The concept of the autobiography fascinated me as a child. It's incredible really, the idea that some people live their lives to such epic proportions that others flock to bookstores to just buy a glimpse into it. Or the fact that some people are capable of inspiring others simply by sharing their life story - it was a kind of magic in my eyes.
Sometime last week, while browsing local bookshelves and walking past Sasha Cohen: Fire On Ice and Terrell Owen's autobiography, T.O., I realized the magic was completely, utterly gone.
How can you take a book entitled the "author's" initials seriously? Honestly, it's a matter of principle, and I'd rather put up with another season of Jenny Jones than read that spew. Owens either possesses balls the size of small mountains, or is an audacious jackass. Since even a Google search couldn't produce a "The Rockies" sized cup, I will assume jackass of the audacious variety.
When exactly did writing an autobiography become a perverse marketing scheme, just another form of brand extension? My best guess is somewhere between T.O.'s first book, Catch This!, his second book, the aforementioned, self-titled, self-congratulatory jerk-off, and me hating myself a little more.
In case you're confused, yes, you read that correctly. Terrell Owens "wrote" two books. The first is approximately 200 pages, and talks about how great he is. The second is, well, another 200 pages of pretty much the same thing.
Before this era of shameless self-promotion, autobiographies were by people who actually did something worth writing about. No, playing in the NFL or being on television didn't count. At the very least, there was the honest belief that parts of your life could inspire the lives of those around you.
It was more than a self-aggrandizing attempt to make a quick buck. It was more than the desire to cash-in on one's 15 minutes of fame, or the all too common feeling of inflated self-importance that floods every corner of the media and politics today.
"But where can I find these other books that don't suck?" you might ask.
I'm glad you asked. They might be difficult to find, since these golden nuggets tend to get stuck somewhere on the shelf between crap like Chad: I Can't Be Stopped By Some Guy, and Chris Moneymaker's memoir, Chris Moneymaker: Obnoxiously Long Title - and no, that's not the real name.
However, stick it out, and you'll be rewarded with books that are actually worth your time. Escape From Slavery, Frederick Douglass' story, is one example, or you can try The Autobiography Of Benjamin Franklin. Personally, The Autobiography Of Malcolm X changed the way I look at every aspect of government, religion and race, and should be required reading for everyone that breathes.
If you're looking to read "a story of triumph" over "insurmountable challenges," and "arbitrary vague cliché," go out and buy The Rock Says… by The Rock. Then rip out the pages and use them as toilet paper between bathroom reading sessions of Helen Keller's autobiography, The Story of My Life. The brittle pages may leave a rash, but you'll be too ashamed to complain as you discover why Keller was a better person than you are today.
You can flush what you don't use with the rest of the crap.
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