'The Devil in the Flesh' is the first of two novels written by teenage prodigy, Raymond Radiguet, before his untimely death from typhoid fever at the age of twenty. Semi-autobiographical, the story charts a tumultuous love affair between a sixteen year old boy and a married woman three years his senior, whilst her husband is away fighting in the First World War.
The book is inherently nasty, exploring lust and obsession at its most selfish, and yet one cannot help but root for the couple's success. Despite the destructive nature of their relationship, it is as erotic as it is guilt inspiring. Anyone who has experienced a whirlwind romance can relate to the pair's urgent passion for one another. The unnamed narrator's ruminations on love are as profound as they are disturbing and pessimistic; theirs is an all-consuming romance which is destined to end in ruins. His feelings for Marthe are paradoxical, they are tainted by, or perhaps inspire his 'despotic instincts'; he craves to possess and control her both mentally and physically. Whilst she wallows in her contempt for her husband, burning and tearing his unopened letters, he fluctuates between feelings of remorse and a jealous hatred for the cuckolded man. Their affair becomes the scandal of the town (which inspires an amusing scene of black comedy) and all the while, time is steadily marching towards an inevitable conclusion. The war cannot last forever and the lovers must soon face the consequences of their actions.
Controversial upon its original release, this is a book that still retains the power to disturb us today. There is something that is admittedly perverse about this novel. Set during a time of unimaginable loss, the protagonists remain selfishly indifferent. Neither the war or its consequences are depicted first hand and we are barely afforded a glimpse of husband Jacques, they exist in a world apart from these characters who are so young and careless. As the narrator reminds us, 'Let those who are already reproaching me try to imagine what the war meant for so many of us very young boys - four years of holiday.'