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A Happy Marriage
A Happy Marriage , Yglesias’s return to fiction after a thirteen-year hiatus, was inspired by his relationship with his wife, who died in 2004. Both intimate and expansive, it is a stunningly candid novel that alternates between the romantic misadventures of the first weeks of the courtship of Enrique Sabas and his wife Margaret and the final months of her life as she says good-bye to her family, friends, and children—and to Enrique. Spanning thirty years, this achingly honest story is about what it means for two people to spend a lifetime together—and what makes a happy marriage. “Anyone in a relationship will be able to relate,” said USA TODAY . Told from the husband’s point of view, with revelatory and sometimes disarming candor, the novel charts the ebb and flow of marriage, illuminating both the mundane moments and the magic. Bold, elegiac, and emotionally suspenseful, Yglesias’s beautiful novel will break every reader’s heart—while encouraging all of us with its clear-eyed evocation of the enduring value of marital love.
384 pages, Paperback
First published June 30, 2009
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2543 people want to read
About the author
Rafael Yglesias
18 books35 followersRafael Yglesias (b. 1954) is a master American storyteller whose career began with the publication of his first novel, Hide Fox, and All After, at seventeen. Through four decades Yglesias has produced numerous highly acclaimed novels, including the New York Times bestseller Fearless, which was adapted into the film starring Jeff Bridges and Rosie Perez. He lives on New York City’s Upper East Side.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 525 reviews
December 4, 2023
It was a Sunday morning and my husband returned from his habitual coffee outing. I saw his car pull up outside and I expected him to walk through the front door a moment later, but he didn’t. Looking through the front window, I saw him sitting in his car, head bowed. Ten minutes later he came in, glassy-eyed and solemn-faced, and he embraced me. What could have affected my normally cheerful and talkative spouse in such a way? Had he just been to see Inception again? No – he’d just finished Rafael Yglesias’s A Happy Marriage.
And so I had to read it too. I had already listened to Terry Gross’s interview with the author on NPR’s Fresh Air and thought the book sounded interesting: an account of his marriage, bouncing back and forth between its beginning, when he and his wife first meet as twenty-somethings in 1975 Manhattan, to its end, when his wife dies after a 2 ½ year battle with bladder cancer. The story is written as a fictional novel: the author's wife’s name is unchanged though he has dubbed himself “Enrique”, and presumably several other names have been changed to protect the innocent/guilty or avoid litigation.
Having lived through two close family members' prolonged deaths from cancer, I have to say that Yglesias describes the entire end-of-life process though the eyes of the soon-to-be-bereaved beautifully. But there is other wonderful stuff in here. He has boldly bared himself to the reader, letting us see into his sweet, romantic and insecure heart as a young man, his selfish, unthinking and deceitful self as a young father, and finally the mature, thoughtful and caring soul that he gains through a 29 year marriage to his wife. The entire book was very well-written and highly readable – a page-turner even, but this was the stuff that I appreciated most about it, i.e., how Yglesias shows us who he was and now is, essence unchanged but enriched and made better by a loving relationship with his life partner.
This would be a great book club read, with several points for heated discussion in its pages, though I’d recommend it to anyone who wants to read a book that might spark their own internal exploration of what their relationships have given them.
And so I had to read it too. I had already listened to Terry Gross’s interview with the author on NPR’s Fresh Air and thought the book sounded interesting: an account of his marriage, bouncing back and forth between its beginning, when he and his wife first meet as twenty-somethings in 1975 Manhattan, to its end, when his wife dies after a 2 ½ year battle with bladder cancer. The story is written as a fictional novel: the author's wife’s name is unchanged though he has dubbed himself “Enrique”, and presumably several other names have been changed to protect the innocent/guilty or avoid litigation.
Having lived through two close family members' prolonged deaths from cancer, I have to say that Yglesias describes the entire end-of-life process though the eyes of the soon-to-be-bereaved beautifully. But there is other wonderful stuff in here. He has boldly bared himself to the reader, letting us see into his sweet, romantic and insecure heart as a young man, his selfish, unthinking and deceitful self as a young father, and finally the mature, thoughtful and caring soul that he gains through a 29 year marriage to his wife. The entire book was very well-written and highly readable – a page-turner even, but this was the stuff that I appreciated most about it, i.e., how Yglesias shows us who he was and now is, essence unchanged but enriched and made better by a loving relationship with his life partner.
This would be a great book club read, with several points for heated discussion in its pages, though I’d recommend it to anyone who wants to read a book that might spark their own internal exploration of what their relationships have given them.
December 10, 2009
This is not a happy marriage.
These thoughts are all jumbled and messed up in my head because I read this during a bout of insomnia and the parts of the wife dying of cancer were too damn painful to read. I cried. I nearly had a panic attack about things to come. (not for me or my spouse - at least not that I know of - but for my mom who is full of cancer.)
The first chapter I thought was sweet, how smitten he was with her, how love at first sight he was (which I personally believe to be poppycock) but I thought we were off to a great love story. NOPE. He ends up cheating on her... I mean, who would do that?
And what the hell makes this marriage happy?
There's a few pages in there where he's struggling to find her the right gift. He gets her a gift every year that she's SOOO not into. Like he doesn't even know her. Has not the vaguest idea of what she'd like. And that's sad.
In all fairness to the author, I have to give it to him- he writes so perfectly on caring for a dying person - the emotions are so real, so raw. Then, after I do a teensy bit of research, I find out this book is somewhat autobiographical. well. Sorry for your loss and suffering, jerkface.
Is one person ever enough for anyone?
Is monogamy a sham?
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Depressing book.
I'm gonna have a glass of wine and weep.
These thoughts are all jumbled and messed up in my head because I read this during a bout of insomnia and the parts of the wife dying of cancer were too damn painful to read. I cried. I nearly had a panic attack about things to come. (not for me or my spouse - at least not that I know of - but for my mom who is full of cancer.)
The first chapter I thought was sweet, how smitten he was with her, how love at first sight he was (which I personally believe to be poppycock) but I thought we were off to a great love story. NOPE. He ends up cheating on her... I mean, who would do that?
And what the hell makes this marriage happy?
There's a few pages in there where he's struggling to find her the right gift. He gets her a gift every year that she's SOOO not into. Like he doesn't even know her. Has not the vaguest idea of what she'd like. And that's sad.
In all fairness to the author, I have to give it to him- he writes so perfectly on caring for a dying person - the emotions are so real, so raw. Then, after I do a teensy bit of research, I find out this book is somewhat autobiographical. well. Sorry for your loss and suffering, jerkface.
Is one person ever enough for anyone?
Is monogamy a sham?
[image error]
Depressing book.
I'm gonna have a glass of wine and weep.
April 9, 2013
There have been plenty of summaries written already, so I won't repeat them. Bottom line is I kept waiting to connect with the characters. I normally like whiny, neurotic characters, but Enrique tested my nerves. An artist with extremely fragile ego and a chip on his shoulder to boot. He tells this woman he loves her (twice) practically on the first date, then is resentful when he's soon stuck in a middle-class existence with a baby and wife. I did sympathize with his sexual problems, both before and after the marriage.
Margaret is a mystery. We get no real sense of what her interests were, aside from discussing strollers and doing some private painting. (Really? The woman worked at Newsweek. It isn't like she didn't have outside influences.) We are told she wasn't much of a conversationalist. She is controlling. Her teeth needed to be bonded (this is mentioned more than once.) He makes sure to point out she was better educated, but not as clever as he was and without much of a sense of humor. There's a streak of competitiveness and a whiff of wounded emasculation coming from the author at all times, from his impotence during their early courtship to later, when his in-laws buy him a house when his novels aren't selling.
The chapters on Margaret's death are moving and scary. Even there, though, I feel the authors tries very hard to emphasize how hard he worked for his wife. I never got the feeling he actually fell in love with HER again, as he says. It felt more like he fell in love with himself and his new image as her strong savior.
I also feel the Yglesias did his wife a disservice by revealing his affair after she died. He said on NPR he waited to write a book about marriage until she was dead. Well, if my husband revealed an year-long affair with my old college buddy - and told all the gory details of my bodily functions as I died of cancer - even after I died, I'd come back to haunt him.
With the shots taken at his mother-in-law and his own mother, also dead, I can't help but wonder if this book was a long, not-so-subtle screw you to the women in his life.
Margaret is a mystery. We get no real sense of what her interests were, aside from discussing strollers and doing some private painting. (Really? The woman worked at Newsweek. It isn't like she didn't have outside influences.) We are told she wasn't much of a conversationalist. She is controlling. Her teeth needed to be bonded (this is mentioned more than once.) He makes sure to point out she was better educated, but not as clever as he was and without much of a sense of humor. There's a streak of competitiveness and a whiff of wounded emasculation coming from the author at all times, from his impotence during their early courtship to later, when his in-laws buy him a house when his novels aren't selling.
The chapters on Margaret's death are moving and scary. Even there, though, I feel the authors tries very hard to emphasize how hard he worked for his wife. I never got the feeling he actually fell in love with HER again, as he says. It felt more like he fell in love with himself and his new image as her strong savior.
