Magda Szabó (1917–2007)
Author of The Door
About the Author
Disambiguation Notice:
The native Hungarian form of this personal name is Szabó Magda, so the Legal lastname, firstname name is Magda, Szabó. The Western (including English) Canonical lastname, firstname name is Szabó, Magda.
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Works by Magda Szabó
الباب 2 copies
A szemlélők 1 copy
Daljine 1 copy
Karcsony / Lalilu 1 copy
Starinska priča 1 copy
Căprioara 1 copy
A Danaida regény 1 copy
Řekněte Žofince 1 copy
La Ballade De La Vierge 1 copy
Bárány Boldizsár 1 copy
Ókút 1 copy
La puerta 1 copy
Dyrnar 1 copy
Eleven képét a világnak 1 copy
Paulan tähden 1 copy
Saaresinine : [jutustus] 1 copy
Béla Király 1 copy
Bleu-Île 1 copy
Улицата Каталин 1 copy
I all oskuld - 1 copy
L'altra Ester 1 copy
Associated Works
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Canonical name
- Szabó, Magda
- Legal name
- Magda, Szabó
- Birthdate
- 1917-10-05
- Date of death
- 2007-11-19
- Gender
- female
- Education
- University of Debrecen, Hungary
- Occupations
- writer
teacher
novelist
poet
essayist
translator - Awards and honors
- Baumgarten-díj (1949, visszavonták)
József Attila-díj (1959, 1972)
Kossuth-díj (1978)
Pro Urbe Budapest díj (1983)
Debreceni Református Teológiai Akadémia díszdoktora (1993)
Déry Tibor-jutalom (1996) (show all 15)
Szép Ernő-jutalom (1998)
Nemes Nagy Ágnes-díj (2000)
A Miskolci Egyetem tiszteletbeli doktora (2001)
Corvin-lánc (2001)
Gundel Művészeti Díj (2003)
Prima Primissima díj (2003)
Femina-díj (2003)
Hazám-díj (2007)
A Magyar Köztársasági Érdemrend nagykeresztje (polgári tagozata) (2007) - Relationships
- Szobotka, Tibor (husband)
- Short biography
- Magda Szabó (October 5, 1917 – November 19, 2007) was a Hungarian writer, arguably Hungary's foremost woman novelist. She also wrote dramas, essays, studies, memories and poetry.
Born in Debrecen, Szabó graduated at the University of Debrecen as a teacher of Latin and of Hungarian. She started working as a teacher in a Calvinist all-girl school in Debrecen and Hódmezővásárhely. Between 1945 and 1949 she was working in the Ministry of Religion and Education. She married the writer and translator Tibor Szobotka in 1947.
She began her writing career as a poet, publishing her first book Bárány ("Lamb") in 1947, which was followed by Vissza az emberig ("Back to the Human") in 1949. In 1949 she was awarded the Baumgarten Prize, which was - for political reasons - withdrawn from her on the very day it was given. She was dismissed from the Ministry in the same year.
During the establishment of Stalinist rule from 1949 to 1956, the government did not allow her works to be published. Since her unemployed husband was also stigmatized by the communist regime, she was forced to teach in an elementary school within this period.
It was during the years of this involuntary silence that she felt the frames of poetry too tight to express her thoughts and turned to prose.[citation needed] Her first novel, Freskó ("Fresco"), written in these years was published in 1958 and achieved overwhelming success among readers. Her most widely read novel Abigél ("Abigail", 1970) is an adventure story about a schoolgirl boarding in eastern Hungary during the war.
She received several prizes in Hungary and her works have been published in 42 countries. In 2003 she was the winner of the French literary prize Prix Femina Étranger for the best foreign novel.
