About halfway through the second act of The Judas Kiss, Oscar Wilde observes that he has put his genius into his life but only his talent into his work. It’s the sort of glib throwaway a clever man might toss to a talk-show host or magazine interviewer. But he would be astonished to be held to it a century later. In 1998, there are no revivals of Lady Windermere’s Fan or The Importance of Being Earnest, no films of Salomé or An Ideal Husband. Yet Oscar Wilde is more famous than ever: barely a week passes without a new play or film or book about Oscar the celebrity, Oscar the “gay” “Irish” martyr.

On reflection, make that “gay” “Irish” “martyr.”

To be sure, we are not the only generation to let our fascination with his life obliterate his art. The first, fatal eclipse began in 1895: the opening night of his most successful play, The Importance ...