The
advice column is the beloved cousin of the self-help book, which is why I’d
like to direct your attention to this chatty but charming little piece in the
The New Yorker: “The Advice Columnist We Deserve.”
It’s a
(rather brief) retrospective of the history of the advice column, which
reportedly had its start in 1691 and continues today with one of my favorite
contemporary writers of all time at the helm: Cheryl Strayed. The name sounds familiar,
right? Until her awesome memoir, Wild,
landed on the best-seller list, where it’s stayed put for 20 weeks, she was
better known as “Dear Sugar” who writes the advice columns for The Rumpus website.
Why is
Strayed so damn good at her job? Because, as the article mentions, she listens
and empathizes—instead of actually offering advice. Which I would argue is just
as—if not more—effective than the more traditional columnists.
Modern
advice columnists (Dear Abby, E. Jean) evolved by being willing to tackle more
controversial topics that were previously taboo to discuss. But Strayed goes even farther than that: Instead
of counseling readers as to how to fix their problems, she provides comfort
merely by admitting to her own taboos and imperfections. She’s sort of
post-advice, if you will.
Which
really makes you wonder if the self-help genre will soon follow a similar progression.
So many of the books are so-called “experts” presuming that only they have the
right answers and, therefore, readers should automatically follow their advice
and prescriptions. Maybe the future of self-help will involve the author’s
willingness to lay all their own shit on the table a prerequisite for becoming a
respected authority on the topic. (Or is this just another way to describe the “memoir”?)
Are you
aware of any self-help books that provide comfort more than they do concrete
advice?
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