The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck by Mark Manson – part two

Dear readers,

Finished. Quite a page-turner. And yes, I enjoyed it. I’ve never read a self-help book so fast. It’s a much easier read than the majority in the genre. It might not be the best, but it is the most original I’ve read in a long time.

As stated in part one, it’s written in a matter of fact tone, but in a chummy way, which makes the content a little bit more accessible than others. I’m OK, You’re OK, for example (I know it’s not a great comparison, as they’re from different periods and marketed to different audiences). It’s simplistic, but that’s the genius of it, as he is presenting quite deep ideas which just about anyone can grasp. Mark Manson isn’t the world’s best wordsmith, but he has communicated his thoughts and advice in a way which captures his readers’ imaginations; largely millennials who have a short attention span and are easily bored, but also disillusioned with life and need a blast of realism to get them going. You find yourself agreeing with Manson on many things, how he interprets life and how modern culture doesn’t help or motivate us in the right way, such as believing we are all entitled, chasing success, feeling good all the time, being pleasant and nice all the time, and impressing people.

I liked the idea of Disappointment Panda, telling ourselves truths that help us in the long-run, looking at our behaviour, viewing suffering as a form of education where positive change often blossoms, the deteriment of procrastination on goals we’re not committed enough to achieve, pealing away our layers to understand what our true values are, and maybe adopting new ones that are reality-based, socially constructive, immediate and controllable, in place of those that are unrealistic, self-absorbed and self-destructive.

I also like his thoughts on accepting responsibility for things that happen in our lives, regardless if it’s our fault or not, and how fixing our problems leads to happiness, confidence and empowerment, rather than avoiding them. Our problems are endless, after all, and often follow us. I like the idea of changing bad problems for better problems, as we go about solving our issues, which often change as we change throughout life. Also, if we want to improve an area of our life, for example trust in our relationships, rejecting behaviour which don’t achieve that goal i.e. don’t lie and don’t be irresponsible.

Another point I like is behaving the opposite to how everyone you know expects from you. However, I feel it should be expanded on, and state it should be within reason, especially where employment is concerned. But for the most part, if you don’t like the way the world views you, take action. If don’t like how people view you as a clown, act seriously. If you’re too agreeable, be disagreeable. People won’t like it and and it’ll take time for them to adjust, but that’s their problem.

Of course, some of these are obvious, not always realistic and a bit general. He also expresses his views through some self-indulgent storytelling about himself. Then again, write about what you know. That’s one of the number one rule for writers.

Another criticism is regarding some of the language used. It’s irritating. Not the swearing, but patronizing phrases such as “maturity (maybe you should try it some time)”. Yes, I get it; it’s with a sense of humour, sarcasm, written with attitude etc. However, from a writer’s perspective, it’s word redundancy. Unnecessary. Litter.

These are arbitrary points though. I am impacted and inspired by the book, which is rare for me with self-improvement books. I’ll remember it well.

I give this book 4.5/5.

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck by Mark Manson

Dear readers,

I’m half-way through, so I can’t call this a review as such. I’m relatively late to this book. I only learnt about it after seeing my wife reading it enthusiastically (who borrowed it from her sister), and the bright orange cover and charming title grabbed my imagination. I read that it was all the rage two years ago, and I think it’s still top of various rankings, especially in the self-help genre: one I touch on time to time.

Recent self-help and personal development books I’ve read have disappointed for various reasons. They give you step-by-step guides and case studies that back-up their point to changing your life, but the format seems repeated, consequently boring me to death leaving me wanting to use the book as a door-stop rather than let it fill me with bland wisdom. Many are geared towards chasing happiness, money, God, goals, the opposite sex, warding off depression or exorcising unwanted habits, with various levels of commercial success. Very deep and profound, but not always realistic and often forgettable, making it a slog to read, rather than a life-changing one.