I also feel the Yglesias did his wife a disservice by revealing his affair after she died. He said on NPR he waited to write a book about marriage until she was dead. Well, if my husband revealed an year-long affair with my old college buddy - and told all the gory details of my bodily functions as I died of cancer - even after I died, I'd come back to haunt him.
With the shots taken at his mother-in-law and his own mother, also dead, I can't help but wonder if this book was a long, not-so-subtle screw you to the women in his life.
September 28, 2010
Beautiful, heartbreaking, and provocative . . . a brutally honest story told with such raw emotion that brought tears to my eyes several times (many while I was in public - I read this book on the plane and while waiting in airports :-). Anyone who is in a marriage or long term relationship will relate to these characters and their lives . . . from the euphoria surrounding those first dates and wanting more than anything just to be with the other person, to learning to live with and love someone you're not sure you may "like" and contemplating if the relationship is even worth it, to truly understanding how your partner has shaped your life and added a treasured and complete dimension to your incomplete self.
The clarity and understanding I felt while reading this book is profound, I connected on a such a deep level it's difficult to explain. The reason I gave it 4 stars rather than 5, was the writing, which at times became too cliche and repetitive in it's descriptions. I'm also not sure if I really liked the final two pages, I thought he would wrap it up differently. That aside, here are a couple of passages that touched my heart:
" . . . He felt relief, a long sigh of gratitude that the race had been run, that for all his mistakes, for all his failures, for all the wear and tear he had doled out, for all that he had smashed and given away of love and good intentions and grand ambitions, for all his errors there had been an unexpected mercy, and he had not been punished. Life had given him Margaret to make him whole."
"Enrique finally felt able to explain what she had come to mean in his life. He was ready to articulate that in their twenty-nine years together both of them had been transformed, not once but three times; that he had come not only to need her but to love her more profoundly than ever: not as a trophy to be won, not as a competitor to defeat, not as a habit too long to break, but as a full partner, skin of his skin, head of his heart, and heart of his soul."
Word of WARNING: strong language and adult situations. Just thought I'd put that out there for those that are sensitive, which I am, but was able to manage my sensitivity while reading this book :-).
The clarity and understanding I felt while reading this book is profound, I connected on a such a deep level it's difficult to explain. The reason I gave it 4 stars rather than 5, was the writing, which at times became too cliche and repetitive in it's descriptions. I'm also not sure if I really liked the final two pages, I thought he would wrap it up differently. That aside, here are a couple of passages that touched my heart:
" . . . He felt relief, a long sigh of gratitude that the race had been run, that for all his mistakes, for all his failures, for all the wear and tear he had doled out, for all that he had smashed and given away of love and good intentions and grand ambitions, for all his errors there had been an unexpected mercy, and he had not been punished. Life had given him Margaret to make him whole."
"Enrique finally felt able to explain what she had come to mean in his life. He was ready to articulate that in their twenty-nine years together both of them had been transformed, not once but three times; that he had come not only to need her but to love her more profoundly than ever: not as a trophy to be won, not as a competitor to defeat, not as a habit too long to break, but as a full partner, skin of his skin, head of his heart, and heart of his soul."
Word of WARNING: strong language and adult situations. Just thought I'd put that out there for those that are sensitive, which I am, but was able to manage my sensitivity while reading this book :-).
August 30, 2009
This is a stunning evocation of thirty year marriage. Using short vignettes, the author moves back and forth between his courtship of the woman who becomes his wife and his attending her, more than thirty years later, as she faces a terminal illness. (There are a few moments, along the way, included as well).
In lesser hands, perhaps, this would be a heavy handed, contrived literary "device", but the structure serves Yglesias's purpose brilliantly. There is profound connection, between one's feelings at the beginning of a great love (is this real? will she love me back? am I good enough? will I mess this up and lose her?) and one's feelings when, finally, due to illness, one has to let go. Yglesias shows us these connections brilliantly and, along the way, he shows us some of the real life ups and downs along a thirty year journey.
This is a book for anyone who has been in love and, certainly, for anyone who has lived and endured the joys and the challenges of a long marriage.
In lesser hands, perhaps, this would be a heavy handed, contrived literary "device", but the structure serves Yglesias's purpose brilliantly. There is profound connection, between one's feelings at the beginning of a great love (is this real? will she love me back? am I good enough? will I mess this up and lose her?) and one's feelings when, finally, due to illness, one has to let go. Yglesias shows us these connections brilliantly and, along the way, he shows us some of the real life ups and downs along a thirty year journey.
This is a book for anyone who has been in love and, certainly, for anyone who has lived and endured the joys and the challenges of a long marriage.
December 3, 2021
I don't know much about marriage but I found this book to be such a beautiful yet heartbreaking look into one, from when they meet until the wife dies of sickness. Really enjoyed Rafael Yglesias writing and would most likely pick something up else by him
February 17, 2019
Sintió alivio porque, a pesar de todos sus errores, sus fracasos, el desgaste que había provocado en los demás, todo el amor y buenas intenciones y grandes ambiciones que había aplastado y a las que había renunciado, todos sus errores, hubiera existido una misericordia inesperada y él no hubiera sido castigado. La vida le había dado a Margaret para que estuviera completo.Esto dice en un momento dado Enrique, el protagonista de Un matrimonio feliz, recordándonos con ello la veracidad de la afirmación de Carl G. Jung de que la vida, para llegar a su plenitud, no necesita de la perfección, sino de la totalidad. Y es que esta es la historia de una relación “total” entre dos amantes que, distando mucho de ser perfecta, integra altas dosis de un variadísimo elenco de emociones humanas, desde sus tímidos inicios hasta su elocuente final: devoción, hastío, rencor, ternura, rechazo, soledad, entrega…
Se trata de una novela muy bien lograda, escrita con arte y sentimiento, con muchísimas cargas de profundidad que sacuden al lector y lo empujan a hundirse, desprovisto de cualquier defensa, en las entretelas de su propia afectividad. El buen oficio de Yglesias sorprende gratamente: es un escritor sincero, minucioso, apasionado, y su conmovedor intento de enfrentar y aceptar la vida tal cual es a través del poderoso instrumento de la palabra resulta digno de los mayores elogios. La historia parte de dos situaciones que te absorben y estremecen con su fuerte carga emotiva. Por una parte, la lenta y agotadora enfermedad terminal de Margaret, la mujer de Enrique, como telón de fondo para la culminación del vínculo amoroso entre ambos, que no cesa de madurar y fortalecerse hasta que ella fallece. Por otra, la narración del inicio de la relación amorosa de los protagonistas, con su tierno e inevitable elenco de miedos, inocencias y entusiasmos. Dos contextos capaces de herir y emocionar en lo más hondo, y de hacer recordar al lector momentos cruciales de la propia vida. Me ha parecido particularmente convincente el relato de la crisis de desamor que sobreviene a Enrique tras siete años de matrimonio, la cual lo lleva a iniciar una relación secreta con una de las amigas de Margaret, así como la descripción del agitado proceso de decisión de perseverar en su matrimonio (ambas experiencias, sin duda, reflejo de la propia experiencia del autor). Yglesias consigue comunicar magistralmente el desgarro que supone tener que elegir ante ciertas encrucijadas existenciales a sabiendas de que la decisión (en este caso, la renuncia definitiva a la amante) comportará un luto dolorosísimo y transformará definitivamente la vida… Sin embargo, tanto en esta situación de pérdida y desencanto como durante la larga enfermedad de Margaret, Enrique consigue abrirse paso entre la jungla de sus pasiones y deseos contradictorios, escogiendo la vía de la totalidad en lugar de la retirada ante la pérdida de la perfección soñada. Es precioso el modo en que el autor, sin solemnidad pero con presencia de ánimo, nos hace cómplices de la sencilla y rotunda determinación de Enrique:
Muy bien, se dijo, contemplando madre e hijo, ¿soy capaz de hacerlo? ¿De verdad soy capaz de hacerles esto? ... Enrique coincidió en que su vida (de casado) era miserable y en que lo seguiría siendo para siempre. "Soy incapaz de hacerlo" fue la única explicación que dio, y era toda la verdad que él entendía de sus sentimientos.
No se me ocurre mejor conclusión para esta reseña que la cita de G. K. Chesterton con la que Libros del Asteroide cierra la atractiva edición española de esta magnífica novela: “Dichosos los hombres que aman a la mujer con la que se casan, pero más dichoso aquel que ama a la mujer con la que está casado”. Y dichosos nosotros, lectores, a los que Yglesias ha tenido a bien confiar su dicha.
August 7, 2009
“A Happy Marriage” is autobiography thinly disguised as fiction. This is an incredibly moving and intensely literary book. Mr. Ygelsias has written a profoundly personal book, which exhibits his powers as a storyteller in a manner evidencing respect for his audience as well as his subject. This is an astonishing feat, considering that he has included ridiculously personal details of his marriage without seeming to betray the essential emotional intimacies of his married life.
