Móricz succeeds in coming up with something new on the supposedly outworn subject of middle-class married life. A middle-aged civil servant almost has an affair, and Móricz tells the story with compassionate understanding, achieving an artistic effect of the very highest order. The Hungarian dance of death which concludes the book pulls into focus the falseness of inter-war Hungary, commonplace today too.
"Én őt megrontom azzal, hogy nem szeretem. Ő megront engem azzal, hogy nem szeret. Mi megrontjuk gyermekeinket azzal, hogy egymást nem szeretjük. Ezt hívják családnak."
You (Adrian) mentioned this novel some time ago when we touched on the matriarchal nature of Hungarian society.
Men go off to work feeling (self) important. Women stay at home and pull the strings. OK a sweeping generalisation but where would we be without them?
Chapter 3 was when this came alive for me. Aladár and his wife of 18 years stay up all night having a tearing row about his infidelity with a young woman at the office. An infidelity that has only happened in his imagination.
His wife completely ties him up in knots and he’s utterly incapable of defending himself from accusations of indiscretions he’s entirely innocent of having committed.
They become a concrete reality but again only in his head. He’s guilty as charged but without the satisfaction of having actually done any of the them.
The Magyar matriarchy is only one part of this book. It satirises sexual relationships generally. From the pénzéhes pesti k**** (‘gold digger’ doesn’t do the type justice), to the middle aged philandering husband with a wife who’s learned to live with but not forgive him.
I can see why Móricz was given the seal of approval in the dark days of communism. He successfully satirises most of the more unseemly characteristics of Hungarian society.
I’m somewhat ashamed to say that the reason I enjoyed this and ‘Relations’ so much is that I myself, have indulged in most of them
"that which is not, never has been...or has it? Or there is only that which exists in memory? There's only an ache in your heart because you can't bring back what's past and gone. I'm sorry for you now, because one day you're going to remember... what has been and gone, the quietness of boring days, the quick, hurried journey home from the office and the little lunches and the untidy wife in her brown flowery housecoat... and I envy you, that you'll love them and I'm sorry for you because your heart will ache because you can't bring them back whatever you do..."