Then comes along Mark Manson with his book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck: A Counterintuitive Approach to Living a Good Life. The first thing one notes is the rapid-fire use of the f-word; quite an unusual tact for a life-coach kind of person, but I guess it’s not too much of a surprise given the title of the book. No complaints, mind, as I tend to use the word rather freely myself, though the vernacular is more likely to be associated with an Irvine Welsh novel than in self-help literature. Nor is it written like academia with scientific jargon or religious in spiritual guides like many in the genre. This is an easy-read, blunt book, but stating in a rather charming and matey-like way that it’s okay to feel crap, although maybe we should take responsibility for our choices or actions, look at our values and how it affects decision-making, take action rather than avoid problems, and the detrimental effects of believing that we’re entitled. Suffering, he argues, sucks, but it is often when we learn a lot about ourselves. This I very much agree with.

Mike Manson

I must admit, some of the advice is somewhat self-indulgent, quite obvious and nothing new, based on personal experience rather than advice from a healthcare professional or so-called expert. Manson made his name as a blogger, then wrote books about dating, none of which I’ve read, which can make you question his advice to an extent. Then again, the tone and sarcasm (sometimes humorous, sometimes irritating) is very much in tune with the millenial demographic and is quite refreshing, written like a pal or a “one of us” perspective. It tells people to stop dreaming and get on with their lives: something I feel this demographic really needs. In fact, I’d go as far as saying it’s the quintessential handbook for millennials, especially as it hits on some of the criticisms associated with said generation, such as the undeserved sense of entitlement, the fast-paced culture and being spoon-fed by our folks, which is more damaging to motivation than it is any good. He also takes a pop at the mainstream thought that we’re all special and we all deserve, which in actual fact, we aren’t and don’t, and we should go about earning the respect we desire, rather than expecting it. As I said, this is quite obvious, but it is good to have it highlighted for this generation, which I’m in all purposes part of. Strictly speaking though, I was born on the cusp, although my birth date comes at the end of the Generation X bracket. So fuck you, millennials. In short, the book does speak to me, somewhat.

Another reason the book typifies the millenial era is the fact Manson wrote it in the first place. Like stated, traditionally authors of self-help books are experts and gurus in certain a field. Nowadays everyone seems to have the right to do or publish anything without the normal credentials. Technology has opened a platform for all, from the professionals to the bonkers. As long as it’s good enough and pitched well enough to sell, that’s fine. It seems Manson’s well-versed in giving life advice on his blog (follow this link), yet he has certainly become a man in demand, cutting a respected figure in this genre. I’m not sure what qualified psychologists think of the book, but Manson talking about his own vulnerabilities and mistakes, passing on some insightful wisdom what he has learnt, has hit a positive nerve with his audience.

Yes, the calm no nonsense tone is unique and certainly is a page turner which is uncommon in the genre. Yet it has made me reflect about my own choices, my reactions to events, mishaps and difficult periods in my life, how I coped, but maybe stalled too long about things. Lost opportunities, wrong decisions, relationship breakdowns; obsessing over things, my role in it and blaming other people or myself a little too much, where maybe I could have taken stock on the situation and taken positive action a little sooner. Yes, the book does make you regress, yet as Manson suggests, we should use this for personal growth than look back with regret. After all, we all have them.

As stated, I’m only half-way through and I’m enjoying it. It’s certainly had an impact and I’m going to remember it for some time. I will add the second half of this review once I’ve finished.

September 11th

Dear readers,

I just had to write the date on a document for work. It will always be attached with great human loss. I’m not from the United States, but I am from the Western world. It rattles me 17 years on. It will probably rattle me for many more.

I was 21 years old at the time. I’d just enrolled into a college and started a new job: buoyed by exciting times ahead after a particularly rough patch in my life. I can’t remember the weather that day. I think it was a Tuesday. I seem to remember wearing a jacket, but the sun was partially out, not really knowing what to do with itself; not unusual on a late summer/early autumn day in England. I had just been in the Touchwood Shopping Centre in Solihull. My objective there was to find a Best of Frank Sinatra album at a Fopp, a dream of music/DVD/book shop that sold things at prices I could afford. Any of the albums would have done. I was only after the classics, with one particular in mind: New York, New York. I’d been obsessed about going there. I still kind of am. Seeing places you’ve heard of or seen in the movies. The entertainment, the noise, the life: that buzz you can only find in a megacity. But that song. New York, New York. It always made me feel queasy that I wanted to buy that song on that day. My dance with the dark arts, so to speak

The first plane hit when I was almost at home. It was late afternoon, UK time. In front of the house, for some reason I was too damn idle to get my key out my pocket so I rang the doorbell. My mum ran to the door, visibly distressed and hurried, and I was expecting a mouthful about forgetting my key. Again.

