Emile, a bit of a simpleton, shares an apartment with his prostitute sister Irma in a house full of prostitutes' apartments. They live almost separate lives, he going off daily to his reputable office job, she whoring the nights away. But then she takes up with wiry, bullying, sadistic Bebert, who becomes her regular lover while also pimping her. Bebert recognizes in Emile someone whom he can safely bully, and proceeds to do just that. When, if ever, will the worm turn?
This short novel was first published in 1925 as Perversité; I'm not sure when the English translation was published, but I do know that it was done by Jean "Wide Sargasso Sea" Rhys. I haven't enjoy what little I've read of Rhys's own work, and I have to say that her translation here is at best mediocre. Obviously I have no idea if this is a sin brought forward from the original, but there's a great laziness in the vocabulary. "Odious" turns up all over the place; so does "stupor"; there are countless other examples. Even if this was a fault in Carco's original, surely it's the duty of the translator to produce a version that's acceptable to the target reader's eye?
The story itself is determinedly grim. None of the characters have redeeming features: Bebert's a complete shit; Emile's a wimp; Irma has her occasional human moments, but for the most part is tiresomely dependent on her unfaithful man and her promiscuity. The elderly prostitute who lives downstairs, Belle-Amour, seems to have some genuine warmth, but she's able to launch and sustain a brief affair with Emile only through self-degradation.
Where I found the book fascinating was as an example of the kind of literature that French film noir came from. There's a habit among US cinéastes to assume that film noir began in Hollywood in ~1940, to ignore its French and German (and even its Hollywood!) precursors, and to regard the European equivalents that sprang up after WWII as imitations of the Hollywood style. I think the examples I give in my Comprehensive Encyclopedia of Film Noir, taken together, demolish that conceit; what Perversity does is to add evidence as to how hollow the conceit is, for here we have a full-blown piece of noir literature that dates from long before the start of WWII.
Recommended? Certainly if you share my interest in early noir; otherwise, perhaps not. On the other hand, the book's short, demanding that you invest only a couple of hours.