Her novel Abigél was popularised through a much-loved television series in 1978. Abigél was also chosen as the sixth most popular novel at the Hungarian version of Big Read. Her three other novels which were in the top 100 are Für Elise, An Old-fashioned Story and The Door.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Szabó_M... - Nationality
- Hungary
- Birthplace
- Debrecen, Hungary
- Places of residence
- Debrecen, Hungary
- Place of death
- Kerepes, Hungary
- Map Location
- Hungary
- Disambiguation notice
- The native Hungarian form of this personal name is Szabó Magda, so the Legal lastname, firstname name is Magda, Szabó. The Western (including English) Canonical lastname, firstname name is Szabó, Magda.
Members
Reviews
Some believe that those who die suddenly and unexpectedly stay in their temporal world in spirit form until they are reconciled to death, or until those they are watching over join them. The dead though, don't age, while those left behind do; aging inevitably, sometimes dying inside of shame, of grief, of loss of hope. So it was on Katalin Street, where an alert lively girl first watched those she had considered her family grow up, grow old, and alter irrevocably.
In pre WWII Budapest, there show more were three particular houses facing the river. The sisters Blanka and Irén lived in one, Henriette in another, and a slightly older boy, Bálint, in the third. The children played together, their parents were friends, and the families celebrated small occasions together throughout the year. The three girls all loved Bálint, whose name means Valentine, each in her own way.
If this were a straightforward chronological narrative, the novel would start here. Instead, it starts with Irén, her family, and Bálint on the other side of the river, in Soviet era housing, looking back at their old home. None of them had ever got used to the apartment or grown to like it. They just put up with it, as with so many other things. Although they rarely spoke of it with each other, they all yearned to return to their old homes on Katalin Street, and even more, to return to the people they had been. Henriette, now dead, knew that you can't go back without those who have since died. The past cannot be recreated.
Time can be fluid in our thoughts though. Szabó's book moves back and forth from the 1930s right up to 1968. Nazis come and go to be replaced by the Soviets. People go, but don't always come back: dead or exiled. Even in sections of the book with a date as heading, some characters are in one year, while at the same time others are in another.
What Szabó is telling the reader is a stark message about what we do to each other and what life does to us: ...the most frightening thing of all about the loss of youth is not what is taken away, but what is granted in exchange. Not wisdom. Not sound judgement or tranquillity. Only the awareness of universal disintegration.
For those left behind, There came too the realization that advancing age had taken the past. ... They had discovered too that the difference between the living and the dead is merely qualitative, that it doesn't count for much.
The penultimate sentence of the novel, In everyone's life there is only one person whose name can be cried out in the moment of death, sent me back to the beginning, and an immediate reread, for now the use of that same sentence, first seen early in the novel, gave a different focus and I wanted to follow that path. There are many paths in this book though, and a different one could be taken with each reading. This is the first book I have read by Szabó, but it won't be the last. show less
In pre WWII Budapest, there show more were three particular houses facing the river. The sisters Blanka and Irén lived in one, Henriette in another, and a slightly older boy, Bálint, in the third. The children played together, their parents were friends, and the families celebrated small occasions together throughout the year. The three girls all loved Bálint, whose name means Valentine, each in her own way.
If this were a straightforward chronological narrative, the novel would start here. Instead, it starts with Irén, her family, and Bálint on the other side of the river, in Soviet era housing, looking back at their old home. None of them had ever got used to the apartment or grown to like it. They just put up with it, as with so many other things. Although they rarely spoke of it with each other, they all yearned to return to their old homes on Katalin Street, and even more, to return to the people they had been. Henriette, now dead, knew that you can't go back without those who have since died. The past cannot be recreated.
Time can be fluid in our thoughts though. Szabó's book moves back and forth from the 1930s right up to 1968. Nazis come and go to be replaced by the Soviets. People go, but don't always come back: dead or exiled. Even in sections of the book with a date as heading, some characters are in one year, while at the same time others are in another.
What Szabó is telling the reader is a stark message about what we do to each other and what life does to us: ...the most frightening thing of all about the loss of youth is not what is taken away, but what is granted in exchange. Not wisdom. Not sound judgement or tranquillity. Only the awareness of universal disintegration.
