
‘Coupledom is very oppressing': Swedish author Gun-Britt Sundström on the revival of her cult anti-marriage novel
Engagement is not, after all, a traditional love story, but a study of a young woman's fierce resistance to what she feels is the oppressive effect of being loved by a man. Martina and Gustav meet at college. Gustav wants their relationship to progress along traditional lines, an ambition that, Martina feels, risks leading her like a sleepwalker into a tedious, conventional life. At the casual level the pair's relationship is loving and stable, but, observes Martina caustically, 'Gustav is building so many structures on top of it that it's shaking underneath them'. She wants to be loved but she also wants to be alone. She wants Gustav to stop repeating himself. When he asks her what's wrong, she muses, 'you can't answer something like that. You can't tell someone who wants to be with you always that he should be reasonable and ration himself out a little – if I saw you half as often, I would like you four times as much – no, you can't say that.'
The novel is often described as a 'feminist classic', which Sundström resists – the implication being that any political objective undermines its integrity as a novel. 'Feminist books ordinarily end with a happy divorce. And this doesn't.' Instead, Engagement is a dense, thoughtful book that takes on questions of sex, boredom, self-esteem and what Sundström calls, 'the moral issue; the question of can you treat another person this way, the way Martina [treats Gustav]? At the end, she herself comes to the conclusion that you can't, it isn't right. She can't go on exploiting him, because he's helplessly in love with her.' The book is less about the experience of loving someone than about being the object of love, and given current discussions around young women 'decentring men' and 'heteropessimism', it is a startlingly modern novel.
It is also a dark comedy, something Sundström says tends to be overlooked. 'It is a funny book! I often regretted that reviewers failed to mention that aspect.' How could it not be? Sundström herself is full of merriment. She turns 80 this summer and says, 'I can't believe it myself. Most of my friends are more or less the same age, and none of us can believe it. We are the young ones, aren't we?' With her pageboy hairstyle and unlined face, she could be comfortably 20 years younger. ('Genes,' she says, flatly.) At the beginning of our conversation, Sundström mentions she is going through old diaries wondering what to keep and what to burn. 'I'm cleaning up with the perspective of soon dying,' she says, matter of factly, and although the gentle art of Swedish death cleaning is a well-known phenomenon, it strikes me that even for a Swede, Sundström is thrillingly, inspiringly brisk.
Like her protagonist, she is also immune from groupthink to the point of awkwardness. In the novel, Martina wonders: 'How can it be that most people lack self-confidence? And how can it be that I have enough self-confidence for an entire army? Of course I am beautiful and intelligent, at least intelligent enough to consider myself pretty enough – but that doesn't usually help, does it?' It is still mildly confronting to read a young woman calmly assessing herself in this way, and Martina's confidence is Sundström's, the development of which goes all the way back to two key influences in her childhood. She was a great reader and identified most with swashbuckling heroes – the Scarlet Pimpernel and the Three Musketeers. And, along with her family, she attended a progressive Swedish church. 'I grew up imagining that, to God, we are all equal and that my relationship to God, if I had one, was just as important as any man's.'
Sundström's political development as a feminist, meanwhile, was influenced by the cautionary tale of her mother's life. Sundström's father was a journalist, while her mother gave up work to raise Sundström and her sister in what, looking back, the novelist calls 'a kind of tragedy'. Although she was never bitter, Sundström recognises that she was, 'in a way, disappointed'.
The hardship of her mother's generation makes Sundström sceptical of some aspects of the modern feminist movement, which she thinks has failed to acknowledge just how much has been gained. 'We've had a backlash. Unfortunately, we were freer in my generation than in my children's. My daughter told me she's envious of my youth in that respect. They are much more concerned about their looks than we had to be back then. So many young people don't have self-confidence nowadays.'
Sundström started writing as a child, in journals and diaries, and at some point in late adolescence started to feel that it was inevitable she would write a book. In 1966, she published Student-64, a novel of rebellious youth, and 10 years later came Engagement, her third novel and a huge and instant hit. Since then, she has written 14 further books, six of them for children, and in a tone of dismay wonders if becoming a novelist was perhaps a mistake. She is also a translator and found working alongside Kathy Saranpa, the English translator for the new edition of Engagement, an interesting exercise in learning to let go. (After the interview, Sundström emails to correct several English words she used and for which she has thought of more precise translations.)
