Heaven Is Small
Authors: Emily Schultz
HEAVEN IS SMALL
EMILY SCHULTZ
Contents
CopyrightEndorsementDedicationChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24
Copyright © 2009 Emily Schultz
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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This edition published in 2012 by
House of Anansi Press Inc.
110 Spadina Avenue, Suite 801
Toronto,
ON
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M
5
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2
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4
Tel. 416-363-4343
Fax 416-363-1017
www.houseofanansi.com
LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION
Schultz, Emily, 1974–
Heaven is small / Emily Schultz.
eISBN 978-0-88784-840-7
I. Title.
PS8587.C5474H42 2010 C813’.54 C2009-906301-8
Cover design and photo of book: Ingrid Paulson
Cover images: Yellow post-it © Jill Fromer/photodisc/getty images; Southern Love, Walter Popp © Superstock Inc./Superstock
We acknowledge for their financial support of our publishing program the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund.
PRAISE FOR EMIILY SCHULTZ AND HEAVEN IS SMALL
*** Trillium Book Award Finalist ***
“A young writer dubbed promising for her first three books, Schultz now keeps that promise:
Heaven is Small
is confident, disturbing, and clever, reeling us along, prodding us to notice the lame trappings of what we call living. . . . Schultz’s voice is stronger than ever, her storytelling tighter, and her writing still replete with those trademark ziplines, surprising little protons of description that vault the reader into Schultz’s unique narrative universe.” —
Globe and Mail
“
Heaven is Small
[is] a stunning, often surprising read with moments of such audacity that the reader is likely to gasp out loud. . . . Schultz is an impressive talent . . . creating something new, something unique. The result is bold and winning, the sort of novel that satisfies on every level while managing to leave the reader with an afterglow of questions and observations.” —
Vancouver Sun
“Schultz has created a delightful cast of lost souls . . .
Heaven is Small
is a keen examination of life and the afterlife, brimming with intelligence and wit.” —
Quill & Quire
“Emily Schultz is one of those forces of nature that propels a literary scene.” —
Toronto Star
“
Heaven is Small
definitely hits the mark. . . . Hilarious . . . Sensational . . . Poignant . . . Fun and smart all around.” —
NOW Magazine
“. . . captivating . . . hilarious . . . seems tailor-made for a Hollywood adaptation.” —
Flare
“The world Schultz has created is a disturbing reflection of our own society. In many respects,
Heaven is Small
is about worlds people create for themselves — the world of the 9-to-5, the world of romantic fiction . . .” —
Catholic Register
“Bizarre . . . funny . . .” —
Edmonton Journal
“
Heaven is Small
is both a love story and a biting book-world comedy, in which Schultz skewers with equal fondness genre publishers, literary magazines, and the slickly marketed fiction star . . . Gordon’s workaday afterlife — with its bagged lunches, gossip, and ghostly commuter culture — is drawn in hilarious and poignant detail.” —
North Shore News (Vancouver)
“A smart, deadpan novel.” —
Georgia Straight
“Emily Schultz excels at creating intricate, beautifully drawn worlds, encapsulated like snow globes. . . .
Heaven is Small
is a funny but heartbreaking story about the publishing industry, the disconnect between authors and their readers.” —
The Coast (Halifax)
“
Heaven is Small
marks a big league jump for Schultz that could translate into wide mainstream appeal.” —
Broken Pencil
“If this is Heaven ah’m bailin out!”
— “Mutiny in Heaven,” The Birthday Party
PART I
SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER
1
Moments after his death, an event he had failed to notice, Gordon Small sought new employment.
Welcome to Heaven. If you know the extension you wish to reach, enter it now
.
Gordon cradled the receiver and waited for further instructions.
For a company directory, press the star key. To return to the previous menu at any time, press pound.
He hit the asterisk, selected Human Resources from a long list of options. After a few minutes of fast, nervous talking, he had secured an interview.
To get to Heaven, Gordon took the subway, then another subway line, then a bus.
He was accustomed to walking to work. His previous job, as manager of Whoopsy’s Gags ’N Gifts, was only two blocks from Mrs. Ashbridge’s, where he had rented a room for the past seven years. His street was named after a potato — Russet Avenue. The neighbourhood where he lived was crowded with churches, but nonetheless plagued by scuffles in the subway, and even the odd shooting. One block over, on Pauline, an immense brown-brick Catholic church huddled, surrounded by sumac trees. There was the Islamic mosque at the cross street, and right outside the subway the Baptist job with its sign of vinyl letters and constantly changing slogans.
Think spiritually, act righteously. Hell is Heaven’s alternative lifestyle. For maximum pain relief, try forgiveness. Dusty bibles lead to dirty lives. All roads lead to hell, except one.
In comparison to the mopped passageways of the mall, with its neon kiosks of Wireless Waves and Lotto, the subway was a dreamlike concept in a whole new set of hues, subdued and sickly. Gordon recalled the big L-shaped mall with its shiny tiles, its smell of coffee and Mr. Clean, its parade of continually changing fads. The clothing stores seemed to switch names every season. Each September recruited a new fleet of sixteen-year-old faces to gawk at Whoopsy’s merchandise as if it had just been invented — rainbow Slinkys, punching nuns, mini disco balls, TV-sloganed T-shirts, fuzzy handcuffs. Soberly name-tagged, hair and patience thinning, Gordon had stood behind the counter for seven years, watching blush-brushed teens in low-cut jeans and lime green G-strings bend with laughter.
As manager, Gordon had never scheduled himself before ten. Even 11 a.m. was obscene. A bright university senior named Ricky had opened the store and handled things for the first hour or two; Ricky eventually begat Jane, a reliable young mom who preferred part-time, and Jane begat Andrew, and Andrew begat Yashin, and Yashin begat John, and John begat Claudia, and so on and so forth for seven years.