For those left behind, There came too the realization that advancing age had taken the past. ... They had discovered too that the difference between the living and the dead is merely qualitative, that it doesn't count for much.
The penultimate sentence of the novel, In everyone's life there is only one person whose name can be cried out in the moment of death, sent me back to the beginning, and an immediate reread, for now the use of that same sentence, first seen early in the novel, gave a different focus and I wanted to follow that path. There are many paths in this book though, and a different one could be taken with each reading. This is the first book I have read by Szabó, but it won't be the last. show less
Frequently, the death of a spouse in a long-term marriage does not end well for the survivor. The problem of what to do when the surviving partner is aged but otherwise enjoys a comfortable lifestyle is all too familiar. Sometimes the best solution is to leave well enough alone. Magda Szabo’s stunning novel (IZA’S BALLAD) explores how over-caring can sometimes have tragic consequences.
Ettie Szócs’ husband, Vince, has died of cancer. With the best of intentions, her daughter, Iza, show more takes charge of her mother’s welfare following the funeral. While sequestering Ettie at a nearby spa, Iza sells the family home, disposes of most of her parents’ belongings and makes plans to move her mother to Budapest. Ettie does not even get the opportunity to bid farewell to her neighbor or the family dog. Iza benevolently believes this will be the best possible way for her mother to live out her remaining days. Even Ettie’s neighbor remarks, "What a delight it must be to move to Budapest, to leave sad memories behind and to enjoy a happy old age in new circumstances.”
This thorough uprooting, combined with mourning for her deceased husband, is profoundly disorienting for Ettie. In Budapest, she is isolated, has no friends and nothing to do. Iza is away at work for most of the day and goes out with friends most evenings. There is even Terez, an efficient housekeeper who prefers to go about her work without assistance from Ettie. Ettie spends her days riding trams around the city and only realizes how much she has lost when she returns to her village to place a stone at Vince’s grave.
Szabo explores this unfortunate situation with skill, subtlety and empathy. Perspectives shift seamlessly evoking the disorientation that Ettie undoubtedly feels while also revealing the backstories of both women. Ettie and Vince had lived quietly in a rural Hungarian village. She distrusted modern conveniences making toast over an open flame and preferring times when power outages necessitated lighting candles.
Iza overlooks the pleasure and solace her mother derived from her environment and the memories it provided. She was close to Vince, who was a judge blacklisted by the right-wing Hungarian regime for a politically sensitive legal decision. She had one brother who died young. Ettie adored her Iza when she was young but does not know what to make of her now.
Iza views herself as a dutiful daughter who is generous to her parents but she has a cold and controlling personality. She has abandoned her past for a life in the modern city. After finishing medical school, she married Antal, a classmate. They lived with her parents while both established their medical careers. The marriage eventually failed for reasons that become more obvious as the novel proceeds. Following the divorce, Iza moved to Budapest, but Antal remained in his rural community where he had deep connections. He now has a fiancée, Lidia, who is a nurse and cared for Vince in his last days. He also purchases Ettie’s house because of his sentimental attachment to the Szócs. Meanwhile Iza’s career and personal life take a different direction. She is a brilliant medical specialist with many friends but few close attachments. Her significant other is a worldly writer, but uses people as raw material for his books.
Szabo’s narrative has a comfortable pace, sifting seamlessly between times and perspectives slowly accumulating facts that begin to define her characters and their relations to one another. Through her deceptively simple tale, she subtly tackles a large array of important human themes—mother-daughter relationships, traditional versus modern values, rural and city existences, balance between home and work, meditations on grief and loss of loved ones, and the importance of memories. This is a remarkable book that speaks eloquently to the difficulties we all experience connecting to one another. show less
Ettie Szócs’ husband, Vince, has died of cancer. With the best of intentions, her daughter, Iza, show more takes charge of her mother’s welfare following the funeral. While sequestering Ettie at a nearby spa, Iza sells the family home, disposes of most of her parents’ belongings and makes plans to move her mother to Budapest. Ettie does not even get the opportunity to bid farewell to her neighbor or the family dog. Iza benevolently believes this will be the best possible way for her mother to live out her remaining days. Even Ettie’s neighbor remarks, "What a delight it must be to move to Budapest, to leave sad memories behind and to enjoy a happy old age in new circumstances.”