I read it because I loved the movie “Fearless,” which Raphael Yglesias wrote, and because I’ve been a reader of his son Matthew’s blog for many years. (It was Matt’s blog that informed me of the book’s existence.) Although Mr. Yglesias’ life is one of great accomplishment and privilege, he has managed to craft an autobiographical narrative that bridges enormous gaps of status. I wept repeatedly while reading this book. It is a mature and phenomenally insightful story of marriage, love, and raw human need. I recommend it unreservedly.
I read it because I loved the movie “Fearless,” which Raphael Yglesias wrote, and because I’ve been a reader of his son Matthew’s blog for many years. (It was Matt’s blog that informed me of the book’s existence.) Although Mr. Yglesias’ life is one of great accomplishment and privilege, he has managed to craft an autobiographical narrative that bridges enormous gaps of status. I wept repeatedly while reading this book. It is a mature and phenomenally insightful story of marriage, love, and raw human need. I recommend it unreservedly.
September 28, 2011
This is a hard book to review. It’s not the sort of book I’m typically drawn to, but I heard the novelist interviewed on NPR and my interest was piqued. It’s a fictionalized version of the author’s own life and 30-year marriage with his wife Margaret, who passed away from cancer in 2004. It’s billed as a ‘warts and all’ look at a marriage, and Iglesias has the story jump back and forth from when he first met his wife at age 21, to her last weeks as she dies from cancer. It sort of meets in the middle of their life, which even includes his one-year affair with one of his wife’s friends while their first son was young.
I guess part of the challenge is that I feel like I’m reviewing someone’s life, not a novel. I’m in no place to judge someone else’s marriage. As a novel, I found the places that I felt like I wanted more was actually around the affair and its aftermath. Ultimately he decides to stay with his wife because he feels it’s the right thing to do for his son. And over the course of the book you see how deeply he falls in love with his wife once again, but he details little of what made him fall back in love with his wife. He also makes a point of saying that he never told his wife about the affair before she passed – he meant to, but never had the right moment. You wonder if he did her a kindness or not. I thought the two of them were very real people, who even though they lived a life of privilege had the same quirks, flaws, and beautiful qualities that so many of us have. And ultimately the novel is about the fact that he was a man who spent his whole life trying to build a name for himself as a novelist, but the best thing he ever created in his life was his marriage and his two sons – they were the real purpose and accomplishments of his life, and the best thing he will leave behind. Not his career. And I think that’s a theme that resonates with a lot of us. I don’t feel like you need to be married to appreciate this novel – in essence it is a novel about the relationships (romantic, platonic, or familial) that define your life. And it shows how God forsakenly awful cancer is.
I guess part of the challenge is that I feel like I’m reviewing someone’s life, not a novel. I’m in no place to judge someone else’s marriage. As a novel, I found the places that I felt like I wanted more was actually around the affair and its aftermath. Ultimately he decides to stay with his wife because he feels it’s the right thing to do for his son. And over the course of the book you see how deeply he falls in love with his wife once again, but he details little of what made him fall back in love with his wife. He also makes a point of saying that he never told his wife about the affair before she passed – he meant to, but never had the right moment. You wonder if he did her a kindness or not. I thought the two of them were very real people, who even though they lived a life of privilege had the same quirks, flaws, and beautiful qualities that so many of us have. And ultimately the novel is about the fact that he was a man who spent his whole life trying to build a name for himself as a novelist, but the best thing he ever created in his life was his marriage and his two sons – they were the real purpose and accomplishments of his life, and the best thing he will leave behind. Not his career. And I think that’s a theme that resonates with a lot of us. I don’t feel like you need to be married to appreciate this novel – in essence it is a novel about the relationships (romantic, platonic, or familial) that define your life. And it shows how God forsakenly awful cancer is.
July 30, 2025
Beautifully written, though quite graphically. Terribly sad with moments of utter joy mingled in amid the sadness. Not a book for everyone, this is basically an autobiographical novel based on the author's 29 yr. marriage to his wife, Margaret, who died in her 50's. This is not a spoiler, you know this on page 1. The novel goes back and forth in time from the couple's early days, and throughout the years until Margaret's death. The author is utterly self absorbed, but his love for Margaret, though challenged and questioned over the years, prevails and carries him, and readers, through to the last page. It was a long read, but I am not sorry I read it until the last breath was drawn.
October 4, 2009
What makes a happy marriage? Rafael Yglesias, prodigy novelist--he published his first novel at 16--and screenwriter, turns his considerable talent to answering that question in his new book, entitled appropriately enough, A Happy Marriage. It is no spoiler to say the answer turns out far too complex for a simple review like this one. Nor is the conclusion that along the paths happy marriages take unhappiness and grief are strewn. The book never explicitly says so, but happily married couples already knew it and the book confirms it.
It is impossible to know anything about Yglesias without realizing how heavily autobiographical is A Happy Marriage. All the major touchstones of his real life marriage to Margaret Joskow are mirrored in the fictional characters, Enrique Sabas and Margaret Cohen: their courtship, their ups and downs, even a few not too salacious scenes from their sex life. We can guess he’s probably taken liberties with details; we don’t which.
If you find it hard to imagine a book with a name like A Happy Marriage having enough conflict to hold a modern reader’s attention, I predict a pleasant surprise because it is riveting. At least it was for me, even though by the second chapter I knew the inevitable end. Yglesias first takes us to Enrique and Margaret’s original meeting, next, to knowledge of the cancer that eats away at her body and spirit, all 21 chapters alternating symmetrically between their lifetime together and the final few weeks they have left. In Yglesias’ expert hands, it pulls you breakneck through the novel as you plunge ahead insistently to see what will happen.
One other aspect needs mentioning, for although a novel, it should be read by couples facing cancer. Yglesias’ depiction of the agonizing sense of helplessness a person faces seeing a beloved life partner slowly die, the inability to communicate with friends addled by their embarrassed squeamishness at his plight, the jarring perception of how terminal illness cruelly and sweetly brings you closer, rings painfully true to this reviewer. The cosmopolitan, Jewish intellectual that is Enrique Sabas could not be more culturally distant from this Texas Baptist who also lost had a cherished spouse to cancer. Yet, that his crystalline emotions were my own allowed me the modicum of comfort their universality makes possible.
It is impossible to know anything about Yglesias without realizing how heavily autobiographical is A Happy Marriage. All the major touchstones of his real life marriage to Margaret Joskow are mirrored in the fictional characters, Enrique Sabas and Margaret Cohen: their courtship, their ups and downs, even a few not too salacious scenes from their sex life. We can guess he’s probably taken liberties with details; we don’t which.
If you find it hard to imagine a book with a name like A Happy Marriage having enough conflict to hold a modern reader’s attention, I predict a pleasant surprise because it is riveting. At least it was for me, even though by the second chapter I knew the inevitable end. Yglesias first takes us to Enrique and Margaret’s original meeting, next, to knowledge of the cancer that eats away at her body and spirit, all 21 chapters alternating symmetrically between their lifetime together and the final few weeks they have left. In Yglesias’ expert hands, it pulls you breakneck through the novel as you plunge ahead insistently to see what will happen.
One other aspect needs mentioning, for although a novel, it should be read by couples facing cancer. Yglesias’ depiction of the agonizing sense of helplessness a person faces seeing a beloved life partner slowly die, the inability to communicate with friends addled by their embarrassed squeamishness at his plight, the jarring perception of how terminal illness cruelly and sweetly brings you closer, rings painfully true to this reviewer. The cosmopolitan, Jewish intellectual that is Enrique Sabas could not be more culturally distant from this Texas Baptist who also lost had a cherished spouse to cancer. Yet, that his crystalline emotions were my own allowed me the modicum of comfort their universality makes possible.
July 16, 2009
I really liked this book at its beginning. A couple chapters through I liked the book. The author gave a moving a realistic portrayal of the patient / caregiver relationship. Some of the sentences really moved me. For example: "...he looked paler and weaker by the hour, as if he were bleeding out grief."
I was disappointed in the use of profanity throughout the book. I went back and forth liking and hating Enrique. "..No one could provide what he had forsaken for nearly three years, what cancer had taken from him, and would soon take from him forever: Margaret's attention."
Really? That's a disgusting portrayal of self-centeredness.
And all the unnecessary sexual descriptions and scenes! They made up a good 50 pages of the book (which I skipped). The definition of love on p.234 was horrible. Enrique's feelings of love have nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with physical desire.
By the end, I was so disgusted with the idea that this was titled "A Happy Marriage" and the conclusion of the book; I couldn't give it an "ok" rating because I was so disappointed.
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"At age fifty, it seemed to Enrique that too much of his life had been wasted in a twisted shame of self-pity of what had been the petty frustrations and mistakes of his career. Faced with this, a true misfortune, he was surprised to find himself more often grateful for the allies and resources that he had been given to help him fight on Margaret’s behalf than discourage by an opponent who didn't even know he existed."
“He was fifty years old, and no one he knew could claim the heroic nature of characters in so many contemporary books and moves, least of all Enrique. Writers were liars, it seemed o him, when it came to such things, making black villains of those who disappointed or slighted them and heroes of themselves.”
