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Christmas is coming. This weekend will see trees go up in earnest, gift lists being ticked off as we wade through busy high streets, and the annual pilgrimage to various cheapo retailers to buy pneumatic, temporary “cousin” beds. The holidays are finally shuddering into focus, and what could put the seal upon this merry fixture better than the annual festive row?
In our house, tempers usually start flaring around the bauble: having bickered about the date of purchase, specimen and size of the Christmas pine, the mood will darken when one or other of the party loses interest as to where to hang the millionth festive ornament.
The tree has long been a key marker in the battleground of who controls Christmas. Some members of the family would erect it in July. I would sooner postpone all Christmas decoration until at least the 16th day of Advent, and I admire to rip the whole lot down on Boxing Day.
For this reason, I am usually exiled from the decoration moment on account of being a massive Grinch. Last year, I harrumphed upstairs to watch Adam Curtis skewering modern capitalism in HyperNormalisation while my loved ones enjoyed some family time. (For the record, it was very interesting, and I was very happy for an hour or four.)
Christmas arguments are an inevitable feature of a moment in which every party has a huge emotional stake. Trying to meet the expectations of your children, buy sufficiently heartfelt gifts for people with whom you have only a glancing acquaintance and relish yourself is a tremendous responsibility, and that’s before we get into how long you should parboil a Brussels sprout. Even those who ignore the holidays completely, or don’t believe in baby Jesus, are susceptible to sudden flare-ups. More seriously, divorce rates soar throughout the festive period, as does domestic abuse.
For most families, however, the period offers an extended episode of empty in which things can be reset. No longer shackled to our emails, or school lunch preparations, bickering soon fills the vacuum. We can get under the bonnet of our relationships and pick everything apart.
Marital tiffs are the curse of down time — the product of too much anticipatory zeal. They can also be lacerating, nasty, unnecessary and downright cruel. One of the most discomfiting things I’ve seen this year is the argument that anchors the courtroom drama Anatomy of a Fall.
After much discussion about whether the film’s protagonist Sandra Voyter (played by the magnificent Sandra Hüller) might have killed her husband, we bear witness to the argument that took place the day before his fatal fall. The scene is marvellously gripping because it’s so on point. What starts with calm irritation escalates with almost imperceptible degrees of rancour before arriving at calamity. Neither side seems to have the advantage: the focus lurches from micro details into huge generalistic swipes.
But is it a sign of an irretrievable breakdown? According to Hüller, not at all. Speaking to The Film Stage in October, she observed: “When people are done with each other, they don’t fight any more. They just don’t care.”
Some couples seem to thrive on combustibility and airing the proverbial laundry. Others shrink from arguments. Is there such a thing as a constructive argument? Is there a “safe” way to clear the air?
I’m all for a bit of a barney, though I’d prefer the focus was on something other than myself. The last really big row I had was about whether journalists could be considered artists. Make of that one what you will. An illuminating article in the New York Times this month offered key phrases that fighting partners should avoid. The marriage counsellors, psychologists and therapists concurred that you should never say “you’re overreacting”, that you should avoid generalisations (“you always…”), deflections (“yes, but . . . ) and that the expression “calm down” is akin to throwing “oil in a fire”.
A lot of it seemed totally reasonable, if slightly awkward in the Anglo-Saxon tongue. I’m not convinced that their advice to reframe the “yes, but . . . ” deflection for the more emollient “what I’m hearing from you is . . . ” would do much to put out any flame.
In my encounter, the best way to win an argument is to be quick to reconcile. Unless the emotional wounds are epic, there’s no point in holding on to minor gripes. There’s nothing worse than someone dragging the entrails of an argument around the house for hours, and if you’re not planning on separation, why even spoil an afternoon? Fess up to being an asshole. Apologise for being unpleasant. Having an argument is easy. So is having the final word. The winner is the person who rearranges the last bauble on the tree.
Bid for lunch with Jo at Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester and raise money for the FT’s charity, the Financial Literacy and Inclusion Campaign (FLIC).
Email Jo at jo.ellison@ft.com
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