'I'm very good at Swedish language, and I regret a bit that I didn't devote my life to linguistics instead of literature,' she says. 'It's awful to say, but I don't think literature is all that interesting. There are more interesting things in life. Language; etymologies; the developing of different languages.' In Swedish, the novel is called Maken (The Husband) and she wonders if 'Mate' would've been a better title in English. 'I learned that 'mate' was originally written with a 'k'. So it is 'make', originally.' There is a puzzled silence. 'But that doesn't help.' Or, she wonders, ''Uncoupling': I think that would've been pretty adequate. Both as a criticism of the idea of coupledom, and also the problems of divorcing.'
Sundström herself has been divorced for 30 years and for the past few decades has had a romantic partner with whom she doesn't live. 'To me,' she says, 'it's the ideal; to be a couple, and to see each other when we wish, and still have our own lives. And not least because each of us has children with different parents. I never wanted to be a stepmother, and I didn't want him to be a stepfather to my children because they had their own father.' Although, she adds, 'I'm very thankful for the years I was in a family in the traditional way.' She recalls driving with her husband at the wheel and two children in the back thinking how lucky she was. 'An ideal! And it's me!'
This is a classic example of Sundström's resistance to any one hard and fast position. She gravitates naturally away from political orthodoxy and believes – the translator's curse, perhaps – there is always more than one way to see things. 'By nature, I'm allergic to everything that is the truth of the day,' she says. 'You know, everybody writes the same things in the papers. For example, the #MeToo movement; it wasn't possible to make any objections in that discussion. I would never have said anything publicly then, but I didn't feel quite happy about it; these demonstrations against the Swedish Academy [which awards the Nobel prize in literature], organised as a kind of feminist action. I felt very strange [about] all that; it seemed simplifying. All conflicts can't be seen in that context.'
These are the ambiguities Sundström tackles so well in her fiction, where she can allow all the nuances absent in the headlines to play out. She created Engagement's Martina as neither heroine nor cautionary tale, which is why she continues to be surprised at the fervour with which some young women take her up as a role model. A few years ago, she says, 'I met a young girl who showed me her copy of Maken, and it was full of Post-its. And she said, 'When I'm in trouble, or unsure of something, I think: what would Martina say?'' Sundström looks astonished. 'I don't know if I am supposed to be happy about that. Not for a moment was it my intention to propagate anything at all.'
Instead, she conceived of the book while going through a period of being single, wondering about the long-term prospects of any relationship, and thinking that, as the culture war around marriage and divorce in the 1970s took hold, it might be good grist for a novel. 'In 1976 the Swedish king got married, and all of us radicals, of course, were republicans – I have been a member of the republican association for as long as I can remember. And although [regard for the monarchy] wasn't as mad as it is in Britain, I really was depressed about people engaging with that bloody wedding. And me walking around feeling single.' She laughs. 'This idea of coupledom is even more oppressing to young people today than it was in my day. That means it is very oppressing.'
We return to the subject of death. Sundström's parents were unhistrionic about it too, she says. 'My mother was a widow for five years, and when she was in hospital, I asked her: 'Are you afraid of dying?' And she seemed surprised at the question. 'No! Why should I be?'' They didn't talk about her being reunited with Sundström's father, which is something, she notes disapprovingly, that people extend to their cats and dogs these days. 'Imagine... what a crowd.' As it was, her parents, 'were both so very calm, because they had lived in the conviction that this world isn't the only one'.
This is not what Sundström believes. And yet, thanks to those admirable, religious people in her background, she sees the world much as they did, in terms of social engagement. If she was young now, she says, 'I'd be a Greta Thunberg'. For Sundström, to look at the world and see potential for something better puts the novelist and the activist in a single category: those with the ability 'to imagine something else than this world'.
