By Iris Krasnow

In exclusive excerpts from her new book, a tough-minded woman reflects on husbands, wives, and other imperfections.

"Most of the men I know have had at least one affair, and I can tell you hands down that their marriages turn out better when their wives find out." So says 62-year-old Rueben of Massachusetts, one of the more than 300 people – both married and divorced – that Iris Krasnow interviewed for her new book "Surrendering to Marriage." "Surrendering to Marriage" offers a vivid, provocative portrait of what the author calls the "inhuman" but "essential" institution. Her own 13-year marriage to an architect served as the impetus for her research and insight. "Even when my marriage felt like it was breaking apart, in the early years, we always clung together, sometimes only by a strand.…Working at marriage has been a huge, hard deal – monumental…And so we work on making it until forever, one hour at a time," writes the author.

 

MARRIAGE IS HELL. AND MARRIAGE IS wonderful. Sometimes humdrum, tedious, and sexless (you would be surprised how many married couples have sex once a year or less), marriage is often about sharing a bathroom with someone who isn’t as clean as you are. But unless actual abuse—physical or emotional—is involved, it is absolutely better to be married. These are Iris Krasnow’s firm convictions.

In her new book, Surrendering to Marriage, published this month by Talk Miramax Books, Krasnow offers a vivid, sobering portrait of what she calls the "inhuman" but "essential" institution. After speaking with close to 300 people in the course of writing the book, Krasnow concludes, "Marriage still baffles me. But I’m absolutely certain it beats the hell out of anything else out there." The wreckage of a broken family, she explains, is just "eternally debilitating." And the person who is unhappy in one relationship is likely to be unhappy in the next, because infatuation—which Krasnow calls "the Victoria’s Secret phase"—always gives way to the dull familiarity of cotton briefs.

Sharp, focused, and fast-talking, Krasnow seems to be a bundle of contradictions. An earth mother who talks of being bound to her husband "by a spiritual promise," Krasnow has a fiercely feminist sensibility but advocates surrendering to marriage. Romantic ("partnerships over time become sturdier, the points and jagged surfaces become smooth and soft, and the sheer weight of a shared life becomes so heavy you have no choice but to surrender, because it cannot be overturned") and realistic ("Marriage is tough—you can count on that") in equal measures, Krasnow speaks—and writes—with appealing directness.

Krasnow’s own marriage, to architect Chuck Anthony, served as the springboard for her research and reflections. When they mar-

ried, 13 years ago, Krasnow and Anthony hoped for a house full of children. "Four before 40" was their mantra during a blissful honeymoon in St. Barth’s; five years later they got what they’d wished for when twin boys Jack and Zane were born, joining brothers Theo and Isaac. Krasnow, who had traveled the world as a reporter for UPI but left her job to become a mother and freelance writer, was bowled over to find that changing diapers and swabbing strained peas off floors was actually fulfilling, a discovery she described in her first book, Surrendering to Motherhood.

Though Krasnow’s domestic life seemed picture-perfect, it was filled with what she calls "quivers of darkness." She loved her husband and cherished her children but nonetheless spent a decade buffeted by rage, exhaustion, longing, and boredom. She and Anthony had fights that drove them to the brink of divorce. But, says Krasnow, even after the worst of their fights, including ones in which Anthony stormed out mad, the sight of him returning gave her "a shot of great joy—and lust." So, Krasnow says over the car phone in the Suburban she’s using to shuttle children to various after-school activities, "I surrendered to this imperfect marriage with this imperfect man because I love it more than I hate it."

In these excerpts from Surrendering to Marriage Krasnow first describes the drama—and the pleasure—involved in her own surrender, and then offers a taste of the conversations that inform her thinking about marriage.

EVEN WHEN MY MARRIAGE FELT LIKE IT WAS BREAKING APART, IN THE early years, we always clung together, sometimes only by a strand—but tough was that filament. Surrounded by the people we love most, Chuck and I became husband and wife and dreamed about children. Working at marriage has been a huge, hard deal—monumental. It has taken, is taking, a lot of pain and sweat to get to this place. Why would anyone want to go through this again with someone else?

And so we work on making it until forever, one hour at a time. I think of all those days when I’d be so upset because Chuck was who he was and he wasn’t changing to my vision of who I thought he should be. More demonstrative. Quicker. More urgent. Someone has to be dying for Chuck to think he needs a doctor.