“Have you heard the news?” she said, wide-eyed. No hellos or welcomes or kiss; very unusual for my mum.

“No. Why?”

“A plane’s just flown into the World Trade Centre in New York.”

“Anyone die?”

Before you judge me for that seemingly idiotic question (whoever said there is no such thing as stupid questions is stupid), I assumed it was a small private plane colliding into one of the towers in a tragic accident. It was hard to judge just how big the plane was she was talking about, and accidents happen everyday.

My mum looked at me as though I was saying a dark inappropriate joke, which I am prone to doing. She rolled her eyes and said, “What do you think!”

“A big plane?-” I said, dumbfounded, stepping into the hall.

“Fuck. There’s been another,” a voice bellowed through from the living room; the voice of my sister’s ex-boyfriend, at which my mum and I raced through to see the images the majority of the world was watching before its very eyes.

The living room of the home I grew up in, in Hall Green, Birmingham: that’s where I was when it happened.

You Remember

You remember where you were,

You remember what you were doing,

You saw images that you usually see in movies,

You wondered what more trouble would be brewing.

—

You watched the towers falling,

You still can’t grasp the consuming flames,

You were aware office workers and vendors and firemen perished at that moment,

You can still hear newscasters reading the culprit’s names.

—

You wondered about the dead,

You imagined what it was like on one of those planes,

You thought of the horror for their families watching,

You remember the images being an eye-strain.

—

You still feel a bit strange on this date,

You read it and count another year,

You find it difficult to comprehend the human loss,

You know loved ones still shed a lingering tear.

REVIEW: Paint a Vulgar Picture: Fiction Inspired by The Smiths edited by Peter Wild

Dear readers

How disappointing. Being a Smiths fan, I was highly excited to read this. I actually met a couple of the authors of the short stories a few years back in Birmingham and had my book signed personally. It was supposed to be short stories inspired by The Smiths, an 80s iconic band that spoke to many youths who felt lost or disconnected from the mass media, known for their witty, heart-felt lyrics. The idea of the book is very interesting. The result is very, very dull anthology of stories that don’t do the songs any justice.

A couple of the stories are good, such as those by Gina Ochsner and Mil Millington, which have some poignancy, but the majority are boring and bare little resemblance to the Smiths song that they were supposedly inspired from. The little intros are interesting. That’s about it. Barely any of the stories will stick in my memory.

2/5 stars: A disappointing bore. I would have given it one but a couple of the songs are very good. But I’m being generous.

The lead singer, Morrissey, has always been robust in his views on just about everything; many of his political views of which differ from mine. Despite that, I wonder what he makes of this?

Orange Street Light Glow

Dear readers,

This poem is the result of a sleepless night and an overactive imagination. I was going to call it A Lonely Night in Tegus. Let me know what you think.

Orange street light glow,

Bugs flicker fast and clocks tick by slow.

A radio spittles ranchero songs

Sliding guards into a slumber

When an anonymous Sedan glides by slyly.

Under the cold stare of the stars,

A shadow stalks and a street dog scampers,

When BANG! shots thud and screams are snuffled-out,

Blood drains to nowhere from another specimen lying still,

On a lonely night in tearless Tegus,

Where everything happens but nothing’s on show,

Especially under the orange street light glow.

First Days

Dear readers,

This poem is inspired by those uplifting first chords in the song Age of Consent by New Order. The tune has a feel good factor, delivered by the rough riffs and buzzing melody. The lyrics aren’t about those first days in relationships as such, but it does skirt around the topic of love and sex and loss. It’s a beautiful song, but sad.