Engagement by Gun-Britt Sundström, translated by Kathy Saranpa, is published by Penguin Modern Classics (£18.99). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
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The Independent
25 minutes ago
- The Independent
Sarina Wiegman: I have fallen in love with England after ‘craziest' tournament yet
Shortly before Sarina Wiegman walks into one of the grand rooms at England 's five-star Dolder base overlooking Zurich, Ella Toone can't help but laugh. 'We've nearly killed her twice in this tournament,' Toone says. It sometimes feels like at least twice in single games, especially those against Sweden and Italy. 'You've definitely aged me,' Wiegman told the players after the semi-final. You wouldn't think it as she walks in for a more informal chat with media on the eve of the Euro 2025 final. Wiegman is all smiles and laughs, as you might well be when your team repeatedly get through emotional late rescue acts. Everyone conspicuously looks to the coach in such moments. That isn't always the case in football. Wiegman admits that she finds focus on her 'awkward', if of course 'very special'. Except, it's hard not to focus on her. This is the 55-year-old's third consecutive major final in the England job, and fifth as a manager, going back to Euro 2017. It sums Wiegman up that she says it's a record she doesn't even want to think about until she retires. For everyone else, it defines her. While there have been a number of factors in England's rise, not least FA investment, the money they have spent on Wiegman is well justified. She is almost certainly the single most important figure in the history of the women's team. Hence the FA being 'in awe' of Wiegman, according to many insiders, to the point chief executive Mark Bullingham says she's priceless. If England loves Wiegman, however, what does Wiegman think of England? As a manager, she can come across as an abrupt figure, especially when talking in that matter-of-fact manner. Some close to her just say it's part of being Dutch. Nevertheless, Wiegman's success comes as her own players talk about how she's changed; maybe even softened. She is relaxed enough to elaborate on her relationship with England outside the job, something she hasn't really done before. 'I have been here four years and it just feels like my home away from home. I always enjoy it when I'm at work, when I'm in England. It is just the people, the sporting culture. I really love the sporting culture and the fans of course. It is the connection I have with the people, we are very, very close. The people at the FA, with everyone.' Wiegman is eventually asked whether she's 'fallen in love' with England? 'Yes, I have,' she says. 'Otherwise, I would not be sitting here with such a smile on my face.' Wiegman has certainly harnessed some of England's distinctive sporting traits, most visibly in the resilience of this team. 'Proper England', as her players keep saying. 'I absolutely see that,' she says. 'People that really want to work hard and are very committed.' That quality has been honed for this England team through Wiegman's nurturing of a proper old-fashioned team spirit. It has meant that, no matter how the team plays - and, in this tournament, that hasn't been very well - they always have a chance. Hence her resistance to speak about herself, except in the most couched way. 'I think I'm pretty good at bringing people together. But, without the quality, you're not going to win a tournament. So you need very good players and the support staff. The environment we created, the performance, how we do recovery… but they're important things to be the best prepared. 'What I'm trying to do is bring people together in the best possible way. Players and staff and the people around are really, really good.' As is always the case with such figures, you can't truly separate the real personality from the sporting personality, much as they try to. 'I'm kind of a caring person,' Wiegman says. 'I care about them… but at the same time I'm the coach.' The England players say she now lets out more emotion when they score. 'That comes from these performances,' she laughs. 'It's so intense. Of course I look very calm, but when the whistle goes and we score a goal and we change the game, when you have one minute left, of course that is emotional. Now, yes, like every person, I develop too with experiences. 'What I really wanted to do over all these years was try to enjoy it a little bit more, instead of always being so…' Wiegman interrupts herself. 'You have to be focused in this job, but you need to celebrate the moments that are good. It's really nice.' Some of the squad go even further and describe her as 'a mum'. 'Yeah, you know, sometimes when people say about 'the girls', I think 'do they mean my daughters or my team?!'I care about them but at the same time I'm making these hard decisions at the moment. So sometimes you should leave that caring and leave it up to them. They're grown-up women! But at least a mum should care.' Being in the job for four years has naturally seen her become closer to players, though. 'Those informal moments are just nice, to have a conversation in so you get to know each other better on and off the pitch. I say this a lot, but I truly believe connections make a difference. That's why I like team sports so much. That's what I like about the tournaments because you have more time together, so you have more time to have these informal moments.' Wiegman even admits that she misses the players away from camps. 'When we go into international breaks it's 11 days… you don't have much time. And then I'm not a person who just goes out and has a conversation where there's no purpose.' Much of this comes from the amount of consideration she put into actually taking the job in 2021. 'I think from both sides, before 2021, we have been really diligent to figure out if we were a good match. And you never know until you go in.' They now know so well that she's signed a contract to take her at least to the 2027 World Cup. There was 'a click', as Wiegman puts it. No matter how long she goes in the job, though, she's unlikely to face a tournament as tumultuous as Euro 2025. From the retirements beforehand to the being on the brink throughout, she admits there's been nothing like it. 'Before the World Cup, we had challenges with players who were injured. But in this tournament, it has been the craziest one with how the games went. That has been different.' The words don't quite reflect the mock exasperation on her face. Wiegman does admit that she now recovers from matches better. 'I've worked on that, too, because I always say don't put too much emphasis on the result. Of course, we are here to win, but you can't control winning. You can control what you do and what you try to do to win the games. And I do better at that.' As another tournament proves, however, she's not bad at winning either.