“Yes, he resented them all for asking him to make them feel better that a part of their world was ending, when the very center of his was melting in his palms, slipping through his fingers, spilling onto the floor. Soon, very soon, only a puddle of his heart would remain.”
I was disappointed in the use of profanity throughout the book. I went back and forth liking and hating Enrique. "..No one could provide what he had forsaken for nearly three years, what cancer had taken from him, and would soon take from him forever: Margaret's attention."
Really? That's a disgusting portrayal of self-centeredness.
And all the unnecessary sexual descriptions and scenes! They made up a good 50 pages of the book (which I skipped). The definition of love on p.234 was horrible. Enrique's feelings of love have nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with physical desire.
By the end, I was so disgusted with the idea that this was titled "A Happy Marriage" and the conclusion of the book; I couldn't give it an "ok" rating because I was so disappointed.
----------------------------------
"At age fifty, it seemed to Enrique that too much of his life had been wasted in a twisted shame of self-pity of what had been the petty frustrations and mistakes of his career. Faced with this, a true misfortune, he was surprised to find himself more often grateful for the allies and resources that he had been given to help him fight on Margaret’s behalf than discourage by an opponent who didn't even know he existed."
“He was fifty years old, and no one he knew could claim the heroic nature of characters in so many contemporary books and moves, least of all Enrique. Writers were liars, it seemed o him, when it came to such things, making black villains of those who disappointed or slighted them and heroes of themselves.”
“Yes, he resented them all for asking him to make them feel better that a part of their world was ending, when the very center of his was melting in his palms, slipping through his fingers, spilling onto the floor. Soon, very soon, only a puddle of his heart would remain.”
August 31, 2009
This was a beautiful book. I had to think about the number of stars. Though I wouldn't quite give it amazing, that being reserved for books like War & Peace, that are really life-changing, I think it deserves more than "really liked it."
This is a painful book, a book that made me cry, but not in an ET sort of way. By the time the wife dies at the end of the novel (not a spoiler; it's clear from the beginning that this is her last week of life) Yglesias has brought us through 30 years of history, 30 years of pain and fear and love, so that the tears are a mixture of pain and joy.
I thought Didion's memoir of her husband's death was a beautiful poem of a book but this is more nuanced. A "happy" marriage, in this case, doesn't mean one without lots of the reverse. But it's definitely a love story.
It's also a hell of an examination of what people in this country are made to go through before they are allowed to die. Yglesias doesn't spare any gruesome details. It's not for the squeamish. But, if you're not squeamish or hypochondriacal and love beautiful language and have the patience for a story that goes back and forth between the beginning and end of the marriage with a couple of crucial in-between scenes, read this book.
This is a painful book, a book that made me cry, but not in an ET sort of way. By the time the wife dies at the end of the novel (not a spoiler; it's clear from the beginning that this is her last week of life) Yglesias has brought us through 30 years of history, 30 years of pain and fear and love, so that the tears are a mixture of pain and joy.
I thought Didion's memoir of her husband's death was a beautiful poem of a book but this is more nuanced. A "happy" marriage, in this case, doesn't mean one without lots of the reverse. But it's definitely a love story.
It's also a hell of an examination of what people in this country are made to go through before they are allowed to die. Yglesias doesn't spare any gruesome details. It's not for the squeamish. But, if you're not squeamish or hypochondriacal and love beautiful language and have the patience for a story that goes back and forth between the beginning and end of the marriage with a couple of crucial in-between scenes, read this book.
July 29, 2010
What I loved best about this book was the structure and the honesty with which the story was told. The whole thing's about a marriage, and Yglesias ricochets back and forth between young and old with each chapter. What kept happening was this: The protagonist's wife is on her deathbed and I am bawling, and it is tender and gut-wrenchingly sad, and suddenly, new chapter! They're young again, just meeting. He is 21 and nervous as hell. He is completely endearing and she is exciting, and there is laughter and tenderness, and BAM! Back on the deathbed. The author eventually reveals a whole marriage in fragments, which feels like looking through peepholes while time-traveling. All the while, the marriage is intertwined every-other-chapter style with the inevitability of his wife's early cancerous demise. I know I've read books with this every-other-chapter approach before (haven't I? Which one? It FEELS like I have), but it hasn't ever felt so effectively employed. And dear god, I ramble on about the approach partly because I just finished reading it, and it was so, so sad. I keep wondering if the author's doing ok.
July 31, 2009
A remarkably absorbing novel. At once a poignant love story, a frank and horrific description of a slow death by cancer, and a disarming admission by the author of his own flaws (Yglesias makes no secret that this novel is autobiographical---I wonder how his sons feel about it).
I think I will be in the world of this story for a while...
I think I will be in the world of this story for a while...
March 12, 2010
I thought this was remarkably bad. We're constantly told what to feel, what to think, sometimes twice in the same sentence, as the author circles back to explain himself, to ensure that the reader knows exactly what he means. I knew I should have stopped on page 20 when I came across these two sentences:
Max pinched the lump of flesh again, painfully, and Enrique twisted away. "Sorry," Max apologized for hurting his father.
We know he's apologizing, he said sorry. Plus, we know what he's apologizing for; it's explained in the previous sentence. This sort of over-explanation is rampant. Particularly when it comes to the specific and exact pronunciation of certain words, which I find really taxing in a novel:
"Sartre," he added, pronouncing the great philosopher's name in perfect French.
It's at least understandable that Yglesias reminds us that Sartre was French, since it serves to explain how the character pronounces his name, but do we really need to be told that he's a "great philosopher"? The scene continues on the next page:
". . . I pronounce 'Sart,' 'Sat—rah.' " [someone said.:]
Margaret fired off one of her truncated laughs, waking up from her reverie with a start. "Like van Gogh," she said, pronouncing it "Van Go." "I can't stand people calling him 'van Gawk-k-k,' " she said, exaggerating the proper guttural Dutch enunciation. "I know it's right, but it sounds disgusting and anyway . . . who cares?"
Indeed. Who cares? This sort of thing isn't interesting; in fact, it's quite dull. And the "she said" echo is distracting. Later:
"A b-blender?" she repeated, making her appalled horror comic by pronouncing the bl of blender as if she were blowing into a tuba.
Again, why the lingering on pronunciation? This is a novel; let the words speak for themselves. Trust yourself as a writer. Or, better, just convey her emotion in gesture. Or with specific dialogue that doesn't need to be explained and analyzed, syllable by syllable. And why repeat the word "blender"? We know what word we're talking about, here. The "bl" tells us this. Not to mention the redundancy of "appalled horror." How about:
"Riiight," he said, elongating the word.
Is that what the triple I infers, that he was elongating the word? With all do respect to the author, that's a comically bad sentence. And there are others: "In this silence of her silent, flowing tears . . . "; "Then he mumbled, 'Oh, I'm sure you're right, Ricky,' he said, the anglicization signaling that Bernard felt . . ." So did he mumble it or did he say it? (Later, his name is Anglicized again, though this second time it's done with a capital A.) Things like this made me wonder if the novel had even been edited. "Maybe he is better at this I am, Enrique concluded . . ." (sic). "And finally [he longed:] to become the phantom man reflected in her velvet eyes." I'm not sure I'm quite clear on what velvet eyes are, but I'm pretty sure they wouldn't reflect anything.
The POV shifts for a sentence or two here and there, where it's convenient, and on page 348 of this 371 page novel, Yglesias decides to introduce the second person voice for a single sentence. Not surprisingly, it's used to explain the way someone's voice sounds:
"Happy New Year to you," he said, and if you had heard his voice, you would have thought him the calmest and most confident young man on earth.
The novel tells the story of the time just before Margaret's death, and also the story of her and Enrique meeting and courting, which latter time line gradually approaches and melds with the present. This is done well; Yglesias neither neglects to provide any sort of transition between chapters (which alternate between the two time lines), nor are his transitions obligatory or clunky. Though much of the present story line is cluttered with irrelevant medical details; Tylenol suppositories, a myriad of acronyms and initialisms, the sort of thing a husband in Enrique's position would surely be inundated with, but maybe not the sort of thing that makes for an interesting read. As the novel goes on, more emotion is revealed and things get going a bit, but the tendency to tell and not show never goes away.
Yglesias' decision to fictionalize these events, when so much of this story is based on his life, also seemed a bit disingenuous. Of course, this is his choice as a writer, though it seemed like the material would have been better served by a memoir. Had Didion already taken this path, thus closing it off as a possibility? The thinly-veiled fiction served to distance me from the story and the characters; so much attention was constantly being called to the artifice of the novel.
I also couldn't stop thinking about how Salter's "Last Night" describes this exact situation with acres more emotion and immediacy, and in the space of fewer than fifteen pages. Yglesias is imprecise with his words throughout, and the novel never really allows the reader to sink into it for all its over-explanation of minutiae and pronunciation. When the chips are down and it's time to finally convey some emotion, which Salter's story has in spades, Yglesias gives us sentences like this:
Nevertheless, the sight of the bare, battered flesh of one's child, albeit a fifty-three-year-old woman, had an effect.
It had an effect, did it? Come on, now. If we're going to say things like that, this entire novel could be reduced to two words: Things happened.