This thorough uprooting, combined with mourning for her deceased husband, is profoundly disorienting for Ettie. In Budapest, she is isolated, has no friends and nothing to do. Iza is away at work for most of the day and goes out with friends most evenings. There is even Terez, an efficient housekeeper who prefers to go about her work without assistance from Ettie. Ettie spends her days riding trams around the city and only realizes how much she has lost when she returns to her village to place a stone at Vince’s grave.
Szabo explores this unfortunate situation with skill, subtlety and empathy. Perspectives shift seamlessly evoking the disorientation that Ettie undoubtedly feels while also revealing the backstories of both women. Ettie and Vince had lived quietly in a rural Hungarian village. She distrusted modern conveniences making toast over an open flame and preferring times when power outages necessitated lighting candles.
Iza overlooks the pleasure and solace her mother derived from her environment and the memories it provided. She was close to Vince, who was a judge blacklisted by the right-wing Hungarian regime for a politically sensitive legal decision. She had one brother who died young. Ettie adored her Iza when she was young but does not know what to make of her now.
Iza views herself as a dutiful daughter who is generous to her parents but she has a cold and controlling personality. She has abandoned her past for a life in the modern city. After finishing medical school, she married Antal, a classmate. They lived with her parents while both established their medical careers. The marriage eventually failed for reasons that become more obvious as the novel proceeds. Following the divorce, Iza moved to Budapest, but Antal remained in his rural community where he had deep connections. He now has a fiancée, Lidia, who is a nurse and cared for Vince in his last days. He also purchases Ettie’s house because of his sentimental attachment to the Szócs. Meanwhile Iza’s career and personal life take a different direction. She is a brilliant medical specialist with many friends but few close attachments. Her significant other is a worldly writer, but uses people as raw material for his books.
Szabo’s narrative has a comfortable pace, sifting seamlessly between times and perspectives slowly accumulating facts that begin to define her characters and their relations to one another. Through her deceptively simple tale, she subtly tackles a large array of important human themes—mother-daughter relationships, traditional versus modern values, rural and city existences, balance between home and work, meditations on grief and loss of loved ones, and the importance of memories. This is a remarkable book that speaks eloquently to the difficulties we all experience connecting to one another. show less
Magda Szabó’s novel The Door, first published in Hungary in 1987, chronicles the stormy relationship between two women, the writer narrator—whose name, we learn late in the book, is Magda—and her elderly housekeeper Emerence. The novel is set in post-war Hungary during the time of an ideological thaw, when Magda’s writing career, stifled for years by the Soviet-backed government, is once again a going concern. After years of professional ostracism and enforced silence, suddenly she show more and her work are in demand. With free time in short supply, Magda finds herself in need of a housekeeper to maintain order in the flat where she and her husband live while she works on new projects and makes public appearances. Enter Emerence, an elderly woman from the neighbourhood with an obsessive need to take charge and keep things clean, who comes highly recommended and who, once installed in Magda’s life, becomes a permanent fixture. The complex up-and-down relationship between the two woman is the novel’s troubling and fascinating centrepiece, one that the author makes exceedingly difficult to comprehend or describe in absolutes. Magda and Emerence could not be more different. Magda is cultured and devoutly Christian, with an urbanite’s liberal views and a deep respect for the professions (doctors, lawyers, engineers) that form the bedrock of a civilized and progressive society. Emerence, barely literate, is of peasant stock. She has learned through a life of hardship and tenacious self-sufficiency to not trust anyone, especially any form of authority. She bears a fierce hostility toward organized religion. And yet, despite these differences, which at times appear utterly unbridgeable and lead to loud and hurtful quarrels, the two form a lasting bond. The enigma that Emerence presents to the reader grows and deepens throughout the book. Early in the novel Magda and her husband adopt an abandoned dog, which, despite its being male, Emerence names Viola, and despite her occasional