To be honest, I still want him to be different, but what is different about this wanting is that now I realize he may never change—and it’s okay. Marriage is good—that is, when it’s not bad. Over the years some of our edges have been softened, like the smooth, soft pieces of beach glass that wash up on shore. We both have a growing acceptance, from exhaustion if nothing else, that surrendering to each other in as many ways as possible is easier than sparring about irksome habits that are not going to go away.

Our family is a unified whole, although our partnership of opposites does not always feel whole. The children are the perfect piece of a union that will never be perfect. Our children are old enough now to understand that their mother and father may argue but that our combat is more theatrical than threatening. I love their father—that is, when I don’t loathe him. The crackle has never died, although its range of intensity goes from cooling embers to roaring bonfire.

I am reminded of mad clashes when I reach in my closet and see the thin, tarry streak still on the white wall, a residue from coffee flung during an argument. It makes me laugh, actually, but it is a tentative laugh, because that stain is also a reminder that there is a quiver of darkness to the light of love—that even when things are going great, a fine line divides joy from sorrow.

Last week Jack, one of our six-year-old twins, was despondent as he shuffled from room to room, trailing his yellow cotton blanket. I asked, "What’s wrong?" He looked at me with mopey green eyes and said, "Mommy, nothing is perfect." He had discovered the ancient impediment to sustained happiness. Life is flawed. You want one thing; you get something else. You go to play with a toy, and, well, that toy you hoped you’d find is lost. Then when you do find it, it reminds you of another toy you saw advertised on TV, and you want that one instead. Chuck and I like to say the only things we have in common are that we both dislike green peppers, we are both Democrats, and we are attracted to each other. It’s not perfect. But it’s a lot.

I tell Chuck tonight how lucky I am to be married to him, that he is reliable, sexy, smart, a terrific father. What other husband does the grocery shopping? "Wait 10 minutes and you’ll feel differently," he says.

In about six minutes I feel differently. Ten-year-old Theo has gotten up and wants hot chocolate. We walk downstairs to the kitchen, but there’s no Hershey’s cocoa. Chuck forgot to get it when he went shopping. "Why didn’t you get chocolate powder?" I demand. He snaps back, "It wasn’t on the list. I’m so stupid. Why don’t you do the shopping?" And that shuts me up right away, as it always does, because we always have the same fights.

I don’t have the patience to get through Safeway, and Chuck does. So it’s his job,

not mine. My job is making school lunches at night, slapping together sandwiches in a robotic trance, daydreaming about what was and what could be while staying in a marriage I love to question—which keeps it alive, ripe for permanence and possibility.

THE CONVERSATIONS KRASNOW HAD WITH MEN AND WOMEN ABOUT LOVE and marriage informed her conviction that an affair—no matter how thrillingly hot—is unlikely to yield the great bliss and long-term satisfaction that are the rewards of a time-tested marriage. (The names and identifying details of some of the following people have been changed.)

Susan, 46, Washington, D.C.: Love changes. That’s a good thing. Anyone who thinks that kind of high intensity lasts hasn’t been in enough long relationships.

I went into marriage believing I had found someone with whom I could juggle the fragility of life, not someone with whom I would have a life of passionate sex. Marriage has great limitations. That’s why God created flirting.

Beatrice, 35, Texas: I knew what I was getting into when I got involved with a man I’d known in high school. Marriage had been hard for me. My husband and I fought constantly or didn’t talk at all. Then when we had kids we gave them all our attention and were so tired we both felt as if there was nothing more to give.

My husband is a decent man and he makes a good living, but in the excitement category he doesn’t score high. The other man was rich and exciting. We began having lunch two times a week, and then one afternoon instead of having lunch we rented a motel room, a dive. And we had sex on a twin bed.

To tell you the truth, I didn’t know what I was doing. The end came by itself. One morning we were having sex on the couch in his friend’s apartment, and I looked up at him and saw the real naked guy. His white belly was showing, and his khaki pants and boxers were crumpled at his feet. I knew it was over. I’d seen my husband exactly like that lots of times, his jeans rolled around his shoes when we’d make love, and it was always a turn-on. With all our fighting and carrying on, I am always attracted to my husband.

