Love Is a Canoe: A Novel (13 page)

“You’ve helped so many people. Now we want to bring you and your book to an even larger audience. And that’s why we came up with a contest.”

“A contest?”

“We want to send a winning couple to visit you later this fall. You just sit and chat with them. They’re the winners.”

“Chat? You mean about marriage?”

“Yes. I know it sounds weird, but we think it will really strike the right chord with the public. Don’t you agree?”

He breathed in loud enough so she could hear. He didn’t imagine he had actually helped any of the couples he’d talked with over the years. He mostly managed to weasel out of any sort of in-depth conversation. There was that period in the late seventies when evenings found him at the Sally Forth bar, drinking good scotch for free and talking to just about anybody. But then that scene had gone bad and they had to shut down the bar. He didn’t remember that period so well. Of course,
Canoe
did affect some people deeply. He knew that. But hanging around with him didn’t enhance the reading experience, that was for sure. Then again, he was usually pretty good at making people feel like they were glad they checked in with him. People found him emotionally intuitive. He kind of was.

“Well, I wrote the book on it, didn’t I?” he asked, partly to reassure himself and partly to see what she’d say.

“Yes, yes of course you did. It’s funny that you put it that way because that’s just how I like to say it around the office.”

“And I’d need to stay where I am for a little while, wouldn’t I?”

“Do you mean stay in Millerton? Why, yes,” Stella said. “To welcome the winners.”

“I don’t know.”

“We can offer you … forty thousand dollars against future advances for your participation. And another forty thousand in six months if sales substantially increase, let’s say by two hundred percent beyond where they are now. There’s paperwork on this that I can send you.”

“My wife used to negotiate for me,” he said. “At first I didn’t have an agent. And then my wife was my agent. We were never sure if we had a good deal. But we always remembered to ask for the best that could be offered.”

“I’ve been empowered to offer you the best possible amendment to your contract. I can assure you of that.”

“You know, the more I talk with you, the better I like your idea. Let’s do it.”

“Wonderful,” Stella said. “And I hope you won’t find me too forward when I say that I’m surprised we’re seeing so eye to eye on this contest! After so many years of you … keeping to yourself.”

“Was I doing that? I don’t think so. I’ve just been minding my own business.” There was something else he wanted to ask. He wanted to know whether Helena had retired. “Tell me, is Helena Magursky still working at LRB?”

“Yes, she’s our president. She asked after you. Do you have a message you want me to pass on to her?”

“No, no. I’m just curious. She was my first editor. It’s been a lot of years…”

“I’ve been here just less than one year,” Stella said. “But I can’t tell you how excited I am to work with you now!”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it, too.”

“Will you want to see our marketing materials before we release them? I can’t exactly give you approval—but I can at least involve you in the process.”

“No, no. Do what you like. I’m sure you know how to do your job. I trust you. I just want to meet the nice young couple. Let’s make them young, please. And solid. They ought to be solid, handsome people. That will make things smoother.”

“Of course. We’ll send you a few essays and you can select your favorite. And we’ll check their backgrounds as best we can.”

“That’s smart. I’m glad to talk with you, Stella. It’s better to call in the mornings. I’m most—I’m at my best then.”

After the call was over, he was surprised to discover that he did want to drive to town and catch up with Henry and look over the damage from the fire. But Henry was right. He would observe but he wouldn’t interfere with the life of the inn. Who needed the trouble? He only wanted to have lunch with an old friend. But he’d be damned if Henry would get him to try the eggplant.

Press release for the “Win a Day with Peter Herman Contest,” sponsored by Ladder & Rake Books, a division of Timmler Products, Inc.

AN ANNIVERSARY AND CONTEST FOR
MARRIAGE IS A CANOE

Peter Herman’s
Marriage Is a Canoe
, continuously in print since it was first published by Ladder & Rake in 1971, is the preeminent self-help book of our time on love and marriage.

Marriage Is a Canoe
is the spellbinding true story of Peter Herman’s thirteenth summer, which he spent with his grandparents on Lake Okabye, near Millerton, New York, in 1961. During that summer, Peter absorbed lessons about life and marriage from his grandparents, largely while trout fishing with his grandfather.