cruelty toward it, the dog is devoted to her. Emerence lives in a “service flat,” meaning that her rent is partly offset by labour. Always sweeping and cleaning, she a constant and tireless presence in the neighbourhood, one whom others depend upon and look to for guidance, in all matters. And yet she is secretive, emotionally aloof and socially awkward. Harshly judgmental, intransigent in her opinions, her pride makes it impossible for her accept help of any kind or to respond with gratitude to gifts or acts of kindness. Magda soon learns that Emerence has not opened the door of her flat to anyone for the years she has lived there, and as the story progresses that mystery deepens as well. In the end, their undeclared love for one another, which binds Magda and Emerence together, reaches an inevitable conclusion, and Magda is left with a bottomless sense of shame and loss. The Door does not pull at heartstrings, and yet it unleashes a profound emotional response in the reader. Rich in metaphor, cryptic and provocative, this is a major work by an important and original 20th-century voice. show less
THE DOOR is a superb examination of intimate relationships. The novel’s mood is intense and unrelenting—almost but not quite gothic. In this case the friendship is between two women: a Hungarian writer and her housekeeper. Superficially this friendship seems unusual, but in retrospect probably is not so strange.
Although the writer, Magda, is the narrator, the star is clearly Emerence, the housekeeper. She is an enigmatic figure with almost inexhaustible energy, fixed iconoclastic ideas, show more affection for and expertise with animals and an intense need to protect her privacy. As the title suggests, Emerence keeps her door locked to outsiders both figuratively and literally. Szabo masterfully reveals her backstory and nature through her relationship with Magda. She captures the essence of how many close friendships evolve—they are never direct but instead characterized by cycles of misunderstanding and argument followed by reconciliation—peaks and valleys. For Emerence, the ultimate symbol of her trust in Magda comes when she eventually permits her to enter her home. “I’m going to give you the only thing I have.” This level of intimacy has never been shared with anyone else, with the possible exception of the Lieutenant Colonel who gains access in an official capacity.
Szabo cleverly highlights the relationship between the two women by using a very minimal plot. Magda is recovering from the state sanctioning of her work. She and her husband hire Emerence—although Emerence behaves like she is hiring them. They rescue a dog from the snow and Emerence encourages them to keep him. Emerence names him Viola and trains him. Szabo bestows many endearing qualities on Viola and eventually he arises to the level of another character in the book. A friendship blossoms between Emerence and Magda. Emerence becomes ill but refuses to leave her house or allow anyone entrance to tend her. This culminates in events that harm their relationship and create intense feelings of guilt for Magda.
Most of the action in the novel comes from what Emerence eventually reveals to Magda about her past. This parallels much of the misery experienced by Hungary in the 20th century—war, Nazi and Communist occupations and revolution. Her personal story also is marked by love, loss and tragedy. These events not only forge her personality and belief system, but also her intense need for privacy. Moreover, she displays little need for material wealth, organized religion or politics. Instead, she has only a small group of friends, but none are as close as Magda.
The main theme of the novel is the limitations of human communication. Szabo skillfully explores this using the metaphor of the locked door. This represents the barriers that some erect to exclude pain but unintentionally also frustrate communication and caring. Emerence tries her damnedest to keep people out while expressing caring in all kinds of covert ways—sweeping the snow from neighborhood sidewalks, having tea parties on her porch, providing soup to the sick in a christening bowl, adopting stray animals and sheltering people in need. Much like an animal who might bring “treasures” to beloved humans, Emerence rescues all kinds of useless items from the trash and brings them to Magda. These symbolize a level of caring that Magda and her husband cannot appreciate and offer one of the few humorous notes in the novel. Szabo exquisitely captures just how hard it was for Emerence to give and receive help when she describes her borrowing Magda’s flat to entertain a special visitor. Her reaction to being stood-up by this person is surprising in the extreme but characterizes Emerence’s difficulty with openly giving and receiving favors.
