32 pages • 1 hour read
Elizabeth BowenA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Content Warning: This section mentions wartime violence, relationship abuse, sexuality, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and demon possession.
During a brief military leave in August 1916, Kathleen’s fiancé visits her. It is during this visit that he extracts the promise of Kathleen’s fidelity—that she will wait for him regardless of what she might hear of his possible death. As he does this, he presses Kathleen’s palm repetitively into a uniform button that is sharp enough to create a cut on her hand. The subsequent “weal” is a complex symbol, enhancing different themes depending on its interpretation.
In legendary fashion, the weal shows the demon lover literally marking Kathleen and claiming her as his. The exchange is a pact with the devil, and the cut on the hand seals the deal with Kathleen’s blood. It effectively weds them, rendering her subsequent marriage to Mr. Drover an infidelity to her “sinister troth” (664).
The cut also symbolizes the guilt Kathleen experiences regarding not loving her former fiancé. After reading the letter and thinking about the past, she “instinctively look[s] for the weal left by the button” (665). This leads her to remember “the complete suspension of her existence during that August week” of her fiancé’s visit (665), as well as the fact that he was “never kind” to her (665). Kathleen did not want to marry this man, and his presumed death let her out of the agreement. However, this reprieve made her feel guilty and she struggled to function afterward. The similarities of World War I and World War II make her revisit this wound, which the “weal” on her hand symbolizes. She spirals backward into her feelings of “complete dislocation” (664), setting up her crisis at the end.
“The Demon Lover” devotes significant attention to Mrs. Drover’s London home even before she enters it. The lock on the Drovers’ front door is “unwilling” and must be forced. Further, the door itself has “warped,” and there are “cracks in the structure, left by the bombing” (661). While all of this is realistic, given the blitz, descriptions such as these also symbolize the shakiness of Mrs. Drover’s life and happiness while also implying a violent presence.
As she opens the door, Mrs. Drover encounters “dead air” and a feeling of confusion (661). The descriptions here are of damage. There’s a “yellow smoke stain up the white marble mantelpiece” and a “bruise in the wallpaper where […] the china handle had always hit the wall” (661). Further, the piano seems to have left “claw marks on […] the parquet” (661). Even the garden outside the window seems to “smoke with dark” as the clouds “sharp[en] and low[er]” (662). These harsh descriptions set the audience up for the violent memory of the fiancé, his death in the war, and his possible return.
As she contends with the contents of the mysterious letter and the memories it inspires, Mrs. Drover feels her “married London home’s whole air of being a cracked cup from which memory, with its reassuring power, had either evaporated or leaked away, made a crisis” (664). She is struck by “the hollowness of the house” and feels that “years on years of voices, habits, and steps” are “cancelled” (664). This suggests that there is a brokenness both within and without that cannot be fixed.
Mrs. Drover notes early that she feels the letter is intrusive, and this becomes literal as she imagines a “supernatural” entity placing it in the house: “[U]nder circumstances she did not care to consider, a house can be entered without a key” (665). She determines to quickly pack up the items she came for and go to the train station via taxi, but she then remembers the “telephone is cut off” (665)—an echo of Mrs. Drover’s isolation in the wake of her fiancé’s presumed death. The idea causes panic again until she determines to have the taxi driver help her with her parcels. This allows her to unlock the door and step away from the damaged house.
As she goes, however, “the air of the staircase [is] disturbed by a draft that travel[s] up to her face” (665). Mrs. Drover takes this to “emanat[e] from the basement […] where a door or window was being opened by someone who chose this moment to leave the house” (665). The reader never sees if there is or is not an intruder but the mere suggestion creates an atmosphere of foreboding while also raising the possibility that Mrs. Drover is imagining things. Without symbolic descriptions of the house’s foundation, walls, floors, and its general feeling of emptiness, neither the threat of the intrusive demon lover nor Mrs. Drover’s paranoia would come through as soundly.
When Mrs. Drover reads the letter that seems to be from her former fiancé she feels that “her lips, beneath the remains of lipstick, [begin] to go white” (662). She looks into the mirror in the bedroom, where she sees a “a woman of forty-four” rather than a girl of 19 (662). This scene, and the symbolism of the mirror, highlights Mrs. Drover’s dual identity, which appears throughout “The Demon Lover” as she connects the past of 1916 with the present of 1941.
At first, Kathleen’s present life seems vastly different that than her past. Her life as Mrs. William Drover seems stable, “prosaic,” and “circumscribed.” However, it is a mirror image as well, for Mrs. Drover is still driven by Kathleen’s fear, partly caused by the war (itself a mirror of World War I) and partly by personal trauma. In the mirror, she sees that “[t]he pearls her husband had given her on their marriage” are now “loose” and keep “slipping in the V” of her sweater instead of hanging properly (662). This hints that the marriage itself is not perfect. Mrs. Drover also observes a facial tic, “an intermittent muscular flicker to the left of her mouth” (663). This occurred after the birth of “the third of her little boys [was] attended by a quite serious illness” (663). This indicates that Mrs. Drover might have suffered from postpartum depression or struggled with motherhood. On viewing herself, she notes, “[s]he had not put on any more powder since she left the shop where she ate her solitary tea” (662), suggesting that she has difficulty “covering up” the imperfections of her new life.
By Elizabeth Bowen