Max pinched the lump of flesh again, painfully, and Enrique twisted away. "Sorry," Max apologized for hurting his father.
We know he's apologizing, he said sorry. Plus, we know what he's apologizing for; it's explained in the previous sentence. This sort of over-explanation is rampant. Particularly when it comes to the specific and exact pronunciation of certain words, which I find really taxing in a novel:
"Sartre," he added, pronouncing the great philosopher's name in perfect French.
It's at least understandable that Yglesias reminds us that Sartre was French, since it serves to explain how the character pronounces his name, but do we really need to be told that he's a "great philosopher"? The scene continues on the next page:
". . . I pronounce 'Sart,' 'Sat—rah.' " [someone said.:]
Margaret fired off one of her truncated laughs, waking up from her reverie with a start. "Like van Gogh," she said, pronouncing it "Van Go." "I can't stand people calling him 'van Gawk-k-k,' " she said, exaggerating the proper guttural Dutch enunciation. "I know it's right, but it sounds disgusting and anyway . . . who cares?"
Indeed. Who cares? This sort of thing isn't interesting; in fact, it's quite dull. And the "she said" echo is distracting. Later:
"A b-blender?" she repeated, making her appalled horror comic by pronouncing the bl of blender as if she were blowing into a tuba.
Again, why the lingering on pronunciation? This is a novel; let the words speak for themselves. Trust yourself as a writer. Or, better, just convey her emotion in gesture. Or with specific dialogue that doesn't need to be explained and analyzed, syllable by syllable. And why repeat the word "blender"? We know what word we're talking about, here. The "bl" tells us this. Not to mention the redundancy of "appalled horror." How about:
"Riiight," he said, elongating the word.
Is that what the triple I infers, that he was elongating the word? With all do respect to the author, that's a comically bad sentence. And there are others: "In this silence of her silent, flowing tears . . . "; "Then he mumbled, 'Oh, I'm sure you're right, Ricky,' he said, the anglicization signaling that Bernard felt . . ." So did he mumble it or did he say it? (Later, his name is Anglicized again, though this second time it's done with a capital A.) Things like this made me wonder if the novel had even been edited. "Maybe he is better at this I am, Enrique concluded . . ." (sic). "And finally [he longed:] to become the phantom man reflected in her velvet eyes." I'm not sure I'm quite clear on what velvet eyes are, but I'm pretty sure they wouldn't reflect anything.
The POV shifts for a sentence or two here and there, where it's convenient, and on page 348 of this 371 page novel, Yglesias decides to introduce the second person voice for a single sentence. Not surprisingly, it's used to explain the way someone's voice sounds:
"Happy New Year to you," he said, and if you had heard his voice, you would have thought him the calmest and most confident young man on earth.
The novel tells the story of the time just before Margaret's death, and also the story of her and Enrique meeting and courting, which latter time line gradually approaches and melds with the present. This is done well; Yglesias neither neglects to provide any sort of transition between chapters (which alternate between the two time lines), nor are his transitions obligatory or clunky. Though much of the present story line is cluttered with irrelevant medical details; Tylenol suppositories, a myriad of acronyms and initialisms, the sort of thing a husband in Enrique's position would surely be inundated with, but maybe not the sort of thing that makes for an interesting read. As the novel goes on, more emotion is revealed and things get going a bit, but the tendency to tell and not show never goes away.
Yglesias' decision to fictionalize these events, when so much of this story is based on his life, also seemed a bit disingenuous. Of course, this is his choice as a writer, though it seemed like the material would have been better served by a memoir. Had Didion already taken this path, thus closing it off as a possibility? The thinly-veiled fiction served to distance me from the story and the characters; so much attention was constantly being called to the artifice of the novel.
I also couldn't stop thinking about how Salter's "Last Night" describes this exact situation with acres more emotion and immediacy, and in the space of fewer than fifteen pages. Yglesias is imprecise with his words throughout, and the novel never really allows the reader to sink into it for all its over-explanation of minutiae and pronunciation. When the chips are down and it's time to finally convey some emotion, which Salter's story has in spades, Yglesias gives us sentences like this:
Nevertheless, the sight of the bare, battered flesh of one's child, albeit a fifty-three-year-old woman, had an effect.
It had an effect, did it? Come on, now. If we're going to say things like that, this entire novel could be reduced to two words: Things happened.
April 25, 2010
I was torn between allotting this book stars. Four or five. In the end, as terrific as this book is, it is not amazing and I have learned to moderate my “starring” on goodreads. Five stars should be awarded to works that are truly life altering; The Death of Ivan Ilych comes to mind, as does Crime and Punishment, for example.
This is a gorgeous book. It is written for the thoughtful reader. Some reviewers call it sad. Why? Because it is so brutally honest? Since when is a good hard look at what constitutes reality sad? This book’s title is “A Happy Marriage” not “A Perfect Marriage.” The author, Rafael Yglesias, is a writer and writers are very precise in their use of language. I am a writer – although not of fiction – and know that words are not chosen haphazardly. Each is chosen precisely to communicate accurately what one wishes to communicate. A word is more than just a word. In the naming of this book, A Happy Marriage, Yglesias wants us to recognize that this story is not about a perfect marriage.
As Abraham Verghese has observed so profoundly in “Cutting for Stone”: “The key to your happiness is to...own who you are, own how you look, own your family, own the talents you have, and own the ones you don't. [Otherwise:] you'll die searching, you'll die bitter, always feeling you were promised more. Not only our actions, but also our omissions, become our destiny." Given that this novel chronicles Ygesias’ own relationship with his wife, her family, their meeting, and her death, he most certainly has searched for and found happiness by way of “owning.” Not perfection – which does not exist -- but happiness, with all its warts, vagaries, joys and sorrows.
He tells us in his beautifully crafted prose about his in laws: “Dorothy and Leonard – like his parents for him – were not all Margaret wished they could be, but they had found a way to send the aid she required across the embargoed borders of their hearts.” How beautiful and what an powerful image! Imagine, parents that are not perfect, but good, and struggling with their own set of hopes, expectations, and disappointments.
In the telling of his wife’s dying and juxtaposing it with their meeting, he compellingly explores that place between a hope for perfection, and an acceptance and appreciation of what is. In the chapters recounting their courtship, he tells us of his insecurities, his lust, his dreams; and he does so in a way that so much captures a late adolescent, early adult male point of view that it is nothing short of masterful. (I’m not a male, but my husband concurs with this opinion, and he is). In talking about his disappointment that in the early years of their marriage, he tells us that his needs were not uppermost in Margaret’s mind. His needs competed with her career at Newsweek and her role as a young mother; and he is brutal in bringing to light his self absorption which resulted in an affair with Sally. It is clear that during this straying he tried to re-capture what he thought that he had lost with Margaret. The transparency of this telling is cathartic, but also didactic, in that he imparts to us that he learned a valuable lesson from his dalliance – again – that there is no perfect marriage and that the divergence of what we imagine and what we achieve is dependent on our choices alone.
Some will find the graphic descriptions of Margaret’s death a bit much. If you are squeamish, either get over it or don’t read it. I am in the health business, so it did not bother me. This is reality. Dying is not a pretty business, especially in the U.S. where the idea of death and dying is anathema to many in the medical community, and no effort at degradation of the human body is spared in an attempt to prolong life beyond any rationality. But read this folks, if for no other reason than it might spur you to go out and have a talk with your family as to how you want your dying to happen.
While she is dying, Yglesias comes to a greater appreciation of Margaret, and she comes to a better appreciation of him, the depth of his commitment to her, and the strength of her feelings for him.
Friends and family want to sanctify him for taking such good care of Margaret in the face of tubes, bodily fluids and raw suffering. He will have none of it. What he wants them, and us, to understand is that a body is merely a container for food, waste, and pain and that the person him or herself animates that body. This is why he can go about the chores of cleaning up Margaret and look beyond a body, which in his youth was something that he lusted after beyond all reason. Margaret is not her body. He has come to that wisdom.
In the telling of his courtship, marriage, and wife’s death I wonder whether he ever answered what I believe was his question: What makes a happy marriage? I don’t think he ever unlocked that particular mystery but he does leave it to us to ponder and decide for ourselves. The beauty of wonderful fiction, expertly written is that it leaves such questions open, and is respectful enough to understand that we will answer them ourselves and in our own way.
This is a gorgeous book. It is written for the thoughtful reader. Some reviewers call it sad. Why? Because it is so brutally honest? Since when is a good hard look at what constitutes reality sad? This book’s title is “A Happy Marriage” not “A Perfect Marriage.” The author, Rafael Yglesias, is a writer and writers are very precise in their use of language. I am a writer – although not of fiction – and know that words are not chosen haphazardly. Each is chosen precisely to communicate accurately what one wishes to communicate. A word is more than just a word. In the naming of this book, A Happy Marriage, Yglesias wants us to recognize that this story is not about a perfect marriage.
