M. I. Divine’s Ultimate Guide for Life

Before Martin Freedman came across M. I. Divine’s Ultimate Guide for Life he lived in books. Starting from when he first learned to read, while other boys played in the streets, schoolyards, and parks of his leafy Brooklyn neighborhood, Martin lay on his bed in his room, absorbed by the words on the pages of his books. Even on hot summer days, when those boys ran wild on the sand and dove into the crashing surf at Coney Island, Martin hid out in his steamy room, too immersed in the stories he was reading to notice that he was bathed in sweat. He read far into the night, stopping only when he was no longer able to focus. The intrepid characters, striking images, vibrant scenes, and even the odors and tastes that jumped from the pages of his books animated his dreams, inhabited his waking brain, and fed his lonely soul.

Martin also loved to hold books—especially old hard-bound volumes. He would run his fingers over their textured pages, admire their stately covers and bindings, and breathe in their ancient odors. When he was able to suppress his chronic timidity and fear of mixing with others, he searched used bookstores, garage sales, and flea markets, hoping to find printed treasures, one of which, he was sure, would provide ultimate enlightenment.

And Martin did need enlightenment; the only time he did not feel frightened and adrift—a stranger to all that was about him—was when he was in his room, reading.

When Martin was in high school he discovered Ayn Rand, and felt as if he had been struck by lightning. After he had completed The Fountainhead he sat back, stunned. As he read the rest of Rand’s books Martin fully absorbed her philosophy—that one’s life should be based on reason, achievement, and the pursuit of personal happiness, what she referred to as rational self-interest and individualism. However, Martin could not act on that set of beliefs because he lacked self-confidence and often found himself crushingly unable to handle life situations. Even so, he started referring to himself as John Galt and then as Howard Roark, finally deciding on Howard Galt. When he announced his new name to his parents, they were bewildered, and continued to call him Martin.

Near the end of Howard’s senior year at Columbia his across-the-street neighbor, Mr. Divine, a grizzled hermit who had lived for close to a century, died. The day after the funeral, Howard, who had been sitting near the window of his room, reading, saw a man enter the house. Five minutes later he knocked on the door. When it opened, Howard, with his eyes to the ground, asked whether he could take some of Mr. Divine’s books.

“His books? I sure as Hell don’t know what to do with them. He was my father’s cousin. A crackpot, like a mystic. Take them all.” Without even looking up, Howard slipped past the man and hurried to the book-lined study, which Mr. Divine had shown to him on one memorable occasion.

Howard worked quickly, filling a dozen large plastic bags that the man gave to him, after which he made several trips carrying the heavy loads to his house and up the creaky staircase to his room. He carefully examined each book before deciding into which group it belonged: charity (he would decide on one at another time); personal collection; valuable. Several hundred books went into each of the first two groups. He placed five books in the last pile. Howard knew that at least two of them could be sold for large amounts of money: a 1903 first edition of The Call of the Wild in perfect condition and a slightly worn 1934 first edition of Tender is the Night, which had been autographed by the author.

A hefty volume covered in black fabric fell from the top of the massive charity pile. Howard picked it up and reread the hand-inscribed title, Ultimate Guide for Life. Even though he had been interested in the book when he first skimmed through it he had decided that reading it would not be worth his time. He put it back on the pile. It immediately tumbled to the floor again and landed at his feet. Surprised, Howard stared at the book for a few seconds before he picked it up and turned to the first hand-written page. It began, “This book contains everything that I have learned during my long life of reflection. It is all that one needs to achieve enlightenment, M. I. Divine.” Howard, who believed in omens, decided that his deceased neighbor wanted him to read the book. He placed it on the table next to his bed and read close to half of it that night, completing it the next day.

The book was dense but lyrical. More than that, it gripped Howard and filled his mind to bursting with powerful thoughts and uplifting insights. Mr. Divine had dealt with the same problems as Howard, but he had developed strategies and solutions, all of which seemed to offer an illuminated path for Howard to follow. He read the book again, this time breathlessly underlining significant passages and filling a legal pad with quotes from the text. Then, his heart pulsing, Howard sat for a long while, recollecting what he had read and organizing his thoughts. He wrote the following summary:

My goals, my needs, and what I must do to achieve contentment supersede all else. I will use rational thinking to decipher visual and auditory inputs from my surroundings and decide whether they benefit me. BE BOLD. BE STEADFAST. OVERCOME ALL OBSTACLES. STAND ERECT. DO NOT ALLOW ANYTHING OR ANYONE TO DICTATE HOW I WANT TO LIVE OR IMPEDE ME AS I SEEK MY DESTINY!