The Guardian
25 minutes ago
- The Guardian
Proper England? Maybe, but the Lionesses legacy can be something completely new
You can understand why the Lionesses needed a new catchphrase. Four years ago, when they won the Euros at Wembley, they effectively retired: 'It's coming home.' So this tournament it's all been about 'proper England', a mantra so versatile you can use it for just about anything that's taken place during their Euro 2025 campaign. Georgia Stanway drills one in from the edge of the penalty area? Proper England. Hannah Hampton makes a save with a bloodied wad up her nose? Proper England. Leah Williamson launches a Blue Peter badge? That's proper England, that is. It's a relatable phrase because it seems to embody English football (including its fandom) so smartly, combining solid street slang with a sophisticated hint of irony. And the great thing is, no matter the result on Sunday, it will function perfectly for the denouement. Stealing a European Championship win from a better team at the last feasible moment is absolutely proper England. But then so is burgling your way to a major tournament final and being outplayed by Spain. Hopefully the phrase will outlive the tournament – who knows, if England win it might even become one of those words of the year like 'goblin mode' and 'brain rot'. But the dictionary compilers might insist on a precise definition, which is currently hard to come by. My mate Becki told me she Googled 'what does proper England mean?' last week and the video of Lucy Bronze explaining it left her more baffled than when she started. Even the team itself isn't agreed on the meaning. When Millie Bright first brought the phrase into public use in 2023, she was using it to describe England's defending, a way of making the Lionesses harder to beat. For Bronze it's a flashback to the days when England were underdogs, having 'to dig out performances' against stronger opposition. Sarina Wiegman defines it as playing with purpose and moving the ball upfield. More philosophical squad members equate it with togetherness ('We'll work hard until we can't run any more and stick together' – Alessia Russo) built on Brené Brown principles ('We've made ourselves very vulnerable' – Beth Mead). Or it might just be taking your lumps à la Hannah Hampton and leaving the field battered, bruised but united. Proper England certainly seems easier to feel in your gut than interrogate in your brain. The term encompasses so much in so few syllables, thanks to the way it maps a footballing team identity on to an underlying national one. By evoking a self-image bristling with 'd' words – doughty, dogged, determined – it appeals to a narrative deeply embedded in the English consciousness. This is a country that has sold itself the story of its tenacious fighting spirit for centuries, from Agincourt to Trafalgar, Balaclava to the Blitz. There's no doubt that has influenced and informed the way English fans regard, and talk about, their teams' sporting campaigns. Meanwhile the national footballing identity long followed the same logic employed by monarchs and politicians past, defining the English way not by what it was as much as what it was not. It was not, heaven forfend, French or Spanish – nor was it German, Italian or South American. That cussed assertion frequently provided cover for any lack of flair and imagination, or a failure to adapt to more modern styles. No England team need to adhere to self-perpetuating stereotypes, and women's sport ought, surely, to be less defined by them. If the distinctive English football style, as David Goldblatt has described it, is 'rough, honest, manly', then female footballers denied a place within the wider development structure by the Football Association have the right to snub it entirely. The England women's team deserve the space and licence to play with an entirely different mentality and style. They, after all, have the winning brand. Sign up to Moving the Goalposts No topic is too small or too big for us to cover as we deliver a twice-weekly roundup of the wonderful world of women's football after newsletter promotion The men's side have been working for the past decade to shed some of the less helpful (and more nebulous) concepts of 'the English way'. Michael Owen was one of several former players consulted by Gareth Southgate as the then manager built up his blueprints of an 'England DNA' for the entire FA pathway. Previous men's sides had been shaped by the public's outdated and sentimental expectation of their 'bulldog' character, said Owen. 'They wanted to see the players chasing everything, being physical, playing at 100mph and showing passion. But that wasn't the way successful international teams played.' Given the globalism of sport, the multiculturalism of the British isles, and the dual nationalities of many international athletes, the idea of what constitutes our national sporting identity is, in fact, entirely up for debate. Southgate, a big fan of the All Blacks' methods, used a Kiwi consultant, Owen Eastwood, to help him reset the footballing culture. Terry Butcher's bloodied bandage gave way to more relatable, contemporary visions of what playing for England might mean and look like. Another All Blacks adviser – the mental skills coach Gilbert Enoka – has recently joined the England men's cricket team, another manifestation of its New Zealand-led philosophy. It would be hard to argue that there was anything remotely 'proper England' about Ben Stokes's side in the Bazball era, which jettisoned the Keep Calm and Carry On mantra for a high-risk, all-flair style of play. Their mould-breaking methods have brought about some of the most dramatic victories and historic rearguards in their team's history. On a podcast last week, Hampton reflected on her side's nerve-shredding route to the final. 'I think it's just the proper English way of doing things,' she said. 'We like to keep all the fans on their toes.' But miraculous, last-minute turnarounds are a rarity in the England sporting canon. The Lionesses' trademark unbeatability is transforming the English football legacy into something completely new. If that's proper England, it's proper exciting.


