I recently joined a book club at work, thinking it would be good opportunity to network if nothing else, and the first book selected was The Leader Who Had No Title by Robin Sharma. Nothing could have prepared me for the relentless barrage of condescension contained in this text. I’m seriously starting to think it’s nothing but a really good satire of the genre–at least, that helps when I’m trying to read it.
The story involves a young, orphaned, sometimes suicidal Iraq war veteran who suffers from PTSD named Blake (feel sorry for him yet? Because the author really wants you to so he can make you feel bad for not being thankful for your comparatively awesome life). One day, while working in a book store, he meets a senile old co-worker guy who immediately begins advising him about leadership. The reader is supposed to recognize the old mystically brilliant advisor trope, but the old man is so outlandishly lame–and his dialogue so awful–that no sane person would think such a thing.
I’ll stop there because the story doesn’t even deserve that much exposition. I will, however, share a couple of the more nauseating quotes I’ve encountered so far (I’ve only made it to chapter 3, and I honestly doubt I’ll be able to stomach much more).
From the brilliant old man:
The book, essentially, is all (1) about how us poor, pathetic saps should feel empowered to lead in business even though our jobs–and we–are lame, and (2) to make us feel guilty because we’re ungrateful for our lives when there are a lot of people much worse off than us. The author goes about making these points with all the subtlety of a Ferrari covered in running chainsaws and driven by naked Kate Upton eating a popsicle. Blake, having at best a room temperature IQ, apparently believes he’s supposed to be a manager or something. At least that’s what this old man thinks, based on nothing. He doesn’t know what Blake has been through or what his goals are. Minor details, those, because all people are the same: pathetic, self-pitying losers who need a good kick in the pants.
Blake, the poor lost soul, loves everything the old man is saying immediately:
These are prime examples of the dialogue in this book. The whole thing is just oozing with useless self-help dogmas that ignore even the most obvious complexities of life (such as the fact that PTSD is a **real psychological disorder **and it can’t be “healed” by listening to a motivational speaker). The advice is so shallow you couldn’t drown a fly in it.
Any body else read this piece of garbage, or have any other eye-rolling examples from the motivational/self-help genre? Please tell me I’m not the only chump who wasted money on this crap.