He not only memorized those words, but began attempting to live according to their meaning. It was not easy, but he was determined.

A week before he graduated from Columbia, Howard summoned his nascent sense of self-esteem, and approached Mr. Schneider, the owner of West Side Booksellers. Forcing himself not slouch, which was his normal posture, Howard announced that once school ended he would be able to work full time. Mr. Schneider said, “Oh? I thought I had talked you out of that. Why would you—a smart young man—want to stay here? Get yourself a good position.”

Howard, standing erect, replied: “I want to continue working here.”

“I know, and you’ve been reliable for the past four years, and I see that you are finally trying to improve your people skills by looking customers in the eye and engaging them in conversation. But, this is not a job for a college-educated boy. I can’t raise your hourly pay or put you on a weekly salary.”

“I don’t care. I’m staying.”

“Look, Howard, you know the store isn’t doing well. I will not be able to give you a full week.”

“I’ll work full time anyway; pay me what you can afford.”

“No. Let’s do this: you can keep working here, and I’ll try to give you more hours, but I can’t promise. In the meantime, you should look for another kind of job—you know, something to pay you more than minimum wage, some kind of professional position.”

“This is what I want. Once I have enough money I’ll buy you out.”

“Oh? I didn’t know I was selling.”

“When I have the money, you will sell to me. It’s my destiny, and I know how to make the store profitable.”

Mr. Schneider shuddered as he stared at Howard’s cold, predator-like eyes. He turned his head to the door to see whether it was open and letting in a draft. It wasn’t. Outside, the busy sidewalk was bathed in shimmering waves of warm April sunlight.

The next morning Howard placed the five books from Mr. Divine’s shelves that he believed were valuable, along with a few others he had collected over the years, into a briefcase and took the subway to Bauman Rare Books. As he waited for someone to speak to him he breathed in the aroma: old books, yellowed pages, ancient ink. An impeccably attired gentleman examined the books and then asked Howard to leave them. Stunned, Howard requested an immediate offer.

“We do not conduct business in that way. Here is a receipt. We will call when we have decided whether or not we wish to purchase your books.”

“You don’t understand. They are valuable. Three of them are very valuable. You will want them. I need the money to purchase a business.”

“I understand. Assuming we are interested, we will offer top dollar.”

Two days later, a voice on the phone said, “We are very interested in acquiring all of your books.”

That afternoon, Howard walked out of Bauman Rare Books with a check for a bit over $30,000, which he deposited in his checking account. Then he took a taxi to West Side Booksellers, where Mr. Schneider, upon seeing Howard, said, “Oh. You’re scheduled to work tomorrow, not today.”

Howard got right to the point: “I’m prepared to buy the store. I have the money for a down payment; I’ll borrow the rest. Name your price.”

Again, Mr. Schneider felt chilled. Then he said, “This is not like you, Howard, and it is not the way to make an offer. I had not planned on selling or retiring just yet. I will need time to consider whether or not I want to sell.”

“You have to sell. It’s the best thing for you. And, if you are not willing to sell I will open a bookstore nearby, and you may not survive.”

“Listen, Howard, you know a lot about books, but you don’t know about business. One of my reasons for hesitating to sell to you, besides the fact that I’m not ready to retire, is I’m afraid you will not be successful. You still do not seem to relate to people; you don’t seem to care about people or see them as real. It would kill me if this store, which I opened almost 50 years ago, were to fail.”

“I am learning how to relate. I have a guide.”

“A guide?”

“A wonderful book that has answers to all of my life questions.”

“I don’t know, Howard.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow. You’ll sell to me.”

And he did.

When Howard took possession of West Side Booksellers he hired a contractor to modernize the store and found two Columbia undergrads to distribute flyers with coupons. He installed a half dozen easy chairs and made sure to have fresh-brewed coffee and tea and biscotti on hand at all times. In addition, he handed out colorful Loyal Customer cards and punched them with each purchase. Once monthly sales had increased considerably over what they had been he told his book distributors that he would no longer purchase from them unless they offered better terms.

Within the first year the store evolved from an old neighborhood standby that was chronically in danger of expiring to a successful business. By a few months into the next year, Howard had received three offers to sell. He turned them all down.

He opened early and stayed late every day, which meant he had no time to visit flea markets and book sales, but Howard was content. For the first time in his life he felt in control, empowered, and safe.