Mr. Herman wrote his book directly after graduating from Columbia University, where he received a degree in English. He wrote in the mornings and at lunch while working as an advertising copywriter for McCann Erickson in New York City. The first edition was published in October 1971, when Mr. Herman was twenty-three. It is his only published work.

This sensational book began its life as a gift edition–size hardcover emblazoned with a painting of two figures paddling a canoe on a lake at sunset—a timeless American image meant to appear nostalgic.
Canoe
sold 5,900 copies in that first edition, copies that are now rare and worth thousands. Since then,
Marriage Is a Canoe
has been in print as a paperback Ladder & Rake Evergreen edition, with three distinct revisions, five new forewords, and several afterwords, addendums, and notes to new and old readers. There are over two million copies of
Marriage Is a Canoe
in print, and thirty-eight foreign editions.

The book has never appeared on
The New York Times
or
USA Today
bestseller lists because expert publishing analysts have called it the most shared self-help volume in the world. At the same time, its consistent sales over so many years must be attributed to the undeniable universal wisdom that every reader discovers in the book’s anecdotes.

Two thousand eleven marks the fiftieth anniversary of the events upon which the book is based. In celebration of this anniversary, beginning on October 1st and ending on November 1st, Ladder & Rake will hold a contest. The winners of that contest—one lucky married couple, a couple with normal everyday problems—will visit with Peter Herman.

All contest entries must be no longer than two hundred words. The most compelling dozen entries will be read by Peter Herman, who will select our winning couple. Then, on a Saturday in November, toward the end of leaf season, he will meet them for a stroll around Lake Okabye followed by afternoon tea and supper at his home in upstate New York.

Our winning couple will also enjoy a complimentary weekend at the Lake Okabye Inn, in Millerton, New York. They will receive the entire back catalog of important self-help books from Ladder & Rake, and a signed first edition of
Marriage Is a Canoe
.

One hundred second-prize winners will receive signed copies of the new, fiftieth anniversary edition of
Marriage Is a Canoe
, to be released with selected new commentaries in a handsome collectible hardcover edition, priced at $40.00 and available to all for purchase in late December 2011.

Emily, September 2011

“I’m serious,” Eli said. “Please hold my hand.”

Emily and Eli were walking on the Brooklyn Bridge, toward Manhattan. Eli had on sunglasses so Emily couldn’t quite see his eyes. His hair was standing up in places and he had on a furry white pullover Patagonia sweater that made him look like a sheep, a handsome, dark-headed sheep.

She took his hand, but didn’t speak. He pulled off his sunglasses and gave her the same pleading look he’d been using constantly since the UBA party. They had been through several bad days, arguing over what had happened and what it meant for them. Eli would not stop apologizing. Emily couldn’t figure out what to do. She had told herself they were married and she couldn’t imagine that what had happened would destroy their marriage. She had tried to stress to herself how tiny and meaningless the infraction had been. She had talked to her mother, who agreed with her. But she felt she had lost all control of their situation, and frustratingly, she no longer possessed a clear vision of their future. She was now back in a place she thought she would never have to visit again, where she had to be patient and wait and see where her life was headed.
Canoe
had never suggested that marriage ought to contain this sense of loneliness and loss.

They arrived at the spot where the wooden slats ended and the walkway turned to concrete. Emily immediately missed the slats. They were scary because a crazy person could come and saw through them and then everyone would fall into the East River, but at the same time, on the slats you were suspended and buoyant—there was rushing air all around you. The concrete meant you were coming down from that suspension. Her footfalls were harder and she turned back to look at the wooden part of the bridge.

“Watch out for the bikers,” Eli said.

“I am. I always do.” She glared at him.

