BOOKS | Robertson Davies, On Self Help Books and More

This post is written with the help of my reading notes from 20^th November, 2007. I was in Hanoi that night, reading Robertson Davies’ A Voice From the Attic. I was on the chapter where Davies discussed Self-Help books, and I enjoyed myself so much that I took notes fervently.

First, let us remind everyone that A Voice From the Attic was written in 1960, and Davies could only have known about the books published before then. It tells us that the Self-Help phenomena has been around a long time, and it is not just our generation that finds itself fodder for Self-Help publishing. In his essay, Davies mentioned a bestseller, Self-Help, With Illustrations of Character and Conduct, by author Samuel Smiles (really!) that was first published in 1859. Mr Smiles’ book sold 258,000 copies within the writer’s lifetime, which is an impressive figure. It also goes to illustrate something of the public reading taste back in the nineteenth century. (By the way, Mr Smiles’ book is available from the new range of Oxford World Classics. Why would OUP think it is a title worth keeping in print? I have no idea.)

Davies also targets health books – and diet books. I was unaware that they have diet books back then, before the 1960s. I am suitably impressed that they had fat people back in those days.

On diet books, Davies had this to say:

A theologian, or merely a literary critic, reading many of these books quickly discovers their secret, which is an evangelistic one; they first of all bring about a powerful conviction of Sin, and then they offer Salvation

Sin is fat. Perhaps it is Original Sin, to which you are born.

Okay, I laughed when I read this. Davies is just being bitchy. But Davies has a point to make when he associates self-help (and diet books are a form of self-help in a manner) literature with religion. He seems to acknowledge that the reason people read self-help books is because of a “hungriness of heart”. The desire for self-help books springs from the same impulse that leads one to a spiritual path, but alas:

We must pity the hungriness of heart which clamors for reassurance and wisdom, but which shrinks from religion and philosophy, either of which might, in different ways, fill their need and soothe their sorrow. Our age has robbed millions of the simplicity of ignorance, and has so far failed to lift them to the simplicity of wisdom.

Davies lashes out against the vulgarity of many of these books. In many of them, he finds the vocabulary, whether religious or secular, is about getting something – the means to an end.

It is astonishing to read again and again in these books by parsons phrases which suggests that religious faith is a type of investment. They insist that it “pays dividends.”

(A tangential thought: the Knight Templars were the world’s first bankers, and they claimed they fought for God. I tend to disagree.)

The hypocrisy of these books is obvious, at least to Davies:

The secular books say the same things, and not in a strikingly different way. Great emphasis is laid on getting people to like you, and this is not mentioned as a possible consequence of good conduct, but as an end in itself. Being liked is important because it is a way of achieving success.

But one wonders – how many, who reads and applies the teachings of these self-help gurus are self-aware enough to see this?

Is success measured by prosperity and good fortune? Can one compel charisma and fortune? Of course, the attraction of these self-help books is that they convince us that we can will success into our lives. They mislead the readers by packaging their message in spiritual terms that to be rich and success is the same as being worthy in God’s eyes. On this point, Davies has much to say of the Reverend Dr Norman Vincent Peale. (Just an observation: Most of Peale’s books are still in print in various translations, while A Voice From the Attic is not. Make of this what you will)

According to Davies, Peale claims the word “pastor” derives from a word meaning “a cure of souls” – Davies thought it derived from the Latin for a shepherd. (I vaguely recall Terry Pratchett writing that sheep are stupid and can be herded, while goats are intelligent and must be led. I think it was from Small Gods – can somebody help me?)

Can God or Fate be bribed? That seems to be one of Davies’ many questions. Certainly many people seem to believe that. Remember, Peale is available in many, many languages around the world. A lot of people out there do buy his message.

I do not believe Davies is totally against self-help books. Davies himself quoted Dr Johnson that books were trash unless they could help the readers “better to enjoy life or better to endure it”. Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus wrote canonical texts on self-improvement. What Robertson Davies find reprehensible is the debauching of philosophy, religion and things sacred and precious, to what at its core, is nothing more than a self-serving mission. Many self-help books offer little more than cheap, easy solutions, especially books which offer success founded on religious jargon. The grace of God is not a prescriptive thing: Do this, and riches and success will befall you.

We cannot suppose that Smiles would approve of the self-help books which offer success founded on religion, for he would instantly spot them for what they are – delusive offerers of success founded on craft. Get God on your side and success is yours. God is not the rewarder of virtue, but the Genie in the Bottle, who comes when you utter the magic formula. We must deny that this is religion in any high sense.

I agree: God is not our Sugar-Daddy. One should not be looking to religion for what God can offer you. I believe faith is about offering ourselves to something greater.

I also believe what is truly asked of us in a spiritual practice is to do good, not for the sake of reward – but to do good for its own sake. Sometimes, it might even mean we have to suffer for the sake of doing what is right and good. Maybe this is why so many of us stumble on our spiritual journey.

