Marrying It All

Marrying It All by Diana Button is a true first novel — a coming out, an awakening — a novel set in the new Luxembourg, the Luxembourg that we are collectively living in, this 999-square-mile bit of turf, this small, precious nation. All of us, native and foreigner alike, are only now waking up to it. Yes, Diana Button’s Marrying It All is a wake-up call. The novel leaves an afterglow. I am reminded of those lines from the poet Theodore Roethke that go, “We wake to sleep and take our waking slow.”

The central character in Marrying It All is Sabina Waldsmere, a housewife who is waking up to her own inner creativity, discovering her own inner resources. By the end of the novel, she feels her fate lies in writing. She faces that fate without fear, for she must go where she has to go.

This journey of self-discovery is set against a backdrop of Luxembourg, and that backdrop aids her to discover herself: the forests, the Pétrusse Valley, the jagged cliffs, the Casemates and their underground tunnels, and especially the suicide-provoking Red Bridge of Luxembourg — all faithfully described. We recognise these landmarks. Furthermore, these landmarks are props in Sabina’s journey of self-enlightenment that, in fact, do more than just point her way: they direct and facilitate her transformation from an unhappy to a fulfilled human being.

Without the Red Bridge tempting me, shouting out warnings to me, where and who would I be? I can almost hear what I imagine to be Sabina Waldsmere’s most subconscious thoughts — if they were shouted out loud.

By the end of the novel, she and her family have earned the title of true Luxembourgers — but at what a price. The great shock for these fictional characters, as well as for all the real ones whom they represent who work here for international or European institutions, is that — despite their comparative wealth and ease of lifestyle, despite the bushels of money they earn and their state-of-the-art architected houses and their CD licence plate numbers — they still have had to spend many painful years adjusting to a new home. They still have had to develop a new persona, a new sense of self that, like expensive handcrafted furniture, matches their surroundings. To return again to dear Theodore Roethke: these new Luxembourgers have had to learn by going where they have to go.

But all is not serious in Button’s novel — far from it. Perhaps a bit more philosophy would have added to the novel, in fact, but Button has preferred to reflect the healthy British fear of philosophy. This is a humorous novel, a tongue-in-cheek novel. There’s a smile in the sun in the sky of this story.

Sabina’s husband is caught in the structure of his work. He can hardly change — but maybe he will. We can only hope so. Her children, too, are caught in the buzz of their hormones. They are schoolkids, and students are universal, aren’t they? But she sees and understands them all, Sabina does, and it makes her laugh. It makes us laugh.

Take this example: Sabina’s husband Adrian hasn’t noticed that Sabina is changing. She is behaving differently. He asks himself questions. This is what he is thinking:

“Hmm, what if she is having an affair? It was possible, of course.” Adrian feels woozy and has a strange dryness in his mouth. He thinks, “She could walk out on me. And then what would I do?” He instantly thinks of the huge pile of crumpled clothes that has been mounting up on the chest of drawers in their bedroom. “It’s unusual for her to neglect the ironing,” Adrian thinks. “Is she planning to leave me with all that ironing to do?”

We just have to laugh at the image of the troublesome pile of wrinkled, clean clothes, and also we have to laugh at the concrete thinking of Sabina’s husband, Adrian. He seems unable to think symbolically, so pressed into the grown-up adult structure of important work as he is. But Sabina, the child figure, sees his limitations and plays on them. We get to join along with the fun.

Sabina also laughs at herself. The story plot describes her experience with a mysterious dressmaker, Madame Anastasia, who serves in the role of fairy godmother.

Anastasia is sewing a wondrous Cinderella gown — a magical dress for Sabina to wear when presiding over a fancy 40th birthday party. The dress symbolises a new look on life, the awakening you have been hearing about throughout this review. It also gets Sabina away from her mirror, where every feature on her face, every curvature of her body, is scrutinised, exaggerated, mythologised.

Diana Button seems to be definitely laughing at a woman’s absurd over-preoccupation with her looks — until she throws these funny lines in our face, lines that make us laugh but also reveal Sabina’s initial low self-esteem. Sabina is daydreaming about how she will present herself to her husband’s posh colleagues at the annual work function to which wives are duly invited. Sabina pretends she is Superwoman. This is what she thinks:

Superwoman will introduce herself to her husband’s colleagues with a debonair: “Good evening. I’m Sabina Waldsmere, research manager in the field of child development and human relations.” Or: “Pleased to meet you. I am in the domestic management business — what do you do?”

Sabina goes on to reveal self-mockery as she confesses to herself that, when her husband’s annual work function actually took place last time, she said to all and sundry, “I’m just a housewife!” No wonder her face and body are so important to her — she feels they are all she has got. In this instance, Diana Button’s humour is tinged with bitterness, but it is funny all the same to see how she lets our own images reflect back at us in the mirror of her story.

It may be a gold-backed mirror — a gilt (G-I-L-T) mirror — but it is our universal tendency to feel guilt (G-U-I-L-T) and confusion that is reflected back to us in the name of Sabina, and all of her clan, and all of her brood. And in the name of Luxembourg — a place where she has been infected with a disease of Luxusitis.

And now I will say no more. To find out how Sabina cures herself of Luxusitis, read the book.

To conclude, Diana Button’s Marrying It All is a splendid first novel, full of wit and promise.