They were planning to see Sherry in
Flight
, her new play at the Minetta Lane Theatre. But they had a few hours and they weren’t hungry. It was windy out. Emily suddenly yanked her hand away from Eli and wrapped her coat tightly around her. She’d been so proud, just a few hours ago—of being able to fight through this funk for long enough to wriggle into her pale gray skirt and charcoal tights, her brown suede flats. In the mirror she’d had a moment of fantasy of looking like Gwyneth Paltrow, at her absolute gloomiest, with darker brown hair. Then Eli had come in to the bedroom and told her how beautiful she looked and the furtiveness in his eyes pushed her right back into that awful over-landscaped garden in Fort Greene. She flashed back to the minutes that she’d stood alone in the garden before Eli came back down the stairs, after the toast, and begged again for her to forgive him. She’d carefully gone back into the house with him, found her coat on a steel rack in the hall, and left. Eli hadn’t stopped her. That was on the list now of things she was not sure she would be able to figure out how to forget. That had been four days ago. She was keeping a list in her head of the moments when Eli had incontrovertibly failed her.

Eli kept opening his mouth and then stopping, swallowing his words. Finally, he said, “This play—Sherry has a good supporting role?”

“It’s an ensemble.”

“I thought this was the one about the photographer who is just back from Iraq?”

“That was the last one.”

“I went to the last one,” Eli said, carefully. “The one about the family that was all women in lead roles, the Chekhov one.”

“That was the one before last.” Emily wiped from her eyes the tears that always came with the wind.

“Tell me the plot of this one.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t want to tell you the plot of Sherry’s play right now.”

Eli took a deep breath. He said, “What do you want me to do? I know it was awful! I am awful! I am furious with myself. But I love you. And I can wait—I’ll wait for however long it takes for you to forgive me.”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“Then tell me about the play. So we don’t have to talk about it. Please.”

“Fine,” she said. “Ready? Sherry talked so much about it that I know the story by heart.”

“I have an idea,” Eli said. “I know we’re headed toward Bleecker and Sixth but let’s veer far west, into Tribeca, on the way there. It’s calmer and there’s not so many tourists. If we’re late we can take a cab.”

“That sounds fine.”

“Okay, the play. Ready.”

She said, “A winged man crashes through the ceiling of a penthouse where a dinner party is going on, in an unnamed city. The dinner is for a young couple who are going to announce their engagement to the bride’s parents, who don’t want them to be married. They don’t trust the fiancé because of a financial deal that has nearly bankrupted all of them.”

“He’s an angel,” Eli said.

“Maybe he is. Anyway, he crashes into this apartment, the winged man, right when they’re eating oysters. Sherry had to learn how to open oysters without cutting herself. They throw the shells at him. He’s like a seagull or some seabird.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

“Yeah, he’s vermin, like a rat. Then he starts talking to them. They reveal all their problems to him and he says he finds their problems really fascinating. He says they are problems of the ground and not the air.”

Eli nodded, looking forward. He said, “I get that.”

“You do?” she asked. “I didn’t. I thought it was, like, the worst line I’ve ever heard.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Come on. You should be laughing at this.”

“No, I’m really listening. He’s an angel, right? Angels talk like that.”

“I think I already said that I don’t think that’s clarified.”

“Sherry is the bride?”

“Yes. She didn’t tell me the end. She wants me to be surprised. She might go off with the winged man. I know someone goes off with the winged man.”

“Through the roof?”

“Let’s hope.”

Eli pursed his lips. He adjusted his sunglasses and then quickly took them off. His brown-and-violet eyes were bright and she thought it seemed like the sunset was reflected in them.

They slowed down in the human traffic of City Hall Park. A teenage girl checked Eli out. She had on tight blue jeans and a puffy jacket and she was pushing a baby carriage with her boyfriend. A pair of female security guards on a bench outside a back entrance to Tweed Courthouse watched Eli through their cigarette smoke. They were definitely gay and they gave him a good slow appraisal anyway. Emily used to think it was funny, that he was so good-looking. Because it didn’t matter. He belonged to her. And yet again, in a way that felt like a fresh hurt every time it hit her, he just didn’t feel like hers anymore. She began to cry.

He turned to her, fast. He said, “Fine. Let’s talk about it again. Let’s begin with me apologizing like it’s the first time I’ve done that. It was the second worst thing I ever did, what I did with you in that garden. And the first thing was with Jenny and that was just idiocy. I fooled around with her and it went too far and I am sorry. I will always be sorry. I just want this problem to go away and for things to be like they were before.”