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Portraits of a MarriagePortraits of a Marriage by Sándor Márai

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This review was written in 2012, before I wrote Between the Barons and the Comrades, which somewhat supercedes it, but I will be coming back to Márai soon so it seemed useful to post it now. 

Márai is a great writer, I’m not so sure he’s a great novelist. I have sixteen flurorescent tags sticking out of this volume. These highlight things I thought were worth looking at again, but I usually only do this in books for study. My friend, Balázs has Márai’s “Füvés Könyv” (literally grass covered book) always close to hand. This is a book of short thematic pieces – “On Sadness” being the one he most recently quoted from. Balázs is not so familiar with the five translated novels I’ve read.

Marai’s complete diaries are also generally available in Hungary, as I discovered while scouting for the Hungarian version of Portraits of a Marriage in my local bookshops. This book is available as one volume in Hungary, but the Hungarian version is much clearer about the structure and history of this book. It is actually a novel and a sequel published almost forty years apart. The first novel “Az igázi” (the real one), published in 1941, is two first person narratives; one by the ex-wife, and one by the ex-husband. The sequel published in 1980, “Judit … és az utóhang” (Judith … and the epilogue) is again written in the first person, Judit being the other woman in the earlier marriage, and the voice in the epilogue being Judit’s last lover. This form reminded me much of Absalom Absalom though it is not as demanding of the reader. The Epilogue is set in New York, so in two ways this is the first book of Márai’s I’ve read that reflects his time in America.

This is a big thematic work and we are not dealing with the failure of a marriage, but with the failure of bourgeois society in Hungary. This makes the novel immensely relevant to the current political situation in Hungary, where the government is self-consciously trying to recreate a Hungarian middle class, while holding the post-communist opposition responsible for the destruction of middle class values in Hungary. At the time Márai wrote “Az igazi” Hungary had not been ‘liberated’ by the Soviet Union’ nor had a Communist state been established here. So his decision to write a sequel after these events suggests that Marai felt that the bourgeoisie was foundering by itself even when he wrote the original, and that is somehow illustrated by the husband’s disaffection with his excellent bourgeois wife and his obsession with the servant girl, Judit. It’s worth noting that Hungarians – or at least Balázs – distinquish between bourgeois writers (like Márai) and peasant writers (like Zsigmond Móricz). I think this is false distintion and an overhang from the Communist view of Literature. In the sequel, we have Márai narrating from the perspective of two self-consciously ‘proletarian’ characters.

A constant refrain of these two voices is that even after the rich have been stripped of all their worldly possessions they retain something that cannot be taken away from them – “Little by little, step by methodical step, they were deprived of everything, all their visible goods, and later, with supreme skill, of their invisible goods too. And yet these people remained as serene as before” (pg 259). This resonates with me; the loss of material goods Iron Curtain the Crushing of Eastern Europe, the loss of invisble goods Banished Families. I would suggest that what remains was what Pierre Bourdieu called habitas, and that that too was destroyed with the passing of Márai’s generation.

The first part and the epilogue are beautifully written, combining narrative panache with authentic voices; the problem is Judith, and the problem is compounded in that Judith is the heart of the combined stories. Far too much of her narrative is given over to her later relationship with the husband’s best friend, a writer. And so it seems like Márai’s further musings on what it is to be a writer – I really have no time for literary solipsism (though it can be handled deftly – Sweet Tooth). Márai has past form on this – Conversations in Bolzano, but here it is thankfully much shorter, and in migitation may be a form of self-defence; the backdrop to this monologue is the Seige of Budapest, the true awfulness of which is better addressed in Krisztian Ungvary’s The Battle for Budapest.

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Colours and YearsColours and Years by Margit Kaffka

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The most ‘English’ of the Hungarian books I’ve read in translation. At first I thought this was because of Cushing’s exhaustive translation: there are no Hungarian terms and phrases to remind you where you are, just proper nouns. But then I realised that the shades of Austen and Wolf were there because of the tight domestic round which circumscribes Magda’s life. There really isn’t much local colour to cleaning the house and raising the children. There was however sharp psychological realism. I paticularly enjoyed the last part of the book detailing a love match collapsing under financial pressures and the demands or raising children. There is so much mental illness in Magda’s family – alcoholism, suicide and even psychosis – that you have to wonder about her sanity. To what extent she is reliable narrator? And to what extent is she the architect of her own destruction? Also interesting that in a literature full of sexually manipulative women, Magda, who delights in her own attractiveness, refuses to use her sexuality to advance herself, realising that men often hate the object of their desires. A note on the translation of the title, yes ‘színek’ does mean ‘colours’, but it also means ‘scenes’ which seems to suit the narrative better as it skips with increasing pace through the years to the scenes which illustrate Magda’s life.

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