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Sweethearts, I've been in this industry for a long time and nothing makes me blush. When it comes to embarrassing book-related questions — Where do you keep the guides on do-it-yourself colonics? Do you sell Meatloaf's discography? I'm looking for Pokémon books... for my kid? — I've heard them all and lived to see another day. (And so have my erstwhile interlocutors.) Here are my favorite recent inquiries.

Dear Aunt Paige,

Should I be offended that my friends keep giving me self-help books?

Sincerely,

Dubious Donna

Dear Dubious,

Yes. Either they're bad friends or you're just a total hot mess.

Kidding, sweetness, kidding. Obviously it should be taken on a case-by-case basis (if your friend keeps leaving copies of How to Not Die Alone on your front porch, you might review what you know of their character before assuming they have your best interests at heart), but generally if someone gives you a book of advice, they're trying to be helpful.

In fact, I'd venture to say that even when they don't have your best interests at heart, they might be helpful, if you open yourself up to the message.

See, here's the thing. As a species, we love to offer each other advice, but we rarely take it. We think we're the open-minded ones and it's just our friends, family, or the other political party who are obstinate and short-sighted, but most of us are just as bad as everyone else at looking at ourselves with unbiased eyes. Do some of us need to learn How to Be an Adult in Relationships? Yes. Would others of us benefit from a book on how to Unf*ck Your Brain (excuse me!)? Yes. I don't know if it's simply our instinct to seek pleasure and avoid pain, but land sakes, people, we have got to learn to be receptive and stop stagnating like moss-covered boulders in the river of life!

Sorry for the rant, petunia. But our capacity for avoiding the truths that could help us be better for ourselves and others is one of the biggest problems we're facing right now.

We're all flawed. We could all use a good self-help book once in a while. In my experience, the people who are most successful in life are those who are given the gift of good advice — and who are open enough to receive it.

Love,

Aunt Paige

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Dear Aunt Paige,

So, I met my wife years ago in a book club. We were reading A Tale of Two Cities and just hit it off and the rest was history. She tells that story to people all the time, how we fell in love because of Dickens. Well, I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I never even read it. In all honesty, I joined the group to meet some women. I've become a super big reader ever since, but one of these days my dirty little secret's going to come out and I'm afraid we'll be history. What should I do? Spill the beans? Knuckle down and read the book? Study the SparkNotes?

Thank you,

Misleading Manette

Dear Misleading,

You are far from the first book club attendee to pad your reading resume. Even your Aunt Paige has been known to... embellish the truth… on a rare occasion. (Why do my book clubs keep forcing me to pretend to read Infinite Jest when we could be reading something, anything else? If I want to read a difficult, 1000+ page novel, there are so many other options! A Suitable Boy. The Man Without Qualities. 2666. But I digress.) However, your little lie has gotten out of control. It is clearly weighing on your conscience and, if the truth comes out accidentally, it has the potential to hurt your wife and damage your relationship.

You need to fess up before that happens, but it doesn't have to be a relationship ender. Your wife loves to tell this story because she loves you and she has fond memories of bonding with you over this book. So why not actually bond over it? When you tell your wife the truth, make sure to tell her how meaningful those memories of hitting it off with her are to you too, even if the book didn't play the role she thought it did, and then offer to start your own book club for two.

Break the book up into manageable chunks, read those chunks separately, and then plan a weekly or monthly dinner date to discuss the chapter(s) you've read. There are plenty of book club guides online if you need inspiration for questions to ask. Make sure you come prepared for a thoughtful discussion and remember to ask her what she loves about the book and really listen to her answer. (I hope I don't have to tell you that you really must read the book this time.) Your wife will have a new (true) story to tell about how your love was resurrected by Dickens.

And why stop with one book? Turn your couple's book club into a tradition. Read Adam Bede, published in the same year as A Tale of Two Cities, and have fun discussing Dicken's fan letter to Elliot (she described him as "disappointing"). Learn more about the French Revolution together with Hilary Mantel's A Place of Greater Safety. Try a modern classic. Immerse yourselves in diverse viewpoints. Whatever you read, it will bring you closer together, which is what your wife loved about the book club where you met in the first place.

Love,

Aunt Paige

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Dear Aunt Paige,

My friend is always asking me to read her poetry and offer feedback, or to pass it on to colleagues (I work in publishing), but the sad truth is that her poetry is awful! How do I gently tell her that I don't want to read her drafts and no one else will either?

Sincerely,

Dodging the Draft

Dear Dodging,

Oof, that’s always a toughie. It’s a compliment to be regarded as an influential expert in one’s field, and as a good enough friend to be entrusted with work that I’m sure is dear to your poet friend's heart. But it’s tricky to navigate how to respond in the negative without discouraging her or causing hurt feelings.

One option is to say that you’d love to, but you’re too busy right now to give her writing the attention it deserves. That won’t nip the problem in the bud, but it will buy you some time. Another, scarier but more honest option is to tell your friend that her poetry isn’t to your taste, and to recommend some literary agents or publishing houses with open submission policies that publish similar work. A third option is to tell your friend that her work would benefit from some workshopping, and to share the names of some writing groups or literary organizations in town that offer classes and networking opportunities.

Whatever route you take, know the destination will be the dark woods of your friend’s disappointment. Be gentle and empathetic, but firm: You’d love to help her with resources and information, because you love her and believe in her; but that’s all you can offer at this time.

You could try sweetening the blow with a handbook for writing poetry. Mary Oliver’s wonderful A Poetry Writing Handbook is a personal favorite (it’s so accessible), while Anne Lamott’s broader, more spiritual approach to craft in Bird by Bird sustains the heart while guiding the pen. Finally, The Poet’s Companion offers short essays and writing exercises, plus helpful marketing tips.

Love,

Aunt Paige

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Dear Aunt Paige,

My aunt has been calling me “honeybucket” ever since she read Gregory Maguire’s Baba Yaga tale, Egg and Spoon. Apparently, Baba Yaga (who, um, eats children) uses “honeybucket” as an endearment. Okay, it’s funny, but I can’t help thinking of those other honeybuckets whenever she uses the term. Am I doomed to be known as a porta potty?

Sincerely,

One sweet-smelling nephew

Dear Nephew,

A sense of humor and a fondness for obscure literary references add so much to life, don’t you agree? Your aunt sounds hilarious, learned, and very fond of you — why else would she refer to you as a bucket full of honey? Even the malicious Baba Yaga uses it in innocence, thinking it the height of maternal affection.

Besides, those other honeybuckets are a marvel of modern convenience. I think we’ve all had the experience of being at a concert, parade, or other such festival and seeking out the honeybucket row with the elation of a biblical hero chancing upon a desert well. A private commode in which to relieve oneself is nothing to sniff at. (Just don’t sniff it.)

Just like the humble porta potty, you and me and everyone else we encounter are vital receptacles of humanity — necessary, imperfect, and motivated by the same needs and desires that have driven people since before the printed word. When your aunt teasingly calls you “honeybucket,” she is also saying, “I accept all of you — the honey and the bucket.” What a gift.

Love,

Aunt Paige

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