One day, a strikingly attractive young woman with a mane of lustrous black hair, glittering lime-green earrings, and an enormous shoulder bag of the same color glided into the store. As she gracefully moved along the aisles, Howard, who was at the counter, reading, looked up and stared. When the woman turned to him and smiled he looked down. She spent a few minutes picking up books, skimming through them, and putting them down—but not all of them. As she reached for the doorknob, Howard said, “People sometimes try to walk out with one book, but not two. That’s excessive.” As she began to speak, Howard added, “One book is impulse; two is theft,” at which point she began to cry. As the woman took the books from her bag and handed them to Howard, he said, “Keep one.”

After she left Howard wondered why he had done that. Was it because she was pretty? Why would that have influenced him? He had never asked a woman out on a date or even engaged in that kind of conversation with one.

She returned the next evening. Howard could not help but be mesmerized by her shimmering hair, her daringly short white skirt, and her gently swaying hips. As she came near, Howard smelled lemon drops. She handed a greeting card to him. He read the card and then he placed it on the counter and, at a loss for words, remained mute. She said, “Like the card says, you never know how a kind deed can reach into the heart of another soul. You see, I was feeling low yesterday, and your gracious way of handling the situation lifted me up.” After another silent moment the woman said, “I’m Annemarie. The sign says you’re Howard, right? I’d like to take you out for a bite to thank you for your kindness.”

Perplexed and unnerved, Howard said, “No. I like only certain foods … and I don’t want to go out.”

“How about a drink?”

“I don’t drink.”

“You’re making this very hard for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything. I’m busy. You should go home.”

“But I want to do something. You could have been mean to me.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did. You were wonderful.”

“I didn’t do anything for you. I never do things for people. No one does. Everyone is alone. I don’t have time to go out. I don’t want to make friends.”

“I don’t believe that. Everyone needs friends … and people do things for each other. You helped me. I get depressed, and when I do, I do dumb things, like shoplift. Your kindness brought me up from the depths. I’m still feeling high because of how you treated me. I want to get to know you.”

“I’m not interested in doing that. Besides, I have a long subway ride to Brooklyn when I close up. I can’t stay out.”

“I will not take no for an answer. You created an astonishing cosmic connection between us. You touched my heart. I want to get to know—”

“There are no connections. I am alone. You are alone.”

“That’s not true. We connected. Come to my apartment when you close up. I’ll make coffee. We’ll talk. You can sleep on my couch so you don’t have to take the subway home tonight. I’ll write my name so you remember it, and my address, on this bookmark. It’s nearby. Come anytime you want. I don’t get to bed until late, and I don’t sleep much anyway.”

And then she left, leaving behind the scent of lemon drops.

Two hours later, as Howard prepared to close up the store, he glanced at the bookmark with the woman’s address. Her apartment was down the street from his regular subway station, but he was not interested in her or any other woman. Thanks to Mr. Divine’s book Howard was more in control of his life than he had ever been and he had learned how to talk to people, but … a woman? Yes, he had been aroused by her. That had happened with other women at other times, but he had learned how to squelch those uncomfortable yearnings. But this woman was different. More than her slender beauty and her sensual, throaty voice, the scent of lemon drops lingered and brought to mind warm, intensely erotic images.

As Howard walked to the subway he thought about how going to this woman’s apartment would be significantly different from other interactions with people. The very thought of it alarmed him. What would he say? What would he do? He felt as he had before he had read Mr. Divine’s book, like a visitor from an alien planet. He decided that he would just go home.

Then Howard had a new thought: he could consider a visit to the woman’s apartment an experiment. He would have a cup of tea (not coffee) and engage in what people blithely refer to as “small talk.” It would not be a romantic encounter. It would be a social interaction with a person who happened to be a woman. He would be in control. He would talk and he would listen and observe her. It would be an instructive evening, another step in his attempt to reach ultimate enlightenment. That was what his life was about, so why not take advantage of the situation?

And, if he became aroused (because, after all, she was stunning) and if she seemed to be interested, he would not suppress those impulses. He would attempt to achieve the goal of going to bed with her in the same way that he pursued all of his other objectives—with persistence and confidence. That would be instructive too. If she was not inclined to bring him to her bed, he would say good night and, during his subway ride home he would engage in deep, rational thinking so as to analyze the events of the evening and determine how to be more successful the next time.

Howard reached the entrance to the subway station. He carefully, rationally considered his options.

He could go home, where he had always felt comfortable.

He could strike out in a new direction, where he might feel distressed.

He looked down at the dimly lit staircase that led to home, and then up at the nearby street sign, which was illuminated by a sputtering street lamp.

A chilly breeze ruffled his hair.