As Abraham Verghese has observed so profoundly in “Cutting for Stone”: “The key to your happiness is to...own who you are, own how you look, own your family, own the talents you have, and own the ones you don't. [Otherwise:] you'll die searching, you'll die bitter, always feeling you were promised more. Not only our actions, but also our omissions, become our destiny." Given that this novel chronicles Ygesias’ own relationship with his wife, her family, their meeting, and her death, he most certainly has searched for and found happiness by way of “owning.” Not perfection – which does not exist -- but happiness, with all its warts, vagaries, joys and sorrows.
He tells us in his beautifully crafted prose about his in laws: “Dorothy and Leonard – like his parents for him – were not all Margaret wished they could be, but they had found a way to send the aid she required across the embargoed borders of their hearts.” How beautiful and what an powerful image! Imagine, parents that are not perfect, but good, and struggling with their own set of hopes, expectations, and disappointments.
In the telling of his wife’s dying and juxtaposing it with their meeting, he compellingly explores that place between a hope for perfection, and an acceptance and appreciation of what is. In the chapters recounting their courtship, he tells us of his insecurities, his lust, his dreams; and he does so in a way that so much captures a late adolescent, early adult male point of view that it is nothing short of masterful. (I’m not a male, but my husband concurs with this opinion, and he is). In talking about his disappointment that in the early years of their marriage, he tells us that his needs were not uppermost in Margaret’s mind. His needs competed with her career at Newsweek and her role as a young mother; and he is brutal in bringing to light his self absorption which resulted in an affair with Sally. It is clear that during this straying he tried to re-capture what he thought that he had lost with Margaret. The transparency of this telling is cathartic, but also didactic, in that he imparts to us that he learned a valuable lesson from his dalliance – again – that there is no perfect marriage and that the divergence of what we imagine and what we achieve is dependent on our choices alone.
Some will find the graphic descriptions of Margaret’s death a bit much. If you are squeamish, either get over it or don’t read it. I am in the health business, so it did not bother me. This is reality. Dying is not a pretty business, especially in the U.S. where the idea of death and dying is anathema to many in the medical community, and no effort at degradation of the human body is spared in an attempt to prolong life beyond any rationality. But read this folks, if for no other reason than it might spur you to go out and have a talk with your family as to how you want your dying to happen.
While she is dying, Yglesias comes to a greater appreciation of Margaret, and she comes to a better appreciation of him, the depth of his commitment to her, and the strength of her feelings for him.
Friends and family want to sanctify him for taking such good care of Margaret in the face of tubes, bodily fluids and raw suffering. He will have none of it. What he wants them, and us, to understand is that a body is merely a container for food, waste, and pain and that the person him or herself animates that body. This is why he can go about the chores of cleaning up Margaret and look beyond a body, which in his youth was something that he lusted after beyond all reason. Margaret is not her body. He has come to that wisdom.
In the telling of his courtship, marriage, and wife’s death I wonder whether he ever answered what I believe was his question: What makes a happy marriage? I don’t think he ever unlocked that particular mystery but he does leave it to us to ponder and decide for ourselves. The beauty of wonderful fiction, expertly written is that it leaves such questions open, and is respectful enough to understand that we will answer them ourselves and in our own way.
July 10, 2009
4.5/5 stars
The story A Happy Marriage begins in the 1970's when Enrique Sabas meets Margaret Cohen, who becomes his future wife. The two come from different backgrounds, but despite that, there is an immediate attraction.
Told in alternating chapters, it is a poignant story. It covers their dating tears, their marriage and other import events in their lives, which includes touching and compassionate detail about Margaret's battle with cancer, her ultimate demise and her husband's devotion to her throughout.
It was not a perfect marriage, there were disappointments and financial challenges along the way, but it was portrayed as a "happy Marriage" which seemed to grow deeper when the reality set in for Enrique that her would indeed be losing his wife to this dreaded disease.
Throughout the novel there was this amazing use of foreshadowing which I found very effective. The characters were real, and developed in a way that will stay with me for a long time to come. I found it particularly touching when Enrique was making final arrangements for Margaret's death, and although there were many passages I had to stop and reread a second time, this one left me teary eyed, (as it reminded me of something my mother did when I cared for her as she was dying).......
"She wants to go in oblivious peace, he thought, looking down at the profile that appeared on the sheet's edge. That morning an alert Margaret had announced that she completed her last chore, choosing her burial clothes. He understood now that when she has asked to go to her grave wearing the earrings he bought her for her birthday, she meant that to be her goodbye to him, her last words of approval and gratitude. She had spoken and he did not answer."
A deep, passionate love story of a marriage through sickness and in health. Although this one is a work of fiction, the story was inspired by the author's relationship with his wife Margaret who passed away in 2004. The author was a high school drop out who published his first novel in 1972 at the age of 17. He is the author of nine books. RECOMMENDED
The story A Happy Marriage begins in the 1970's when Enrique Sabas meets Margaret Cohen, who becomes his future wife. The two come from different backgrounds, but despite that, there is an immediate attraction.
Told in alternating chapters, it is a poignant story. It covers their dating tears, their marriage and other import events in their lives, which includes touching and compassionate detail about Margaret's battle with cancer, her ultimate demise and her husband's devotion to her throughout.
It was not a perfect marriage, there were disappointments and financial challenges along the way, but it was portrayed as a "happy Marriage" which seemed to grow deeper when the reality set in for Enrique that her would indeed be losing his wife to this dreaded disease.
Throughout the novel there was this amazing use of foreshadowing which I found very effective. The characters were real, and developed in a way that will stay with me for a long time to come. I found it particularly touching when Enrique was making final arrangements for Margaret's death, and although there were many passages I had to stop and reread a second time, this one left me teary eyed, (as it reminded me of something my mother did when I cared for her as she was dying).......
"She wants to go in oblivious peace, he thought, looking down at the profile that appeared on the sheet's edge. That morning an alert Margaret had announced that she completed her last chore, choosing her burial clothes. He understood now that when she has asked to go to her grave wearing the earrings he bought her for her birthday, she meant that to be her goodbye to him, her last words of approval and gratitude. She had spoken and he did not answer."
A deep, passionate love story of a marriage through sickness and in health. Although this one is a work of fiction, the story was inspired by the author's relationship with his wife Margaret who passed away in 2004. The author was a high school drop out who published his first novel in 1972 at the age of 17. He is the author of nine books. RECOMMENDED
October 13, 2009
I had high hopes for this book after I heard an interview with the author and even (foolishly) gave a copy of it to my father as it was portrayed as a husband and wife’s struggle with her ending years and her final days as she dies of cancer.
The title is misleading, I think, as the book largely alternates between the first year of Enrique’s marriage to Margaret (Yeglesias’s wife real name) and the last several years of their life together. But while the writing is often rich, especially about the two ends of their marriage, it never seems to answer the question implied in the title.
Or if it did, I missed it.
It’s a curious book in many ways. It’s presented as a novel, tho it is largely taken from the author’s experience with his own marriage. Why he chose to present this in novel form is not entirely clear; tho I suspect he was not really ready or able to put himself and his marriage on stage, so to speak.
Yet that is what he does. Mostly writing about himself, Yeglesias does present his struggle with her end of life as well as his unfaithfulness to her in the middle years of their marriage.
Most reviews have been quite positive about "A Happy Marriage," and I would be curious to know what any of you think about the book.
The title is misleading, I think, as the book largely alternates between the first year of Enrique’s marriage to Margaret (Yeglesias’s wife real name) and the last several years of their life together. But while the writing is often rich, especially about the two ends of their marriage, it never seems to answer the question implied in the title.
Or if it did, I missed it.
It’s a curious book in many ways. It’s presented as a novel, tho it is largely taken from the author’s experience with his own marriage. Why he chose to present this in novel form is not entirely clear; tho I suspect he was not really ready or able to put himself and his marriage on stage, so to speak.
Yet that is what he does. Mostly writing about himself, Yeglesias does present his struggle with her end of life as well as his unfaithfulness to her in the middle years of their marriage.
Most reviews have been quite positive about "A Happy Marriage," and I would be curious to know what any of you think about the book.
November 25, 2012
Yglesias takes us through the daily struggles of hospice care, the physical, mental and emotional aspects of each moment. Illness is not only an issue for the patient, the one who is ill, but it is a family issue in every sense of the word.
Not only was Enrique caring for his wife, but also caring and trying to comfort his sons, and everyone else around him. The novel is an excellent study on family dynamics during the course of incurable illness. It is a study on marriage, love and its endurance, during an age when it takes little for marriages to fall apart.
A Happy Marriage is not only a story of love, but one of loss and family dynamics during the most difficult of times that a family can endure. It is a novel written masterfully, with insight, determination and dedication.
Rafael Yglesias is brilliant in telling the story of Enrique and Margaret. Their story is his story, and he tells it with deep respect, grace, forthrightness, and with everlasting love. A Happy Marriage is a tribute to the love that Rafael Yglesias and Margaret shared, a way of honoring her memory, and her short-lived lifespan. It is an tribute to their marriage, their “happy marriage”. I highly recommend it to everyone.