It’s the rhythm. It’s full of optimism. It evokes memories of the first days when we fall in love for the first time, walking in a glow of brilliance, an invincible but insecure at the same time. It’s a respite from adolescent gloom, wondering who are, what you’re doing and what you’re going to be and why you have so many zits on your face. You feel loved despite your flaws and you feel your heart will explode with joy. You’ve not learned the wisdom of being cautious.

You look back and laugh at yourself now, you’re first conquests into love, trying to figure out answers to that all important question, what is love? , as well as, when will she let me feel her tits?

You remember the details. Everything. It sticks with you. Not in chronological order. But that doesn’t matter. And this poem is about that.

Being in love for the first time,

Drunk in each others arms, asking “Wanna be mine?”

Songs on the airwaves and first movies watched together,

Thinking of her all the time: you gleam in any weather.

Kissing with squirming tongues and petting with fumbling hands,

Walking in sunshine parks and lazing in golden sands.

When do I say I love her and when will we reach third base?

Ruffled hair and a naughty look on her face.

Letters and poems and arguing about “our song”,

Buying her a teddy bear and a cheesy red thong.

First fights and love bites,

Promising the world, texting all night.

But little did you know, Cupid’s arrow would fire elsewhere,

And that first sever takes ten thousand nights to repair.

But you realise it was better to feel love than never,

And it’s those first days you remember forever.

Cat poem: “Humans are fragile things”

Dear readers,

I was reading through a few poems I’d written years ago, and I came across this one. It’s kind of based on my cat Oscar who died about 20 years ago now, but I like to think he wasn’t as cynical as this.

Humans are fragile things

Humans are fragile things;

It’s why I make them my slaves.

They beg for my love and affection;

I think they’re pathetic and depraved.

I only want three things:

A bed, food and sleep,

And if a human hand takes one of those away,

It’s their soul that I shall reap.

I like my liberty too,

And slaying birds and rodents is fun,

I scratch the eyes of kitties that cross my path,

Then I lie out in the sun.

But humans are silly things;

Just puppets on a string,

And I’m ready to draw blood this morning

If in the shower my slave sings.

REVIEW: Dancing Girls and Other Stories by Margaret Atwood

Dear readers,

I’ve known of Margaret Atwood for some time without getting round to reading any of her work despite the recommendations. She has always been respected, yet for some reason I just hadn’t picked up a book. She received great plaudits for The Handmaid’s Tale, which was made into a series I believe.

The main reason I read this was to assist me in my own writing, especially narrating female characters. But also I am making a conscious effort to read more books by female authors anyway. Nine so far in 2018.

I really enjoyed this collection. I knew beforehand that Atwood was a very good storyteller, but I found myself enjoying her quirky and profound narrative, which isn’t a page-turner exactly, but it makes you want to read on. She is also sensitive without being over sentimental, and explores the emotions of her characters in a uniquely profound way; a way I’ve not seen in many female writers, yet you can definitely tell it’s written by a female. There are a few dark musings which tickled me a little, like the one below:

You can never tell with the dead whether it is they who wish to return or the living who want them to.

The short stories are about different women in everyday life and how they live their lives, with or without men in their lives. Of course, some of the stories are better than others. The Soul Eater, Betty, Polarities, and The Resplendent Queztal were my favourites, mainly as they are more poignant and have slightly more interesting plots and characters. I won’t leave any spoilers. There were others that bored me a little, which is why I cannot give this book five stars. Some of them you read and you’re just not sure what the point of them are. They’re not on par with Alberto Moravia’s poignancy, but you still remember them for some reason, and I put that down to very good storytelling.

I will read other books by Atwood. Yet this is a slow-burning collection of short stories that will stick in my memory for some time. I often judge a book by how much we remember or take away from it, and I feel I have learnt a lot from Dancing Girls and Other Stories, especially the discipline of writing female narratives and profound storytelling.

4/5: A very good collection of short stories with compelling storytelling.