The Art of Asking; or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Let People Help

I have an odd relationship with Amanda Palmer. I supported one of her Kickstarters, and donated to her Patreon also for a while, but never actually read or listened to whatever it was they were for. I can name maybe two of her songs, but I enjoyed her TED talk about asking. To be honest, she entered my awareness more because I'm a huge Neil Gaiman fan than for anything she specifically did. I admire her work and her philosophy and feel it's worth supporting and validating, yet feel as if I SHOULD enjoy her work more than I actually do. I keep vaguely aware of what she's up to because I follow Neil Gaiman on twitter, not because I follow her. I strongly support her work, without personally being captivated by it. Would she be okay with that? I think she probably would. I hope so.

This book has been on my list for ages but I only recently finally got around to reading it. It's basically an expansion of her TED talk on asking, with a lot of autobiographical stories thrown in. It's open and vulnerable and talks about impostor syndrome (which she calls the Fraud Police) and her close relationship with her fans and her relationship with her husband Neil and her childhood friend Anthony and how difficult it is to really ask for help. She has a lot of wise things to say about being open and honest with your fans, something that more marketing professionals, and more people in entertainment industries in general, could learn a lot from.

Most oddly of all, as I listened to this book I found myself thinking about my relationship with my mother a lot. Even though Palmer barely mentions her parents; in fact she talks as much about Neil's parents than her own. Still, she talks a lot about the way we relate to each other and comfort each other, and Neil's very emotionally distant upbringing, and how important it is to have love in your life. One quote from her friend Anthony in particular stuck with me: "If you want to know what you believe, ask the people you taught." A lot of my adult life has been spent trying to learn to be a different person from what I was taught by my mother. Palmer's book made me question lots of fundamental behaviours about how we treat people and open up to people (or not). So while it was a little rambling and the message could probably have been delivered quite a lot more concisely, it was still an interesting and thought-provoking read that I'll give a solid four stars.

I wouldn't call myself a fan of Amanda Palmer. The Dresden Dolls was never really my jam; when she ended up on my radar it was because she married Neil Gaiman -- of whom I definitely am a fan, and whose blog and Twitter I've followed for years and years.

The vast majority of what I know about her is what I've learned through the words of a fantastic writer who loves her. Thus, I already want to like her... but while I don't dislike her, I'm not sure I like her. It's complicated.

What I think of Amanda Palmer is this: She's fierce. She's independent. She's brave. She's imperfect. She doesn't always practice what she preaches (showing up, really hearing what others are saying to her, being compassionate). She's raw. She's unapologetically herself (for better or for worse). She puts herself out there. She's contradictory.

I know she's said some bullshit. I know she's fallen into the trap (seen often with stand-up comedians, but a danger to any performer) of, secure in the reality-distorting bubble of her fanbase, writing off those who point out problematic behavior as trolls or haters merely looking for something to be offended by.

I also know that a lot of the criticism of her is distinctly gendered. She's loud. She's unashamed of her body. She doesn't do what she's told, she doesn't know her place. She breaks the rules. She's emotional, self-absorbed, confrontational.

For better or for worse, AFP is indeed a Personality. But unequivocally, I do like what she's preaching: radical empathy, vulnerability, gifting instead of profit, opening up to each other instead of closing each other out. The radical notion that authentic human connection is more valuable than money.

In the end I do want to like her. Because Neil loves her, because of the odd song or story that speaks to me, because I think her anti-capitalist radical empathy is revolutionary and interesting and important. But I mostly want to like her, somehow, paradoxically, for all the reasons she makes me uncomfortable: because she's abrasive, she's messy, she overshares. Because I disagree with her about some things. Because I'm not sure I "get" her. Because parts of this book did strike me as disingenuous, self-indulgent, or myopic. Because I'm maybe a little jealous of her fearlessness and her honesty, of her willingness to confront the world head-on. Because I can't easily sort her into a neatly-defined little box.

I realize this is more a review of the person than the book, but hey, it's a memoir, so the lines get blurred.