divide between the powerful and the weak.

Conclusion

Oscar Wilde’s fairy tales “The Young King” and “The Star-Child” question and blur the boundaries between nature and culture, the human and the animal. These two stories draw from the hierarchical system that subordinates nature to civilisation in order to highlight the parasitic nature of the Victorian class system. In their journey from the forest to the city’s palace, The Young King and the Star-Child learn about the dubious foundation that supports the dominance of the human over the animal, and the rich over the poor. The spaces of the forest and the city are contrasted against each other and presented as embodiments of the nature versus civilisation divide. In the “Young King”, the forest is portrayed as a pastoral and idyllic realm of absolute liberty. This representation of the forest helps draw readers’ attention towards civilisation’s drawbacks: to wit, its limiting social rules, and strict behavioural codes. In fact, the Young King needs to renounce to his individual freedom to be able to inhabit the palace and enjoy a life of luxury. However, the night before his coronation, three dreams teach him that his pleasurable lifestyle is procured by the exploitation of his subjects, highlighting civilisation’s duplicitousness. Therefore, “The Young King” associates innocence and freedom with nature, and represents civilisation as a two-faced and cruel realm. On the other hand, in “The Star-Child”, both civilisation and nature are presented as duplicitous, since despite their beautiful appearance, the city and the forest are both governed by strong hierarchies that subordinate the weak and the animal to the will of the powerful.

The nature versus civilisation divide is further explored in these stories by making use of the human/animal dichotomy. In fact, both protagonists are hybrid creatures who fluctuate between an animal and a human state. In the first tale, the Young King is removed from his animal-like state in the forest and brought to the palace to fulfil his duty as the heir to the throne. Yet after being confronted with the cruelty of the system he heads, the Young King voluntarily decides to embrace his previous ‘forest’ persona and attend his coronation dressed in his shepherd garment. This symbolic act of associating himself with nature, the animal and the poor is not well received by either the nobles and the church or the people. However, the Young King’s life is saved and his position restored thanks to nature’s miraculous intervention. For the Star-Child, however, magical animalisation works as a punishment. His animal appearance strips him of all his former power and places him in a disadvantaged position. This does not mean that the tale approaches animality from an ecophobic angle, since it is precisely during his animal state that the Star-Child is finally able to empathise with the ugly, the animal and the weak. In fact, it is his realisation of the suffering and tribulations of animals and the destitute classes that gives him back his human countenance and reinstates him in a position of power as king.

The role of sympathy in determining the subject’s degree of humanity is another core theme explored in these tales. Both stories demonstrate that the exercise of pity alone does not provoke any positive, long-lasting effects for those at the receiving end, as long as their position within the hierarchical divide is not altered. The Young King’s symbolic performance and the Star-Child’s interaction with the leper illustrate the point made in The Soul of Man about the uselessness and even detrimental nature of charity. Not only does it not change “the fabric of society”, but it reinforces the mutual dependence of benefactor and beneficiary, hence enabling the continuance of the ecophobic and hierarchical system it attempts to antagonise (Zipes, 2006, p. 123).

The greatest difference between “The Young King” and “The Star-Child” is their contrasting endings. “The Young King” ends with the protagonist having recovered his authority and being ready to govern with “justice and mercy”, whereas in “The Star-Child” the protagonist’s magnanimous reign is cut short, as he dies only three years after being crowned (Wilde, 1997a, c, p. 314). Therefore, this last tale of the collection ironically negates the idea that sympathy is what makes you human and grants you access to civilisation, a hypothesis maintained throughout the rest of the story. The ending, however, shows that it is the merciless who are more capable of holding and maintaining a position of power. Hence, although it may seem that the animalisation of the main character responds to an ecophobic strategy, this tale ultimately presents civilisation and its proponents as the ones capable of cruel or ‘inhuman’ behaviour. Moreover, despite its darker undertone, “The Star-Child” manages to offer an alternative type of altruism capable of exercising genuine change and dismantling the hierarchical divide.

An ecocritical approach to Wilde’s fairy tales allows for a more in-depth analysis of the connections between his literary and essayistic prose. This article has focused on the study of the nature versus culture dichotomy and demonstrated its connection to Wilde’s criticism about social class stratification in The Soul of Man under Socialism. Wilde’s stories subvert traditional fairy tales since, rather than promoting hope, they negate the possibility of a happy ending, as illustrated by “The Star-Child”. Instead, these tales offer readers the “seeds of discontent” needed to reflect about the dubious foundations that sustain civilisation and justify the systemic exploitation of nature, the animal and the destitute (Soul of Man, 1997, p. 1044).