In lieu of praying and loving (I’m down with eating) part 2 of 2
Posted on 20. Aug, 2010 by Jef in books
Martha Stewart is convincing you that she rules.
There’s a bit of embarrassment that comes along with making a list of all the self-help/inspirational books you’ve read. For one, yes, there’s the implicit admission of vulnerability, of not being able to handle your own shit, but there’s also the need to uphold an appearance of taste. Looking at the books on this list, I have to admit, none of them even from the ones I like are exactly “good” books. Well maybe one or two, but I wouldn’t fight for them. The rest are clumsy, probably lame, are sometimes simple or cloying, are always too reminding of how boringly straightforward the process of living is.
But I think in the end that’s what separates the good from the evil — the good come from writers who aren’t afraid of “losing points” with the reader and who don’t hide their persistent personal messiness, who are unpolished and kind of worn and whose brains don’t naturally try to capture the universe in tidy marketable lists (says the guy writing a list post) or worse, catch phrases. They come from writers who aren’t selling or promising anything extraordinarily sexy. No gurus, but maybe a few wonks.
I don’t even think many (or any) of the ones I co-sign would be stocked in the self-help section of the book store. Maybe that’s the key — self-help is a genre best tackled by writers tangentially; not doggedly run through constructed stages in a life properly lived, but instead side-swiped in the pursuit of just less overall confusion. Sometimes that means road trips and spartan personal journeys, other times it means filtering everything through a thick wad of popular culture and seeing what universal truths seep through.
But what the fuck do I know. Without further ado (previous ado found here):
The Good
The Tao of Pooh (Benjamin Hoff)
As a child I never cared one way or another about Winnie the Pooh, so I’m not sure exactly what brought me to read this book. Glad I did. Pooh as an example of an exemplary “Western Taoist” makes the character much more interesting, and also brings the eastern philosophy down to earth. Hoff nails the voices of Ashdown Forest’s cast of characters, but more importantly he shows the simple lessons that seemingly smart western busybodies can learn from seemingly stupid Taoists. Or cartoon bears. (Same shit.)
What I learned: Reeelaax.
Further: Hoff wrote a follow-up called The Te of Piglet, but the result is much more forced and Hoff does a bit too much soapboxing. Also, Piglet is annoying, right?
Ishmael (Daniel Quinn)
There’s a goddamn branch of fig leaves on the cover and the tag line is “An Adventure of the Mind and Spirit”, but thankfully in high school I didn’t really know that these kinds of things were usually gross. Since reading Ishmael in 11th grade nobody has ever again been able to convince me that things are hopeless or that we don’t have a say in reversing the damage we’ve done to the world (which sometimes makes me annoying?). I’m not sure if Ishmael‘s politics are as on-point as I remember them, but years of reading DC Comics had already predisposed me to listening to the words of giant intelligent gorillas. (You heard me.)
What I learned: The stories we’ve used to regard history and humankind are toxic, not just to ourselves but to the planet.
Further: Quinn’s written other books. I haven’t read them.
Hardcore Zen (Brad Warner)
Unexpectedly and by far the best book I’ve read on Zen, Hardcore Zen was written by an Ohio-raised 80s hardcore punk musician who found Buddhism and became an ordained priest. That said, it’s not your typical going-to-Asia-to-find-yourself tale, and Warner does a great job of stripping Zen of its exotic mysticism. Instead of waterfalls and lotus flowers, Warner talks of grimy-ass clubs and references myriad obscure pop culture.
What I learned: Sit down and shut up. Also, “enlightenment is for pussies.”
Further: Warner’s follow-up is geared more towards practicing Buddhists, but his third book, Zen Wrapped in Karma Dipped in Chocolate, is a candid story of fucking up and watching your life fall apart. He really adds nuance and practicality to a philosophy too often caricatured (even by its own practitioners).
Spark (John J. Ratey)
Been skimming this one at Chapters over repeat revisits. Ratey explains the connection between exercise and the brain, and makes a strong case that the maybe the real motivation for hitting the gym or the pavement is to ensure proper mental health (not that dropping a couple pounds isn’t good too). It’s one of the best things I’ve read on the topic of mental health, thankfully with zero psychobabble.
What I learned: Move something.
Further: Tony Horton is a fan. Get on that p90x.
Bruce Lee: Artist of Life (John Little, editor. Bruce Lee)
This is a collection of essays and letters written by Bruce Lee, delving into his thoughts on philosophy, identity, self-improvement and kung-fu. It’s a bit choppy and very repetitive, but that’s also its value. It’s like you’re watching Lee labour and fret as he constantly revises his thoughts, and it illustrates perfectly the amount of sheer effort, reflection and repetition that Lee put into the process of becoming who he was.
What I learned: “There is no help but self-help … For the lazy and the hopeless, they can forget it and do what they like best.”
Further: Lee’s famous Tao of Jeet Kune Do contains a lot of life wisdom among the martial arts talk, but for those who like to cut to the chase there’s also Bruce Lee – Wisdom for the Way, a collection of his quotes and maxims.
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Robert M. Pirsig)
Not really about Zen but not really about motorcycle maintenance either, Pirsig’s strange, philosophy-heavy exploration into science, knowledge, life and “quality,” took me a couple of attempts to get through. It’s a bit hard to parse if you’re not used to thinking about these things, but very rewarding once you get going. The narrator takes his son on a bike journey from Minnesota to Cali, and along the way faces a phantom of his former self.
What I leared: Pay attention. Be both rational and romantic.
Further: Read it twice.
The Bad
The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
I feel bad ragging on this book because so many people swear by it, but I just don’t get it. The story is lifeless and all the women characters are useless, and after the hero’s treasure hunt he returns home to (spoilers) find what he was looking for in his own backyard. I get the metaphor, but still, he finds treasure. So while I’m left here trying to appreciate the underlying beauty of my daily malaise and impending poverty, he has shiny fucking treasure, and I get nothing out of this.
What I learned: Sheep are easy metaphors.
Further: See below.
The Missing Rose (Serdar Ozkan)
It’s kind of like The Alchemist but with a female protagonist, and talking roses instead of treasure. It’s big in Eurasia, as the saying goes. I got this as a gift from my sister after her travels to Turkey, which is great on the one hand because she got it autographed and I love autographed books. On the other hand, it’s another book that adds a fairy tale sheen to the act of living, which even if inspiring will no doubt peter out over time. You’ll eventually be back where you started, with no treasure or talking roses.
What I learned: I now know the name of a contemporary Turkish author.
Further: Might as well just re-read The Little Prince.
The Secret (Rhonda Byrne)
Just joking, I’m staying the hell away from this book. Take it away, Dave Chappelle:
Reading suggestions? What’s worked for you?
Counterpoints? (If you loved The Alchemist or The Secret, I’d love to hear from you.)
Do you read more self-help/inspirational lit than you admit to?
Do you abhor the genres? Why?
What’s the dumbest self-help book you’ve read?
Simon
Sep 4th, 2010
God I miss Dave Chappelle