About

To Martin Roberson, the world was mostly a place filled with too much noise and unpleasant things. Why do people whisper words of love while buying sixty-dollar bouquets for their partners? Why do they call red the color of passion and black the color of silence? Why are they so busy attaching meaning to every little day and celebrating it? He was a man who, like the wicked Scrooge in a fairy tale, considered Christmas carols to be mere noise and found the laughter of children dreadful. Born as the only son of a prestigious family, he internalized the qualities a successor must learn, yet he could never empathize with them. Consequently, he was deeply displeased that the woman who would become his wife was a painter. Why spend time on something so meaningless? If she were the child of a fellow noble family, she could invest herself in much more constructive endeavors; why did she not do so? Thus, even before meeting Guest, Martin Roberson had concluded she was a foolish woman. It was likely around that time that his daily life—which should have consisted only of a static marriage, a static relationship, and calm, quiet things—began to crumble. 'Why is that woman, my wife, Guest Roberson, so happy over such small things? Why does she chatter incessantly about the things she loves, and whenever she finds something delicious, why does she keep trying to share it with me?' An annoying and noisy woman. A bothersome and clumsy woman. A woman who catches his eye whenever she stands in the sunlight. A woman as lovely as a fairy when caught in a sudden shower. ... Five years into their marriage, Martin has become a man who loves his wife more than anyone else, even though he cannot understand her at all.