The criteria for a text to be classified as Non-fiction is the factual nature of the subject matter. Not that the subject matter has to be an undisputed, completely objective fact—many would argue there is no such thing—but the subject matter has to be dealt with as truth within a particular context.
Living, right? We all wonder, from time to time, if we could be doing it better, making more of it. Let John Vorhaus, who has successfully been living life for years, give you a few pointers.
A book about Bikram: the yoga, the man, and the community.
If this was a funeral, it would be the loudest, drunkest wake ever, followed by a beery blether about the old dead bastard til the sun comes up.
If this was put onto the desk of your average Hollywood producer, it would be bought for MILLIONS. "Goddammit Joel, get Murray in London on a conference right now! Somebody just dropped two hundred minutes of uncut Wacky Date Montage on my desk and I need Hugh Grant STAT!"
If this was the central character from a film, it would be John Cusack in High Fidelity.
What makes a writer? Is it living the tortured life of an artist, or is it actually getting your shit together and... you know... writing?
Cover - A lot of white background, some slender sans, and a hint of stock-photo lobster. Inoffensive.
If this was a private schoolkid, it would be the one who runs the odds on the nags and earns thousands of pounds from students and teachers alike before he's hit grade nine. And every year his parents receive an uninspiring report card bemoaning his lack of interest in the smallest measure of academic self-improvement.
If this was written by me, it would be called "The Too Much Drinking Diaries 1997-2007" and prescribed to brave and chronic insomniacs only.
If this was edited with a hatchet, you'd get half a funny book; you could then threaten the author with the hatchet until he produced the other half.
If this was the average quality of writing found in textbooks, I would have ACED high school, surrounded by greater student interest in economics, to name one subject.
If this was written forty years ago, it would be called "Bebop and Marijuana - Your Teenagers Could Do Worse."
If this was an entry in a log book, it would be hanging off the wall of the bushwalking hut you find just before the storm hits, and the whole event would seem more like an adventure and less of a trial.
I was going to have a little lie on the couch and watch some tv before I wrote this book review, but then I remembered about procrastinating later, which was just one of the excellent slogans presented in this fantastic little guide to writers. And so here we are.
If this was a play, it would be called "The Extraordinarily Talented But Oddly Modest Playwright Who, It's Easy To Imagine, Finds All This Fuss Amusing".
If this was... my copy of the book, handed to Ms Klein, I'd be interested to hear her thoughts. My brother bought it in Thailand and it's obviously pirated. The cover looks OK until you try to bend it, the body paper is almost transparent, and there's evidence of low-grade scanning every other page. Large-scale piracy of Western goods, as the flipside of sweatshop labour, is a topic she leaves untouched.
If this was lunch, it would be a Wendy's hot dog with everything.
If this was food, it would be a giant tub of fresh popcorn, covered in hot, molten butter, with an old-school choc top for dessert.
If this was funnier, contained no sex whatsoever, five times less interesting to look at, but only slightly more suitable for children, it would be a The Charles Schulz Story, published 1971. (Have you READ early Peanuts? Good grief.)