Love and passion are two different things, even though they intoxicate us in the same way and make us feel alive. Passion often drives us to act impulsively, ready to do anything, fueled by the feeling of freedom. That’s exactly what happens to the unnamed protagonist of Philippe Djian’s novel Betty Blue (originally published in French as 37°2 le matin) when he meets Betty. She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. A woman he can’t quite believe he managed to win over, since he has nothing to offer her. He’s a handyman at a resort who once wanted to be a writer, but after finishing one manuscript, he never wrote anything else. And then Betty enters the picture.
When the novel begins, the two of them are already in a tumultuous relationship that is mostly based on sex. Very quickly, intoxicated by her obsession with him, he lets her move in without worrying about her outbursts of anger and mood swings. “That’s just her character,” he tells himself. One of the reasons he likes her so much, and he does everything he can to keep her by his side.
When, after a fight, Betty finds his manuscript and reads it, he becomes, in her eyes, the greatest living writer whose novel deserves to be published. That becomes her mission, but with every rejection, Betty spirals deeper into psychological decline.
One event after another tests their relationship, and her mental breakdown continues until the climax and her time in a mental institution. And the writer? Well, what else can he do? He does everything he can to keep her. He threatens people, beats them, robs them dressed as a woman, sells pianos, fixes plumbing. He tries to write because Betty wants that from him. Life with her is better than life before she walked in. She is his muse and his nightmare. When she tells him she hears voices, he tells her everything will be okay, unwilling to admit to himself that something was wrong with her from the very beginning.
Perhaps the best indicator of their relationship is the scene near the end when a nurse asks him questions about her — what’s her name, where is she from — to which he can barely answer. So was their relationship truly love, or just passion? As skillfully as Djian balances between eroticism, violence, and melancholy, this is not a love story to aspire to. It’s a depiction of a toxic and destructive relationship, no matter how much we might like to think it’s an eternal love. Yes, his final act could be interpreted as a sign of his love for her — his robbery and everything he does — but is it really?
The novel is certainly a classic of modern French literature, well worth reading, although it could have been shorter, as there are quite a few parts that don’t move the story forward — in fact, they stifle it. Fortunately, Djian’s writing is fluid and simple, making it an easy read. It feels like a blend of Bukowski, Henry Miller, and Kerouac, but with Djian’s own personal touch.
Ultimately, Betty Blue is a novel that leaves a bitter aftertaste but fascinates with its brutal honesty. It’s not a story about the love we would wish for, no matter how attractive the wild and unrestrained relationships may seem, but a story about the love that can destroy us. Djian takes us into a world where passion knows no limits and love becomes a dangerous game. It’s worth reading precisely because of its raw, imperfect portrayal of human emotions.