Szabo embellishes her main theme with multiple minor elements that are relevant and add to the richness of her narrative. The two women evoke the class struggle between intellectuals and the working class; one lives the life of the mind while the other has trouble seeing that as actual work. Giving and receiving favors is often fraught with a sense of quid pro quo and failing to honor these basic courtesies is often misconstrued. Some people feel uncomfortable openly expressing caring and, instead adopt a tactic of “tough love.” Finally, and probably most importantly for Szabo, a writer struggle to understand and adequately depict reality as she perceives it. show less
Although the writer, Magda, is the narrator, the star is clearly Emerence, the housekeeper. She is an enigmatic figure with almost inexhaustible energy, fixed iconoclastic ideas, show more affection for and expertise with animals and an intense need to protect her privacy. As the title suggests, Emerence keeps her door locked to outsiders both figuratively and literally. Szabo masterfully reveals her backstory and nature through her relationship with Magda. She captures the essence of how many close friendships evolve—they are never direct but instead characterized by cycles of misunderstanding and argument followed by reconciliation—peaks and valleys. For Emerence, the ultimate symbol of her trust in Magda comes when she eventually permits her to enter her home. “I’m going to give you the only thing I have.” This level of intimacy has never been shared with anyone else, with the possible exception of the Lieutenant Colonel who gains access in an official capacity.
Szabo cleverly highlights the relationship between the two women by using a very minimal plot. Magda is recovering from the state sanctioning of her work. She and her husband hire Emerence—although Emerence behaves like she is hiring them. They rescue a dog from the snow and Emerence encourages them to keep him. Emerence names him Viola and trains him. Szabo bestows many endearing qualities on Viola and eventually he arises to the level of another character in the book. A friendship blossoms between Emerence and Magda. Emerence becomes ill but refuses to leave her house or allow anyone entrance to tend her. This culminates in events that harm their relationship and create intense feelings of guilt for Magda.
Most of the action in the novel comes from what Emerence eventually reveals to Magda about her past. This parallels much of the misery experienced by Hungary in the 20th century—war, Nazi and Communist occupations and revolution. Her personal story also is marked by love, loss and tragedy. These events not only forge her personality and belief system, but also her intense need for privacy. Moreover, she displays little need for material wealth, organized religion or politics. Instead, she has only a small group of friends, but none are as close as Magda.
The main theme of the novel is the limitations of human communication. Szabo skillfully explores this using the metaphor of the locked door. This represents the barriers that some erect to exclude pain but unintentionally also frustrate communication and caring. Emerence tries her damnedest to keep people out while expressing caring in all kinds of covert ways—sweeping the snow from neighborhood sidewalks, having tea parties on her porch, providing soup to the sick in a christening bowl, adopting stray animals and sheltering people in need. Much like an animal who might bring “treasures” to beloved humans, Emerence rescues all kinds of useless items from the trash and brings them to Magda. These symbolize a level of caring that Magda and her husband cannot appreciate and offer one of the few humorous notes in the novel. Szabo exquisitely captures just how hard it was for Emerence to give and receive help when she describes her borrowing Magda’s flat to entertain a special visitor. Her reaction to being stood-up by this person is surprising in the extreme but characterizes Emerence’s difficulty with openly giving and receiving favors.
Szabo embellishes her main theme with multiple minor elements that are relevant and add to the richness of her narrative. The two women evoke the class struggle between intellectuals and the working class; one lives the life of the mind while the other has trouble seeing that as actual work. Giving and receiving favors is often fraught with a sense of quid pro quo and failing to honor these basic courtesies is often misconstrued. Some people feel uncomfortable openly expressing caring and, instead adopt a tactic of “tough love.” Finally, and probably most importantly for Szabo, a writer struggle to understand and adequately depict reality as she perceives it. show less
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