I wish this guy and I could have just kissed and left it at that. I knew I’d never run off with him and split my family. In an affair you’re playing it safe. Today I’m trying to work out the problems I have with my husband. I’ve been a lot nicer to him, and I’ve been making sure I flatter him. We’re having more fun, and I’m not looking for some white knight to take me away. My husband may not be the life of the party, but he is my husband. I’m glad I woke up before I ruined everything.

Liza, 43, Colorado: I got to know John in Los Angeles, where we were participating in a marathon. I’d gone to L.A. alone. I noticed John the day after the marathon and I asked him about his wife and why she wasn’t there. He told me she didn’t like to go places. I told him my husband didn’t either. The night before, I had had a dream that John and I had been making out, and here we were talking, and I felt very sexy.

I wasn’t looking to find somebody else. But John and I resumed our friendship when we returned to Colorado. We had another marathon coming up in Seattle, and we started talking about organizing a side trip to go rafting. My husband knew all about it, and I asked him, "Do you have a problem with this?" His answer was, "As long as you don’t sleep with him, I don’t care what you do."

After the Seattle marathon I was higher than a kite, and I hugged John. Like me, John had never had an affair. It was an unbelievable experience. I wanted to be with him every second. And it wasn’t even sexual; it was an emotional hunger I didn’t know I had. I had to be honest with my husband. I tried to explain that there was something missing in our marriage. My husband looked at me and said, "I think you’ve fallen in love with another man." And I said, "Yes."

I packed my bags and moved into an apartment nearby.

Our daughter was a sophomore in high school at the time. She was angry with me for disrupting and destroying her family life. And although she did stay with me sometimes, I felt her totally withdraw from me. It was the worst thing imaginable. She wouldn’t talk; it was very painful—a horrible time.

My husband and I went to therapy three or four times. I decided that I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t give my marriage a chance. But John catalyzed the part of me that had gone to sleep and was starting to wake up.

After my husband and I separated, I could finally see a lot of John and I started comparing them. I saw that both of these guys fell short of perfection. What I really wanted to do was blend them into one person, who would have been the perfect man.

John and I got married in 1998. It’s been more than two years now, and I don’t feel as if I did the right thing or the wrong thing. Marrying again has had a strange effect. I’ve learned that there is no perfect match. There’s always something that isn’t exactly right. With my husband it was his remoteness and self-centeredness. With John it’s just little quirks—he dabs his runny nose with cloth napkins at restaurants. He wears sweatpants that are really short; they have two little holes in the rear end, and he wears them constantly.

The infatuation stage is over, and now I’m realizing that this new situation isn’t some panacea, either.

Rueben, 62, Massachusetts: There have been many periods over the 33 years I have been married when I have thought about getting a divorce. I have been with other women whom I have found more attractive, who I was sure would be more satisfying. I was with one woman for a long time and I passionately believed it would be more fulfilling to be married to her than to my wife. But the fact of the matter is that when you are married your relationship with anyone else is by its very nature artificial.

I was caught in this affair, and although that was horrible I think it actually led to a better marriage. Having to be honest about it inevitably led to a discussion over what the problems were, and we got to re-create the relationship. Most of the men I know have had at least one affair, and I can tell you hands down that their marriages turn out better when their wives find out, because then they have to swim around in a real situation and make real changes.

When my wife found out she did not ask me to leave, although the confrontation and conversation were very painful. Why didn’t she kick me out? Why should she trash her life because her husband has put his penis in the wrong place? Was what happened really so serious that she’s going to give up her house and her security, and give up companionship with someone she essentially loves? And I didn’t leave basically because I knew deep down that she really did love me and that my problems might be far worse with another woman. Many of the problems in my marriage were of my own making, and they would come up again. I was tempted, yes, but wise enough not to make a move.

I’m in my early sixties, and I have abandoned the fantasy that I’m going to find the other half of my soul in someone else.

I’ve become very content with the idea that I’m married and I’m going to stay married. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t follow through on an opportunity with another woman to get momentary sexual pleasure again. But I’m not going to expect her to fill my dreams for a lifetime.

Life is good with my wife, and I know that I’m incredibly lucky. Most people have no concept of how good their lives are.

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