Rushing in where winged haloed ones might fear to tread, I have been devoting time this week to the prime minister’s reading list.
I am sure he won’t mind me offering a few suggestions. After all, it has been reported he recommended three books to government chief executives earlier this year.
It seems the recipients of these recommendations were not that chuffed. Who could blame them?
While Frankl’s advice on staying positive could come in handy for them in the cost-cutting days ahead, they may have been less enthusiastic about the business management books.
They are likely well aware that businesses are all about making profits in the most efficient manner, not delivering services to benefit the whole population.
But hey, who hasn’t been guilty of pressing books on people which have gone down like a cup of cold sick?
I know I have, and people have done it to me.
In the 1970s when I was working in Australia, one of my reporter colleagues raved about Joseph Heller’s famous satirical novel Catch-22. I can’t remember now how many times he had read it (each time finding a new insight or another joke) but it was in double figures.
I owned up to that, and that made me feel a bit thick. My colleague was disappointed and baffled.
I have not returned to it since but my inadequacy is rubbed in every time I hear reference to a catch-22 situation.
Self-help books have also featured in gifts from my nearest and dearest. I have written before of my late husband’s romantic first present after a trip away which I believe was called Total Fitness in 15 Minutes a Day. Let’s just say its bold claim was not put to the test.
My companion, North Otago’s crazy cat gentleman, inflicted a plethora of relationship books upon me when we first got together, dubbed "the bloody books" by me. This was followed by something by Oprah darling Dr Phil and then some sort of guide to menopause (he reckons I needed that but was it really him?).
As soon as I turn a page in such books to find a list of things I should be doing, I want to scream.
You might think these experiences would temper my enthusiasm for pressing books upon people, but my family will tell you that is not the case.
I suspect many tomes remain unread. I am too frightened to ask. I have been known to give the same book twice (mistakenly doing this with Mary Karr’s excellent gritty memoir, The Liars’ Club, could have been misinterpreted.)
But back to the PM. Initially, I was drawn to Talk Normal: Stop the Business Speak, Jargon and Waffle by Tim Phillips.
I hoped it might give Mr Luxon some tips on how not to tell us about how he rolls (an unfortunate expression which will haunt him should he ever be rolled), aces in their places, chunking things down, big rocks, decision gates and more.
Then there was Michael Barber’s How to run a government so that Citizens Benefit and Taxpayers Don’t Go Crazy or even Roy Lilley’s Dealing with Difficult People: Fast, Effective Strategies for Handling Problem People (useful for coping with mouthy coalition partners).
Nah, these may be too heavy for these stressful pre-Budget days. Something less demanding might be better.
At home I found a copy of Five Go off to Camp by Enid Blyton (although not being a boot camp it’s not exactly on message).
Julian, Dick, George, Anne and Timmy the dog go camping with Mr Luffy, an absent-minded schoolteacher. While he’s studying insects, the Famous Five get into trouble being nosey about spook-trains and secret tunnels (Simeon Brown would love that) and black marketeers.
Although I devoured Famous Five stories and would happily hand them on, now I see the kids as entitled brats jumping to conclusions about people based on appearance, and delighting in bullying children they dislike.
Stereotypes abound. At one point tomboy George gets admonished by Julian for being catty. That’s "behaving like a girl, for all you think you’re as good as a boy!".
Cringe-making.
Still, it could remind the PM we are no longer in the 1960s and, golly, he might develop a whole new vocabulary. Smashing!
- Elspeth McLean is a Dunedin writer.