Not only was Enrique caring for his wife, but also caring and trying to comfort his sons, and everyone else around him. The novel is an excellent study on family dynamics during the course of incurable illness. It is a study on marriage, love and its endurance, during an age when it takes little for marriages to fall apart.
A Happy Marriage is not only a story of love, but one of loss and family dynamics during the most difficult of times that a family can endure. It is a novel written masterfully, with insight, determination and dedication.
Rafael Yglesias is brilliant in telling the story of Enrique and Margaret. Their story is his story, and he tells it with deep respect, grace, forthrightness, and with everlasting love. A Happy Marriage is a tribute to the love that Rafael Yglesias and Margaret shared, a way of honoring her memory, and her short-lived lifespan. It is an tribute to their marriage, their “happy marriage”. I highly recommend it to everyone.
June 3, 2013
I have to admit that my gauged enjoyment of this book was heavily influenced by the fact that my cat snuggled me the last fifteen minutes I spent finishing it. The characters were ostensibly Yglesias himself and his sick wife as she confronted her death-- and this is by no means a spoiler, as it is introduced in the opening chapters-- but these 'real' characters weren't crafted well enough for me to even care. The story is in no way about a happy marriage as the title suggests and yet, Yglesias, confronting such inherently tragic subject matter, couldn't even summon a solitary tear from me. Perhaps I would have appreciated the story and the characters would have felt more personal if this biographical work weren't masquerading as fiction.
That said, Yglesias does make some astute and intelligent cultural, political, artistic, and pop-cultural references and even a few insightful remarks on the nature of human mortality and relationships. The story certainly didn't drag for me and I must say I even enjoyed reading it. It's just that cancer needs to make you cry (especially since I AM a CRIER!).
One thing that DID ALMOST make me cry was the appearance of the word 'bourgeois' at least once in every single chapter, without fail, and in earnest.
That said, Yglesias does make some astute and intelligent cultural, political, artistic, and pop-cultural references and even a few insightful remarks on the nature of human mortality and relationships. The story certainly didn't drag for me and I must say I even enjoyed reading it. It's just that cancer needs to make you cry (especially since I AM a CRIER!).
One thing that DID ALMOST make me cry was the appearance of the word 'bourgeois' at least once in every single chapter, without fail, and in earnest.
June 25, 2018
Lots of thoughts and thoughts and more thoughts about the very beginning and very end of a 30 year marriage. Way too much head space without any action and a failure to get the reader emotionally involved with the characters. We know the unlikable characters will get together and that Margaret will die in the end. There is too much repetition with the point that the main character dropped out of school to write a novel and that Margaret has blue eyes.
Reading about the author it seems as this novel is quite biographical and must have been healing to write. However it is much too long with Enrique's thoughts without much of any plot. Luckily the novel is well written so it is fluid enough to read through.
Reading about the author it seems as this novel is quite biographical and must have been healing to write. However it is much too long with Enrique's thoughts without much of any plot. Luckily the novel is well written so it is fluid enough to read through.
January 11, 2013
"Un matrimonio feliz" es una historia de amor, de lucha contra una enfermedad terminal y de reconciliación con la vida y el destino de los hombres. Una historia, que sin caer en sentimentalismos, ofrece una radiografía en colores transparentes de las reacciones ante el dolor y la pérdida. Un libro que, pese al escepticismo racional del lector, se lee con la voracidad de quien espera descubrir que la realidad no siempre supera la ficción y todavía se puede asistir a un final feliz.
July 29, 2025
Enrique meets Margaret in 1975 in New York. He's immediately mesmerized by her, and for some reason she seems to find him quite alright too. Fast forward: Margaret and Enrique have been married for 29 years, they have two sons, and Margaret is dying a slow, difficult death from cancer.
Going back and forth between the beginning and the end of their relationship, with some flashbacks to the time in between, Rafael Yglesias tells the story of a marriage that was actually his own – the novel is autobiographical.
First I really couldn't get into the story at all, it dragged on and focused too much on certain details that I didn't find very relevant or entertaining. E.g. Enrique's disagreeable friend Bernard plays a central role at the beginning, only to be mentioned maybe once or twice in the rest of the book.
By the second half/last third of the book the speed increases, and that's when I felt the urge to want to keep on reading. When I finally came to the last two pages I couldn't help but burst into tears. They disappeared very quickly again though, and it's for the following reason which is typical for this book:
Sad, tragic events and moments of misery, suffering and impeding death are mixed with sexual desire, horny descriptions of Margaret's female body and Enrique's hard (or not-so-hard) penis. First this change of mood and tone happens every chapter, but towards the end it happens every few paragraphs, in one and the same chapter.
And this is exactly why I can't give this book more than 3 stars. The way the author mixes these two topics, these two very different moods, is just a bit too overdone for my taste. I understand anyone who wants to keep a story authentic, to make it raw and even a little provocative, but to go from reading about a dying woman's diarrhea* to a young man's hard penis is just not my kind of style. And, judging by what I just read, I highly doubt the author himself was fantasizing about sex in the last days his dying wife spent on this earth. So why put the reader through it?
(*In general I'd like to mention that this book contains a lot of details about sickness and disease and all that comes with it. From pipes in your stomach to the color of bile acid in a bag that has to be emptied every two hours, it's all there. This is not a happy book, and it sure doesn't hold back with the description of how horribly tough terminal illness can be.)
The repeated descriptions of his sexual longing and of Margaret's young, white, slim body (ears, hips, wrists, etc. etc.) are one thing that just put me off. Enrique's behavior is the next. Especially as a 21-year-old he is extremely insecure and dramatic, but often in an offensive/attacking way, and even later in life he is quite moody. This becomes apparent when he's convinced he doesn't love Margaret anymore, cheats on her and wants to divorce her. Only in the passages where they are both seeing a couples' therapist you get to hear a little bit of Margaret's side of the story, and my God did I feel (and root) for her. Quite depressing.
What becomes clear until the very end is that Enrique has never learned to express himself properly and to communicate successfully. Which I find sad.
Is this a happy marriage? You tell me. The author seems to think so. I surely appreciate how naturally conflicting thoughts and feelings were presented, and the unadorned description of horrible situations. I can see beauty in all the chaos, in the battles both of them fought during those 29 years. I understand (or I think I do) the underlying conclusion about what love is, or can be, and the experience and importance of sharing a life together. In this way I found the book quite beautiful.
3 ⭐
Going back and forth between the beginning and the end of their relationship, with some flashbacks to the time in between, Rafael Yglesias tells the story of a marriage that was actually his own – the novel is autobiographical.
First I really couldn't get into the story at all, it dragged on and focused too much on certain details that I didn't find very relevant or entertaining. E.g. Enrique's disagreeable friend Bernard plays a central role at the beginning, only to be mentioned maybe once or twice in the rest of the book.
By the second half/last third of the book the speed increases, and that's when I felt the urge to want to keep on reading. When I finally came to the last two pages I couldn't help but burst into tears. They disappeared very quickly again though, and it's for the following reason which is typical for this book:
Sad, tragic events and moments of misery, suffering and impeding death are mixed with sexual desire, horny descriptions of Margaret's female body and Enrique's hard (or not-so-hard) penis. First this change of mood and tone happens every chapter, but towards the end it happens every few paragraphs, in one and the same chapter.
And this is exactly why I can't give this book more than 3 stars. The way the author mixes these two topics, these two very different moods, is just a bit too overdone for my taste. I understand anyone who wants to keep a story authentic, to make it raw and even a little provocative, but to go from reading about a dying woman's diarrhea* to a young man's hard penis is just not my kind of style. And, judging by what I just read, I highly doubt the author himself was fantasizing about sex in the last days his dying wife spent on this earth. So why put the reader through it?
(*In general I'd like to mention that this book contains a lot of details about sickness and disease and all that comes with it. From pipes in your stomach to the color of bile acid in a bag that has to be emptied every two hours, it's all there. This is not a happy book, and it sure doesn't hold back with the description of how horribly tough terminal illness can be.)
The repeated descriptions of his sexual longing and of Margaret's young, white, slim body (ears, hips, wrists, etc. etc.) are one thing that just put me off. Enrique's behavior is the next. Especially as a 21-year-old he is extremely insecure and dramatic, but often in an offensive/attacking way, and even later in life he is quite moody. This becomes apparent when he's convinced he doesn't love Margaret anymore, cheats on her and wants to divorce her. Only in the passages where they are both seeing a couples' therapist you get to hear a little bit of Margaret's side of the story, and my God did I feel (and root) for her. Quite depressing.
What becomes clear until the very end is that Enrique has never learned to express himself properly and to communicate successfully. Which I find sad.
Is this a happy marriage? You tell me. The author seems to think so. I surely appreciate how naturally conflicting thoughts and feelings were presented, and the unadorned description of horrible situations. I can see beauty in all the chaos, in the battles both of them fought during those 29 years. I understand (or I think I do) the underlying conclusion about what love is, or can be, and the experience and importance of sharing a life together. In this way I found the book quite beautiful.
