Hard Times and Marriage

More than a year ago, I dispatched Adam to read my very favorite Dickens novel, Hard Times. After struggling a bit through the beginning of the novel--Adam doesn't share my a priori love of depressing or straight-forward literature--he returned with a surprising verdict: Hard Times is a wonderful novel about marriage.

His announcement really shocked me. I'd like to consider myself an astute literary critic, but I'd completely missed any significant emphasis on marriage. Sure, the action largely centers around two couples, but surely the novel is about the monetary poverty and suffering of the lower classes, and the mental poverty and suffering of the elite. Armed with Adam's assessment, I returned to the novel over the last couple of weeks. Though I'll stick to my Dickensonian guns about themes of poverty, I think Adam was also right.

"Now, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life...This is the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these [school]children." These words open the novel and introduce the character of Louisa Gradgrind, the daughter of the speaker and the female partner in one of the two major relationships in the novel.

From a very early age, Lousia's father encourages her to dismiss her emotions and her fancies. She completely lacks experience in love and accepts an offer that would make her father and her brother happy--she marries the much senior Mr. Boundaby, the greatest humbug in the town. Needless to say, their marriage is unsuccessful.

Their loveless marriage contrasts sharply with the tragic love affair between Stephen and Rachel. Stephen, too, is trapped in a dreadful marriage with a woman who became an alcoholic and left him. He finds a long-term helpmate in Rachel, who tends to him with a quiet devotion, knowing that Stephen will never be able to marry her--no matter how much he wants to. Dickens draws our attention to how love makes a sacramental bond far more powerful than an unfeeling ceremony. Stephen gets from Rachel what only a blessed man finds in his wife: "I nevermore will see or think o' anything that angers me, but thou, so much better than me, shalt be by th' side on't." He looks forward to the day the two will be together in the bliss of eternity.

The greatest tragedy of the novel is not this poor couple's--they have hope for the future, even if it is only after death. Louisa has no hope. Her life is meaningless, and she knows it. Her upbringing has ruined her for the vocation to marriage for which her indomitable compassion suggest she is intended. Her father ironically admits this when he discusses Boundaby's proposal with her--"You do not come to the consideration of that question with the previous habits of mind, and habits of life, that belong to many young women." The goodness within her gradually stirs, first as she strives to help Rachel and then as she falls under the influence of her foster-sister, Sissy. But even after she returns to her father's house and her husband dies, she is permanently scarred. All the time in the world left to her "better nature" cannot undo what has been done. She remakes herself as a women children love, but is never loved by a man again.

What does all of this say about marriage?

First of all, love is what makes a marriage. Stephen and Rachel may never consummate their "marriage," but they are bound in a way far deeper than Lousia and Boundaby could ever be. A marriage without love means nothing.

Second, and more importantly, God grants to each of us only one life to live. Poor Louisa's life, the vocation her loving and compassionate nature could have meant for her, were stolen by bad habituation very early in life. To love, to be capable of receiving love, requires a lifetime of continually developing good habits. There is very little in life sadder than an unrealized vocation.

The "Not" Bridal Shower

Because there are so many people in England that I'd love to have at my wedding, I decided to throw myself a bridal shower and invite many of them. We had tea at the Randolph, the posh hotel where C. S. Lewis met his wife, Joy.

We had a wonderful time. The food was delicious and the company couldn't have been more pleasant. I felt really loved to spend a pleasant afternoon with some of my very favorite people.

I have to own up to being a bit disappointed with the picture, though. Ah well. Not everything is perfect, apparently including my photography skills or the concierge at the Randolph.

A Nicer Story About Adam

After posting about a dream that could be interpreted as an unconscious annoyance at Adam yesterday, I thought it only fair to post about something I absolutely love about him today...

A friend of a friend had a major run in while doing the right thing. It reminded me how risky it sometimes is to "step up" when something is obviously wrong. Zak was particularly unlucky, but there are few opportunities for interfering with other people's lives that don't carry the risk of embarrassment or emotional trauma.

Because I've known Adam for more than a quarter of his life now (we've been dating for so long!), I watched him grow into a conscientious man who's willing to help others, even when there's a cost. It's been wonderful to realize that he's willing to take these kinds of risks to do the right thing.

I'm aware that last time he did this, I questioned his motives. I was embarrassed that he'd done something very public to help a woman in need. That's not the attitude of a teammate--a helpmate--with a shared commitment to helping others. I hope I can better learn from his example.

Particularly for a woman, there are serious limitations to how helpful I can be. My public sphere of helpfulness is usually limited to offering to call the police--confronting people in public isn't really part of the vocation of a 5'2" female student except under extraordinary circumstances. I'm especially glad to be with a man who takes being helpful seriously. We can use our strengths together to help others!

Wedding Nightmare #2

Nothing profound to say today, so another wedding nightmare...

With our ceremony fairly soon (just 81 days to go!) the fear that inspired this nightmare has largely evaporated. I think I can manage another less months (less!), but back in March, I wasn't sure I could manage five.

I dreamt that Adam and I decided to get married earlier. Not elope, but to move our proper, full-blown celebration up by five months with only a week's notice. Undaunted, I told him that I would take care of everything. All he had to do was get the priest (Father Bill Gurnee, who is flying in from Maryland for the wedding) to the church by the day of the ceremony.

I worked tirelessly all week to rebook the church, the photographer, the caterer, the band... I called every single individual guest, talked people into flying thousands of miles without any warning. Saturday came. Everyone was there and everyone was set.

"Where's Father Gurnee?" I asked.

"Oh. I called and left a message on his phone a couple of days ago. I haven't heard from him."

Silence. I was so irate! I grabbed his phone and glared at the outgoing calls list. He hadn't even called the right number. It was so unlike him to drop the ball, I couldn't believe he'd done it over something so important. I was so annoyed that I woke up furious with him, even knowing it was a dream.

Of course, Adam would never do anything that careless or thoughtless. He's a wonderful fiance who's been amazingly helpful during the entire planning process! But even though I can hardly wait for the day we get married, but that nightmare was certainly an incentive to try!

Literary Happiness

Leo Tolstoy wrote that "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." The line is one of the most famous in Western literature. It seeps into the reader's soul with a kind of all-pervading "true-ness." But is he right?

Adam has been making fun of me recently for my choice in literature. I like depressing books where unhappy things happen to characters. I think the only poetry really worth reading is poetry about dejection, loss, and pain. These stories and poems seem to mean something in a way other stories don't. If Tolstoy is correct--unhappiness is a unique, case-by-case, individual experience--how can it be that the literary texts, the ones that are supposed to capture universal human experience, are so often the tragic ones?

There are many poems that describe the way I feel when Adam is far away. Many that capture the fears I have about losing him. But there are no poems that express the way I love him. No poems that encapsulate the way he makes me feel. There are analogies in texts, and I've written about these, but nothing really fits us. It isn't our unhappiness--missing each other like we'd miss a piece of ourselves--that makes us unique. Lots of people spend months, years, or even decades apart from their lovers. It's our love, our own story of our vocation to marriage, that makes us unique. Our unhappiness is shared; we are happy in our own way.

So perhaps that's why I prefer "depressing" poetry to "happy" poetry, if such simplistic labels ought to be applied. Sadness is sublime. It transcends human differences of time, or class, or race so that I enter into Poe's pain, Longfellow's longing, and Hardy's obstinate grip on hope. Happiness is transcendental. My love, my happiness, is intimate, uniquely shared with only one other person. It's our own. We can, and hope, to pass it on to others. But I can only ever share my happiness with Adam.

Am I wrong? I'd love to learn about the positive stories, songs, or poems that you find compelling.