Magda Szabó’s The Door

 

 

 

 

Magda Szabó’s The Door

I have had a househelp for the past fifteen years, and in many ways, she seems to run the household more than I do. She is always available, at any hour of the day, much like Emerence in The Door—fiercely possessive and convinced that she owns me. She constantly tries to interfere in my life, and despite the challenges she brings, I often find myself siding with her. The fact that she has two dependents—a son and a mother—adds to her burdens, and although she carries herself with pride, her illiteracy and circumstances often compel her to rely on my kindness.

Her immense love for animals extends beyond her home and into the streets she walks daily to reach my house. The stray dogs on her route look up to her as their savior and protector. Her earlier pets included two roosters that lived with her for twelve years, and now, she cares for numerous cats descended from a single female feline, Tiger.

In many ways, The Door reflected my life and my househelp’s experiences. The book’s circumstances and relationships mirrored my own.

Magda Szabó’s The Door was originally published in 1987 and translated into English by Len Rix in 2015. I would never have discovered this remarkable book had it not been for my visit to Hungary, prompted by the insistence of my Hungarian friend, Judit Molnar. During my ten-day stay and my deeply appreciated talk at the University of Debrecen, I had the opportunity to immerse myself in the land and its people. Most Hungarians are simple-minded and friendly, and my interactions with them offered me insight into their culture, religion, and social lives. Through The Door, I was granted a deeper understanding of women’s lives and the complex relationships among them.

When Emerence begins working as a housekeeper for Magda and her husband—both successful academics who have moved into a new house—there is no formal agreement regarding her employment, nor does she follow fixed working hours. Yet, the one defining aspect of her work is that it is carried out to perfection.

In the chapter “Junk Clearance,” we witness the first significant rift between Emerence and Magda, triggered by a plastic plaster dog that Emerence treasures. The chapter subtly raises questions about the perceived value of artifacts and the divisions between social classes. Throughout the novel, besides Magda, her husband, and their dog, Viola, we encounter other significant figures, including Magda’s two friends, Sutu and Adelka, her nephew, and the lieutenant colonel.

One of the most haunting elements of the story is Emerence’s refusal to open her door—even in sickness, she keeps it shut:

“Emerence never opened her door, never once showed herself. Enraged by the constant knocking, she demanded that no-one bother her.” (p. 176)

The novel opens with a dream Magda has about the door:

That door opened. It was opened by someone who defended her solitude and impotent misery so fiercely that she would have kept the door shut through a flaming roof crackling over her head. I alone had the power to make her open that lock. In turning the key she put more trust in me than she ever did in God, and in that fateful moment I believed I was godlike—all wise, judicious, benevolent, and rational. We were both wrong: she who put her faith in me, and I who thought too well of myself.” (2)

The door functions as a powerful metaphor—not only for modernity versus tradition but also for opposing forces such as private versus public, power versus powerlessness, law versus lawlessness, and the pervasive sense of alienation, estrangement, and loneliness that defines humanity.

Personally, the novel resonated deeply with me, touching many aspects of my own life. I absolutely loved the book.