The Independent
an hour ago
- The Independent
Sommeliers and wine experts reveal the best Whispering Angel rosé alternatives
Cited as boosting the worldwide rosé market, Whispering Angel has won itself a loyal legion of sippers, thanks to attractive marketing, subtle flavouring and A-lister approval. Produced deep in Provence, the coveted pale vino became the most talked-about tipple of 2021 after Adele told US Vogue that her supermarket runs during lockdown consisted of ketchup and the cult wine. 'Whispering Angel turned me into a barking dog. It did not make me whisper,' said the singer when referring to her favourite plonk. A blend of cinsaut, grenache and vermentino grapes, the wine is loved for being very pale and very dry, with subtle flavours of orange, red fruits and a little dried herbs and spice. But with a price tag of £25, it's one of the more upmarket rosés on store shelves. True to form, supermarkets like Aldi and Asda have been quick to develop alternatives that don't merely nod to the OG but appear carbon copy (the former boasts a similarly italicised label while the latter is wryly called Screaming Devil). Elsewhere, sommeliers namecheck Miravel and Leoube (both cost less than £18) while wine enthusiasts on TikTok love M&S's la balconne and Lidl's breath of paradise bottle. 'Whispering Angel is a great wine, as is its more refined offering,' says wine writer Katie Brook. 'But are we paying for quality or a name?' In a bid to help you keep costs down ahead of your next summertime soirée or wine-fueled dinner party, I went to the experts. I asked them to share their favourite affordable alternatives to Whispering Angel. What to look for in a Whispering Angel alternative "I always recommend looking to the regions in and around Whispering Angel's home, the southern French Mediterranean region of Provence – so look for labels that say Languedoc, Pays D'Oc, IGP Méditerranée or Corsica,' says The Independent 's weekly wine columnist, Rosamund Hall. By looking in these regions, 'you'll find wines made using similar grapes. They'll have a familiar appearance and taste: delicate pale dusty-pinks with aromas of fresh summer berried fruits, hints of orange zest, and of course a beautiful, uplifting acidity', she explains. Lucy Hitchcock, the wine enthusiast behind the @Partnerinwineuk social media account, explains: 'The peculiar thing is, a lot of the Whispering Angel 'dupes' that are popping up now, are actually Sainte Victoire Cotes du Provence rosés.' This region has recently become the first 'cru' of Côtes de Provence, noted for its distinctive terroir. 'Sainte Victoire is a very specific quality area of Côtes de Provence, with a specific microclimate producing beautifully balanced grapes,' Hitchcock adds. For those looking for a swap-out Provencial rosé, Emilee Tombs, wine writer and assistant travel editor at The Independent, suggests the Loire Valley. 'While it might not offer better value, rosé wines from this area of northwest France have a similar dry, crisp style with red fruit and citrus notes.' Meet the experts Lucy Hitchcock is the wine enthusiast behind the @Partnerinwineuk social media account. She has nearly 100k on Instagram and 65k on TikTok, with her reviews of Aldi or M&S bottles regularly going viral. Emilee Tombs is assistant travel editor at The Independent and holds a WSET Level 3 Award in Wines from the Wine and Spirits Education Trust. She has written for a number of wine publications, from Noble Rot to Ocado Life magazine. Katie Brook is a journalist with a specialism in wine and a decade of experience as a wine reviewer. She is the founder of Run To Wine, a London- and Surrey-based running club that ends its sessions with a wine tasting. Rosamund Hall is a writer, presenter and columnist specialising in wine and spirits. She is The Independent 's weekly wine columnist with 'The Wine Down' and writer of the best rosé wines. Tom Gilbey started winemaking at age 23, then became an importer, wine merchant, and advisor. He shares his recommendations on his website, as well as to his 666k followers on Instagram and 218k on TikTok, aiming to demystify the world of wine.