Divorce, Body and Soul

Joseph Kessel's books were widely read during his heyday, but the author suffered the fate of near-oblivion outside of France. It not for Luis Bunuel, who adapted "Belle de Jour" to the big screen in 1967. Catherine Deneuve, who turned 71 on October 22, played Séverine Sérizy, a devoted housewife who worked in a brothel while her husband was away. The Spaniard's surreal treatment of the novel would leave everyone wanting more.

"He doesn't demand anything. That's the danger," Deneuve recalled.

Kessel was a Resistance fighter and member of the Académie française (French Academy). He was a reckless and virile hedonist. He was one of many tormented writers who went to great lengths to escape, punish, rationalize, or resolve their conflict with religion.

“What I tried to do in 'Belle de Jour' was show the desperate divorce that can exist between body and soul; between a true, tender, immense love and the implacable demands of the senses. With a few rare exceptions, every man and woman who has loved over a period of time has been burdened by his conflict. It is recognized or not, it tears one apart or it sleeps; but it's there,” he said.

Shapeless desires

Séverine was fortunate to have Pierre for a husband. He was loving and responsible. He provided her everything she needed. The couple don't have a child, but other than that, there was nothing more to be asked. But memories for her younger years made her restless. She tried to repress them, until Monsieur Husson, a friend of the couple, suggested a place not far away. On her first visit, she immediately noticed the discreet lettering on the sign:

Madame Anais - first-floor left

Séverine lived out the fantasy haunting her all those years. She was discreet until Marcel, one of her customers, wanted to be intimate with her. He had no idea of her other life. When things got out of hand, Séverine's reputation was about to be ruined. Pierre was seriously hurt. But they survived. Three years after the happenings, Séverine was taking care of Pierre. He was about to get back to his old self. No word came out of his lips.

A less noble need to confess

The novel scandalized Jazz Age Parisians, a book that Kessel called the “dearest” of his creations. The case of Séverine and Pierre revealed how the social self would seek a consort and the sexual self an accomplice. But how often do they coincide in the same partner? It would be hard to answer.

The book also touched on the Catholic theology of the body, which was based on the belief that the human body had its origin in God. Anyone doubting this would fall from the divine. Kessel was an intellectual, the kind of individual who would think out of the box. (Let's not forget he's a rebel.) Furthermore, French fiction has always been obsessed about dangerous liaisons and dramas of adultery.

So what else is shocking.