<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
9401120631
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
940403
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, April 03, 1994
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
COM
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1G
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1994, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
SELF-HELP AUTHORS, HEAL THYSELF FIRST
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
If you wanted help with your love life, would you ask an ex-homeless
person who had once been a drug user and, in between, spent time in
transcendental meditation, celibacy, and a marriage that  collapsed after two
years?

  Of course you would. At least, many of us are. Check out the book sales for
"Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus." People are gobbling it up in a
frenzied rush, hoping  to solve their relationship woes.

  This, by the way, is a very American thing to do. When in doubt, buy a
book.
  What is less trendy, it seems, is caring about where the author of that
book got  his or her credentials. And what gives that writer the privilege to
dispense advice.
  Consider the Mars/Venus author, John Gray, who is currently touring the
country making big money doing seminars  and lectures -- in between his
frequent talk show appearances -- on the problems of male-female
relationships.
  Did Gray study human relationships in medical school, or teach for years at
a top-flight  university? Did he conduct any scientific research, or, for that
matter, read any?
  According to his profile, Gray didn't do a whole lot of anything before
writing his book. He was an admitted drug  user in high school, wandered
around Europe, got into transcendental meditation, and was celibate for a
while before going full-bore into sex. To be honest, I have friends who have
done all of these  things. I wouldn't recommend going to them for advice. Or,
for that matter, a loan.
  Gray, however, got lucky. He became a homeless person in California, then
married a woman named Barbara De Angelis,  a best-selling author herself.
Barbara's book is called "Secrets About Men Every Woman Should Know."
  I guess one of those secrets is which beach to check for a future husband.
First, he called home
  Although their marriage lasted only two years, Gray took a few things out
of it. One, apparently, was this: You can make a ton of money in the self-help
business.
  And pretty soon, we had the  Mars/Venus book. Not that Gray has been to
either one. His concept of separate planets for the sexes came, he admits,
from watching the movie "ET."
  Freud started this way, didn't he?
  Gray also  admits that his highly publicized doctorate actually comes from
a correspondence course with, uh, Columbia Pacific University in San Rafael,
Calif.  
  This school is not accredited.
  But that  doesn't seem to matter to readers. They grab Gray's book and coo
at his lectures, because, as smart as we are in this country, we haven't
gotten past the naive notion of "if it's printed, it must be  true."
  The book sells for $23.
  Lot of money for common sense.
  Which, in the end, is pretty much what Mars/Venus is all about. I read the
book. Gray says:  1) Men and women are different.  2) They solve their
problems differently. 3) It's OK to be different.
  Never mind that my grandmother once said the first two things, and Kermit
the Frog said the third.
  A best-seller is a best-seller.
It  gets worse 
  Such is the nature of the self-help business. I am not picking solely on
Gray's book. It is no worse -- and actually better written -- than many of the
countless titles you find in the  bookstore. 
  One of the hottest right now is "The Celestine Prophecy," an amateurishly
written "adventure" story about a man searching for a lost Peruvian manuscript
that contains (gasp) the secret of life. People are buying this book as if the
pages themselves came from Mt. Zion.
  But if you look in the back, you see the author is not God, nor Freud, nor
even Dr. Spock. He's a fellow named  James Redfield, who, near as I can tell,
is most accomplished for thinking up ideas and "living in the rural South."
  In  the end,  this is all very silly, and sad. There are many ways to judge
a society. One is where its people go for help. Americans seem to like the
idea that a book can fix everything. And we are so replete with problems --
and so desperate for solutions -- that we'll believe  almost anything provided
1) It has a catchy title. 2) It gets on the Oprah Winfrey Show.
  Sorry, folks. But this is not the barometer of wisdom. Yes, many practical
lessons are available in print.  But the truth is, much of the self-help
movement is people raking in dough by lecturing, hawking tapes, holding
seminars and creating best- sellers.
  So next time you hear about a book that will change  your life, you might
want to check out the writer, and see how it changed his.
  Besides getting him off the beach.
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