by Miriam
Husbands can’t stand being loved. It bores them. The more you love a man, the more he goes looking for somebody who has no use for him…. Men like to be mistreated.
As a novel, The Sensualists has many sins for which to apologize, such as stiff dialogue. A whole lot of it consists of the characters’ thought processes. Since Ben Hecht was a screenwriter of stellar rank, it is surprising that he would resort to such a lame device, even in a novel. The tale has the usual accouterments of a mystery – a missing gun, people who use people, a big portion of cynical attitude, large servings of dope and violence.
After eight years of the “perfect” marriage, Henry is discovered having an affair with a cheap, tawdry cabaret singer. Even worse, he gets involved in her life to the point of becoming a murder suspect. His wife is put in the position of having to aid and defend this rat who has been cheating on her. She meets the other woman and becomes even angrier, upon learning that Henry has told the bimbo that the marriage is stale and sexually dead.
The wife helps her rat bastard husband regardless, even taking the dangerous step of destroying evidence. But it looks like he’s going to take the rap anyway, and throw himself away to protect the singer, who is the next suspect in line.
Henry gets out of jail, and fesses up to his wife that he’s had six affairs in the time they’ve been married. But no more! He’s over it and will never stray again! Meanwhile, his wife and his mistress get intimate. There’s a really intense encounter between the two women. Hecht did air some very strange theories about lesbians, but what the hell, it was 1959, and pretty daring to mention that topic at all.
Hecht’s take on female reaction to sexual betrayal is so right-on, you know he burned some woman real bad and she acquainted him in exquisite detail with her pain.
Stand by for a lot of inane pseudo-sophisticated claptrap – “A wife who doesn’t betray her husband at least once makes a happy marriage impossible,” says Henry. Then he nearly seduces the neighbor, but the corrupt police sergeant shows up. Must we go on? Mr. Hecht, how low you have sunk.
The author possessed great depth, compassion, and perception. This attempt at a potboiler comes off as silly and embarrassing. Why do it? Money, of course. And, as one character notes, “Our country is obviously specializing in masturbation.” It wasn’t even the Sixties yet! Kids today who think they invented vice have a lot to learn.
Growing a conscience at my age is a bit uncomfortable,” Henry said. “I’ve used yours for so long. Much easier to outwit.
Related:
A Thousand and One Afternoons in Chicago
Fantazius Mallare
