This is not an easy book to rate, so I’ll state up front that the four stars are for the affecting, meticulous writing -- not for the content.
The love triangle the novel builds is frank and believable, at least in the first third of the book, which sets it up. That part of the book is subtle and interesting, establishing a compelling and intimate dynamic between a PhD student, Janet, and the professor she works for, studies with, and lives with, Pauline Maury. It’s delicious, tantalizing, and beautifully written.
Then Janet falls in love (inevitably, one supposes) with a red-blooded American iconoclast, a part-time student and part-time filmmaker named Ray — and thus begins Trio’s lesbophobic horror show, as Dorothy Baker trots out every psycho-lesbian trope there ever was. Pauline Maury is possessive and abusive. When she learns of Janet’s engagement to Ray she boils over with Gallic rage, and the endearments she hisses to Janet form a bingo card of emotional abuse: I made you and I can destroy you; nobody besides myself understands your potential or will ever respect you as a scholar; etc. Professor Maury, it turns out, has also manipulated Janet into nervous breakdowns so that she can keep the poor girl dependent on tranquilizers. It’s a hot mess, and it of course positions Ray squarely for his white-knight role; surely he will save poor Janet from the clutches of this demented woman, if he can overcome his own violent disgust at the very idea that the girl he loves has been in a lesbian relationship, however one-sided it might have been.
At the time the book was written, the bedrock rule that psycho lesbians do not get out alive was well in force. And so things only get worse for Pauline Maury; a plagiarism accusation comes next, shattering the one thing Janet actually does love about her, her bold and brilliant scholarship.
But unlike the pulp novels written by the likes of Ann Bannon and Vin Packer — and even unlike The Well of Loneliness — Trio, as far as I can tell, is not fondly remembered or forgiven for being a product of its time, despite being at least as well-written as the latter; certainly more subtly written than any of them. And I think it’s because Trio allows no warmth at all in its lesbian passion. There is no sweetness even in the punished desire; there is only madness, insanity, abuse. Janet insists that her affair with Pauline has been three years of hell, that she’s hated every moment of it, and even Pauline’s moments of tenderness toward her seem desperate and manipulative. The other books, despite their dire endings, at least give their lovers moments of joy before destroying them, killing them, or carting them off to the sanatorium. Not so Trio. Notwithstanding its delicate and beautiful writing, it leaves no room for anything but manipulation and evil in love between women. It’s not one of ours.