Nuclear Implosion

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It's less religious, for starters. Last year, Italy recorded the lowest number of marriages in its history. In less devout countries such as Britain, almost two-thirds of marriages are conducted by civil authorities. One reason is that immigration and increased mobility within Europe are bringing together couples from different religious backgrounds who may find a civil union the best option. Sujata Naik and Ron Scapello puzzled over the possibilities. In the end, Naik, a dual British and U.S. national of Indian immigrant parents, brought up as a Hindu but educated at a convent school, took Scapello, a Briton of Maltese Catholic parentage, as her husband in a Hindu exchange of vows. "We felt committed as a couple and we didn't feel the need for an official blessing," says Naik. "That's partly why we went for the Hindu wedding. It seemed more fun."

Naik proposed inventing a new surname combining elements of their family names to mark their union; Scapello laughed at the idea. But Professor Howard of the Future Foundation predicts a hyphenated future. "We'll be seeing a much more integrated European family," she says. "That means a real mix of names and types such as the Gonzales-Brauns, the Harrison-Perreiras with their multilingual, multicultural children."

Or the Arbach-Benzes. Lena and Denya Arbach-Benz, ages 5 and 9, live in Toulouse, France, with their Moroccan father Jamal Arbach, a historian, and their German mother Bettina Benz, an architect, who met in Toulouse. "It's a great chance for the girls to grow up with three cultures," says Arbach. "The world is becoming far more global in future and I don't want them to withdraw when they are confronted with a different culture."

The sisters seem blissfully unaware of the cultural differences they are being educated to bridge. Pressed to identify differences between her country of birth and her parents' homelands, the best Denya can manage is: "In France we don't have bread rolls like the ones in Germany. But the only real difference between the three is that people speak different languages."

French Revolution
The size of Claire Denis' family earned her a gold medal — and the pity of strangers who assume some of her pregnancies were accidental. "Every time I give birth, there is always a nurse who asks: 'Is this a wanted baby?'" she says. "That always makes me laugh. I ask them, 'Do you really think it's still possible to have unwanted babies?' That hardly exists any more."

Perhaps, but the decades-long focus on producing offspring means that the republic lags its neighbors in recognizing the new revolution taking place inside its homes. Serge Chaumier, professor of cultural sociology at the University of Bourgogne, France, says that "Women without children are very stigmatized in France. A woman who has no children is seen as an amputee."

There's not much official enthusiasm for new forms of family, either. "For a long time, France has been a country that follows public opinion," says Joël Bedos, 41, an external relations advisor for an international ngo who lives in Paris. "We have a conservative government that, rather than encouraging society to change, only changes things when they are absolutely sure they won't upset anyone."

Under French law, Bedos cannot marry his partner of six years, 42-year-old Gilles Kleitz. Spain, the Netherlands, and Belgium allow same-sex couples to wed, but France and Britain recognize only a form of civil union. And no country has yet drafted legislation that would legitimize the family structure Bedos and Kleitz have adopted. Together with Nathalie Jobard, 42, and Sophie Rajzman, 38, they are parents to daughter Louise, who turns 4 this month.