 

Robertson Davies on the Art of Reading

I'm having some trouble with my internet connection at home, so I have not been able to blog as freely this week. My discomfort with this lack of net connection may be a sign of a cyber-addiction. Right now I'm using my dad's laptop to surf -- and I feel like I'm ten years old, surfing the net under parental supervision.

I am trying to finish packing for my Hanoi trip. The flight will be this Sunday (18th November). Not sure about the availability of internet connection over there, so I may be offline for a while.

I had a replacement day-off this Wednesday. I had planned to spend the whole day working on NaNo, but it was such a nice day, so I went out to a cafe instead -- one that overlooked the sea. The view was not as nice as it should be because of the construction that mars the horizon. Still, I had a full day of restful leisure. I wrote a little, but I don't think I can use what I wrote; I drank a lot of coffee, watched Factory Girl -- but most of all, I read a book. Not just any book -- but an out-of-print Robertson Davies that I have been looking for the past year.

I recently logged on to Abebooks and ordered a secondhand copy of Robertson Davies's A Voice from the Attic: Essays on the Art of Reading. The postage costed more than the book (a pencil scrawl indicates the book was priced at 50 cents) The question of course, was it worth it?

Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes.

The book was first published in 1960 and reprinted with a preface in 1971. This revised edition in my possession right now was reprinted in 1990. In a nutshell -- this is a very old book.

There are some details in the book that feels out-dated, like Davies describing the process of listening on a gramophone. Yet, in his preface he made this bold claim: "This is, after all, a book about reading, and the kind of reader I am addressing does not care primarily about being in fashion." And yes, his message is still highly relevant.

Davies calls these readers the "Clerisy". So, who be these clerisy?

The clerisy are those who read for pleasure, but not for idleness; who read for pastime but not to kill time; who love books, but do not live by books. As lately as a century ago the clerisy had the power to decide the success or failure of a book, and it could do so now. But the clerisy has been persuaded to abdicate its power by several groups, not themselves malign or consciously unfriendly to literature, which are part of the social and business organization of our time. These groups, though entrenched, are not impregnable; if the clerisy would arouse itself, it could regain its sovereignty in the world of letters. For it is to the clerisy, even yet, that the authors, the publishers, and the booksellers make their principal appeal.

The Clerisy is Us. And our name is Legion.

This is Robertson Davies's call to the clerisy to reclaim the art of reading for readers, and not to allow the "experts" to determine taste and opinions. He pointed out that too many of us do not think of ourselves as artists, and often we have little faith in our interpretative skills. So we defer to the critics, who are paid for knowing something and giving public expression to his/her opinions, while we are stand as mere laymen in the world of books and reading.

Davies was particularly annoyed by the term "layman" -- which he found somewhat derogatory, as it "meant simply one who worshipped, as opposed to a priest, who had knowledge of the sacred mysteries." It is arrogance for the experts to assume that the amateur is by default not as well-informed or as sensitive as they are, and Davies reminds these experts of the need for humility which art imposes, so as to "avoid the harlotry of a cheap professionalism."

As I was reading the book, I can't help but think how pertinent this book is to the argument between the professional book critics and the litbloggers. How often the critics have accused litbloggers of diluting the standard of book criticism -- blah blah blah blah. (Oh god, I am mature) Imagine this: Davies wrote this book more than 40 years ago, and we are still fighting the same battles on new grounds.

But wait, Davies doesn't let us off that easily. We the readers have a duty to reading -- at least, we owe it to ourselves to work at being better readers -- "if they do not mean to make the most of their faculty of appreciation, why are they reading? To kill time? But it is not time they are killing; it is themselves.

Reading is a personal interpretative art -- like all art form, it takes effort and it takes time. For we may read qualitatively, but we do not always read qualitatively. One of the reasons we read with this poverty of mind is the "end-gaining" attitude to our books. Many of us dash through a book -- because we want to "have done" with the book so that we can move on to the next one. I admit this is something I am guilty of -- I also enjoy making reading lists, just so that I can tick off against the list what I have "done".

How many times have I felt that I need to re-read a book, because I seem to have missed something the first time? I don't think of myself as a good reader. Often, I think I do not allow the book a fair chance to make its effect on me. It's like I consume books, perhaps just so that I can claim to have read Moby Dick or some other great literature.

I am only about 20 pages into the book, so what I can share right now is limited by the brevity of my own reading. Davies continues to talk about how a reader could work towards better appreciation and better reading. One of his more interesting point is to develop "the inward ear" -- for reading is as much about a Voice. I think about what he said, and I agree -- my favourite authors are writers whose prose are so powerfully lyrical that I find my breath slowing down to match the rhythm of their sentences. It is when I slow down to take note of the language, the poetry, that they start to make their emotional effect on me.

But that is a post for a later date, I think.