3 ⭐
December 7, 2020
This book was not great in my opinion. I disliked most of the characters and the fact that they were based on real people made it even worse. Read the synopsis for a decent overview of the story. I felt no sympathy for the husband, Enrique and only sadness for Margaret that she had strapped herself to a life with Enrique. He is an arrogant, selfish nincompoop. And, Margaret, though not without her own personality ugliness, dies way too young and probably doesn't really experience life satisfaction.
A grueling read that alternates chapters between Enrique and Margaret's courtship and marriage to their struggles at the end of Margaret's life. The chapters where we see them struggle as a couple with Margaret's illness and her end of life wishes were the most compelling even though they are not what we want to read. These chapters are real.
Most reviewers thought highly of the book. It was just not for me. I only finished it because I bought the hardcover.
A grueling read that alternates chapters between Enrique and Margaret's courtship and marriage to their struggles at the end of Margaret's life. The chapters where we see them struggle as a couple with Margaret's illness and her end of life wishes were the most compelling even though they are not what we want to read. These chapters are real.
Most reviewers thought highly of the book. It was just not for me. I only finished it because I bought the hardcover.
June 11, 2018
Really a 3.5. I’m really torn up about this book, maybe it deserves higher because of the thoughts and emotions it brought up. I don’t know, because I found it really sad. It was pretty well written, a few awkward sentences that I had to read and re-read because they didn’t flow. I think it was pretty high on the realistic fiction scale. But overall just left me feeling SAD. Sometimes sad topics can bring you a sense of hope in the end. This one just didn’t.
August 29, 2024
Honest, heart-warming, and heart-breaking, all at the same time. I liked the two timelines that the author followed and how he captured the ups and downs of sharing a life with another person.
October 6, 2025
Tengo el corazón espachurrado.
Se me han retorcido los adentros.
Fuertemente.
Con esta historia sobre la que he pasado.
Pisando fuerte y abrazada a la tristeza.
Y es que este matrimonio.
Feliz.
Está colmado de un para siempre.
Y de un final.
Tremendo.
Que vamos acompañando.
Con todos lujo de detalles.
Del dolor más profundo.
El de decir adiós.
Y no poder y no querer y no no no.
Porque Enrique y Margaret.
Se conocieron despacito.
Pero con esa ansia de amarse.
Y de tocarse y reírse y divertirse.
Con aspavientos y sin ellos.
Y así. Un compromiso.
Y un felices para siempre y dos hijos.
Y así también, con el tiempo.
Una mentira que se enreda para desenredarse.
Un secreto.
El ayer.
Y el hoy el aquí y el ahora.
Ella se irá haciendo.
Con la fuerza y el horror de la enfermedad. Un prepararse para decir adiós.
Un punto y final triste y doloroso y tremebundo.
Cuidarla es quererla como nunca.
Y no saber dejarla ir.
Hasta que.
Siempre serán un para siempre.
Qué dura.
Qué triste.
Qué bonita.
Se me han retorcido los adentros.
Fuertemente.
Con esta historia sobre la que he pasado.
Pisando fuerte y abrazada a la tristeza.
Y es que este matrimonio.
Feliz.
Está colmado de un para siempre.
Y de un final.
Tremendo.
Que vamos acompañando.
Con todos lujo de detalles.
Del dolor más profundo.
El de decir adiós.
Y no poder y no querer y no no no.
Porque Enrique y Margaret.
Se conocieron despacito.
Pero con esa ansia de amarse.
Y de tocarse y reírse y divertirse.
Con aspavientos y sin ellos.
Y así. Un compromiso.
Y un felices para siempre y dos hijos.
Y así también, con el tiempo.
Una mentira que se enreda para desenredarse.
Un secreto.
El ayer.
Y el hoy el aquí y el ahora.
Ella se irá haciendo.
Con la fuerza y el horror de la enfermedad. Un prepararse para decir adiós.
Un punto y final triste y doloroso y tremebundo.
Cuidarla es quererla como nunca.
Y no saber dejarla ir.
Hasta que.
Siempre serán un para siempre.
Qué dura.
Qué triste.
Qué bonita.
July 9, 2009
A Happy Marriage, at many times, is the story of anything but a Happy Marriage. The novel is about Enrique Sabas, a struggling half-Jewish, half-Latino writer living in New York City and Margaret Cohen, his ivy league educated wife. The novel opens in 1975 with Enrique meeting Margaret. He immediately is attracted to Margaret and in alternating chapters, the novel tells the story of how Enrique and Margaret became a couple. Woven in the novel is the story of Margaret's battle with cancer, told retrosepctively as she prepares to die, having exhausted all medical options. Throughout the novel, Enrique reflects on his marriage. Enrique and Margaret's marriage is a reminder that often, the only difference between marriages that last 25 years and those that don't is that the latter marriages ended in divorce.
The novel is poignant, the writing descriptive. There isn't a lot of action - the plot centering on Enrique's feelings about Margaret the girl, Margaret his wife, and the stresses of supporting his family as a writer. Enrique is often whiny, Margaret demanding. Both are self-absorbed and rather unlikeable at times. The novel is very realistic and unapologetic about both Enrique's emotions during his 29 year relationship with Margaret and his feelings as he watches Margaret's often disgusting degeneration at the end of her life. The novel does not spare graphic details of death-by-cancer. Nor does it spare Enrique's seemingly endless whining and self-pity as he transforms into the devoted husband to his dying wife.
Overall this is a 3 star novel. For some reason it didn't grab me. I found "the end" to be overly drawn out. Enrique and Margaret were a little too real, too selfish, and too disappointing. Not only was the description of cancer depressing, so too was the description of marriage itself. Finally, some of Enrique's descriptions of his in-laws border on the antisemitic. In essence, this is a good novel because the writing is good, but it isn't really a good story.
(AMAZON VINE)
The novel is poignant, the writing descriptive. There isn't a lot of action - the plot centering on Enrique's feelings about Margaret the girl, Margaret his wife, and the stresses of supporting his family as a writer. Enrique is often whiny, Margaret demanding. Both are self-absorbed and rather unlikeable at times. The novel is very realistic and unapologetic about both Enrique's emotions during his 29 year relationship with Margaret and his feelings as he watches Margaret's often disgusting degeneration at the end of her life. The novel does not spare graphic details of death-by-cancer. Nor does it spare Enrique's seemingly endless whining and self-pity as he transforms into the devoted husband to his dying wife.
Overall this is a 3 star novel. For some reason it didn't grab me. I found "the end" to be overly drawn out. Enrique and Margaret were a little too real, too selfish, and too disappointing. Not only was the description of cancer depressing, so too was the description of marriage itself. Finally, some of Enrique's descriptions of his in-laws border on the antisemitic. In essence, this is a good novel because the writing is good, but it isn't really a good story.
(AMAZON VINE)
June 25, 2016
In this autobiographical novel, Yglesias explores a happy, if far from perfect, marriage primarily through the eyes of the husband, Enrique Sabas, as he faces his wife Margaret’s death. The novel opens with the 21-year-old Enrique being introduced to the two-or-three-years-older Margaret through a mutual friend, Bernard. Enrique is smitten, but knows this lovely creature is out of his league. He’s a high-school dropout; she studied at Cornell. The fact that he has already published two or three novels and lives on the money he’s earned as a writer does nothing to calm his fears and self-doubt. Bernard was right when he refused to introduce them before: Margaret is
way
out of Enrique’s league. The next chapter flies forward thirty years to his wife’s hospital bed, where Enrique watches Margaret in a drug-induced sleep while he ponders how he will get the courage to negotiate the terms of her death, fighting against doctors, her parents, and friends, to grant this woman he loves one final wish – to die at home.
The novel alternates with each chapter between the final two weeks of Margaret’s life and the early days of their courtship and marriage. It’s a testament to Yglesias’s skill as a writer that the reader (obviously already knowing the marriage will happen and last) is just as anxious as Enrique that Margaret like him, feels his nervousness as he dallies so as not to arrive too early to dinner, worries whether his own failings and mistakes will cause irreparable harm to their relationship. There were times I wanted to throttle him; there were times I wanted to console him. And Margaret is not without faults, though I think Yglesias allowed Enrique to dwell on her faults too much. A word of warning to the reader who is squeamish: Yglesias writes with brutal honesty about the horrors and indignities of a major illness. The final chapter hurls the reader back and forth between Margaret’s final moments and the beginnings of their relationship. I was moved to tears, at the same time my heart swelled with love and joy.
The novel alternates with each chapter between the final two weeks of Margaret’s life and the early days of their courtship and marriage. It’s a testament to Yglesias’s skill as a writer that the reader (obviously already knowing the marriage will happen and last) is just as anxious as Enrique that Margaret like him, feels his nervousness as he dallies so as not to arrive too early to dinner, worries whether his own failings and mistakes will cause irreparable harm to their relationship. There were times I wanted to throttle him; there were times I wanted to console him. And Margaret is not without faults, though I think Yglesias allowed Enrique to dwell on her faults too much. A word of warning to the reader who is squeamish: Yglesias writes with brutal honesty about the horrors and indignities of a major illness. The final chapter hurls the reader back and forth between Margaret’s final moments and the beginnings of their relationship. I was moved to tears, at the same time my heart swelled with love and joy.
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