Looking at Marriage Every Which Way

Anniversaries — of both happy and sad days — are worth pausing for, don’t you think? Sure, we need to keep putting one foot after another, moving forward and shaping the future rather than dwelling on the past, but a little reflection about our own personal histories helps us to integrate elements of our journeys.

A Snowy Day Long Ago

On this day, more than 80 years ago, my parents were married in Montreal. Canada, my mother’s country, had entered World War II first; two of my mother’s brothers served. My father, a young lawyer, would be off to the Pacific with the U.S. Navy within a couple of years.

Canada, my mother’s country, had entered World War II first; two of my mother’s brothers served. My father, a young lawyer, would be off to the Pacific with the U.S. Navy within a couple of years. They would have boy after boy in the years following, getting to their longed-for daughter (ha!) much later.

They’ve both been gone many years now, and every Feb. 28th I remember them — as individuals, and as a couple, too: almost as if there were always three, not two, distinct pieces here; how they were together being its own entity. You probably feel the same.

Having A Moment, Culturally Speaking

Marriage has been around for a long time; it’s not a new phenomenon. Going way back to our great-great-great-great grandparents, plenty of people we’re related to were married eons ago or may now be heading in that direction. Have you noticed a bit of a spike out there in the degree to which people have been scratching their heads about this ancient custom that still keeps chugging along? Surveys producing data sets, op-eds, works of fiction and non-fiction, movies: maybe my ears are easily pricked by the topic, but I think something’s going on here and I’m trying, to use a phrase I’ve heard often on British TV, “sort it.”

This sentence is from one of the final pages of a new book I’m currently reading, a book with a fire-engine red cover:

Indeed, the one constant that I’ve noticed marriage does seem unusually good for, both in theory and practice, is playing host to contradictions. (p. 309)

The line is a tad cumbersome, it seems to me, but I like the “playing host to contradictions” part. It brings to mind either some kind of dinner party with guests who, not seeing eye to eye, provide stimulating conversation; or perhaps the carcass of a dead animal with creatures crawling all over it, willy-nilly.

Deborah Baum, a British scholar, puts forth a smorgasbord of views about marriage through the ages, chapter by chapter, in a kind of romp, and concludes by saying she still can’t “commit to any idea about it.” On the other hand, David Brooks, columnist for The New York Times, is confident in espousing one strong opinion on the subject. He wrote an especially provocative column a few months ago titled, “To Be Happy, Marriage Matters More Than Career.” It’s short, so here you go: https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/17/opinion/marriage-happiness-career.html?unlocked_article_code=1.Y00.Sknl.VE19RbH0TbKy&smid=url-share

Looking past what I see as a grammar glitch in the title (are we talking about the happiness of marriage here, or the happiness of people?) I am struck by the boldness of his pronouncements, intended primarily for young adults in their 20s and 30s. They include this one: “Fewer people believe that marriage is vitally important.” And, clearly not acting as a parent who learns to refrain from voicing anything smacking of judgements where their children’s lives are concerned: “My strong advice is to obsess less about your career and to think a lot more about marriage.” Devorah Baum definitely did that, and fortunately for her, writing a book fell nicely into the career category, too. As usual, Brooks has solid data to back up his opinion and, allowing for the caveat that many factors play into how achievable it is to find the “right” partner, I find his main idea compelling.

There are mountains of evidence to show that intimate relationships, not career, are at the core of life, and that those intimate relationships will have a downstream effect on everything else you do.

Of course, we hope we don’t exactly have to choose between the two and that we’ll achieve some kind of balance. Furthermore, the whole concept of “career” may have a privileged ring to it — with many people just working to live, to survive, not scoring a sack of cash. Additionally, having a love that lasts is not a “here it is, you’ve got it” kind of thing but rather a constant quest.

Dangerous Liaisons

I’m guessing David Brooks would not be thrilled by the depiction of marriage in a recent novel that my husband and I both read. Picking it up at the bookstore, scanning the back cover blurbs and seeing that it was translated from French (bonus feature, in that we both studied the language), I thought it sounded like a fun story for us to imbibe and then discuss, together. This is what I wrote on the note that went on the wrapped package under the Christmas tree.

Whoops. In French, that would be “Oups.”

Rob, having relished the two other novels I gave him for Christmas (mentioned in a previous post, I think, because I’m so damn pleased) patiently embarked on this one too, saying little as he went along. When he finished, I sensed dismay. Still, he urged me to get started, so I could see for myself. Sure enough, the tale about a woman so obsessed by her husband that her “love” turns into something destructive, with suspicions and power plays abounding, cast a dark light on the institution of marriage and sent a shudder down my spine. Good thing it was fiction. Still, I would have spent a few minutes in a mini-book club with him, had he not said one morning, “I didn’t like it, and can that be the end of it please?” Fair enough. Walter Isaacson’s biography of Leonardo Da Vinci (my birthday present to him) is something he can really sink into.

Space and Time Apart

The limo came for my husband at dawn yesterday morning, delivering him to the airport to get his flight to Texas, where he’ll spend a week at the House of Bishops. This is not an actual house with windows and doors, but a metaphorical house — a little bit like the secular House of Representatives, except, come to think of it, that group does in fact have a specific chamber where they all come together at certain times. Glad as I was to go to part of the Lambeth Conference in England with him a couple of summers ago, getting to stay in a small dorm room and going to meetings under enormous tents, I’m very content not to be with him during this gathering (spouses weren’t invited, anyway). It’s my school vacation, so I’m trying to make the most of my liberty. With any luck, when we reunite, we’ll both be the richer for the different experiences we’ve had — not sharing everything, mind you, but picking out the most important parts, attentive to whatever the other has to offer, too.

After all, if David Brooks is right that this kind of coming together at home counts as “the core of life,” well, we’d better try to keep it strong.