A review by simonmee
The Truth: An Uncomfortable Book about Relationships by Neil Strauss

1.0

A dishevelled man sits on a park bench by you. He’s clearly had a rough life.
"The stories I could tell" he murmurs, "of a life destroyed by my addiction to cigarettes"
"What, a pack a day can do that?" you ask, since he seems to be seeking your prompt.
"Five packs a day, more like. Let me show you what it does"
Well, you think, this sounds intriguing.

He pulls out a pack, peels off the plastic, shakily pries open the cover...

...then empties the entire contents into his mouth, swallowing them like a duck.

Neil Strauss wants to tell you "The Truth" about "relationships". But this is a book of hidden meanings.

"The Truth" means his truth.

"Relationships" means sex.

"His truth about sex" means, well...

If the guys could carry me on their shoulders, they would.

“Truth”

Look, yeah, this is a book about narcissism and if you want to read about a guy who everybody clapped for, the most out-of-control sex addict in the room, and who smirkingly refers to the relief at being de-centered by his harem, then by all means read this, or [b:The Wolf of Wall Street|522776|The Wolf of Wall Street (The Wolf of Wall Street, #1)|Jordan Belfort|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1320489812l/522776._SY75_.jpg|2712410]. Any patina of self-humiliation the book claims to show is buried under whatever is left of his crippled mother from being hit by the bus Strauss threw her under.

"this is one of the most narcissistic mothers I've ever come across"

The Truth is billed as a story of self-discovery, backed up by the scientific method of quote mining a few books and sympathetic experts to support whatever ever-evolving position that particular chapter demands. The reality is that it is a collection of articles whose connective tissue is whatever Neil Strauss deems Rick Rubin should say. Strauss expressly disclaims that his book is a journalistic endeavour, so please do not trust any word out his mouth... ...or anyone else's mouth... ...any reference to anyone else's journals... ...or any cartoons Strauss throws in when he runs out of space and needs to zoom through what should have been some major plot points.

Anyway, Strauss and his life-partner bury a toy elephant and get married, so everything ends up all sorted. No need to investigate further how that has gone.

“Sex”

This is a book about sex-addiction, even if it might not exist; is not really Strauss’ issue; nor relates to relationships. So, we need to understand sex right? Strauss understands that. He doesn’t linger on cleaning schedules, communication in a relationship or what attracts you to a person other than a banging rack. Being with someone means having sex, as his musings set out:

4. The sex gets old over time
5. So does she

Strauss is a cool dude cursed too much sex. You know, the thing with the… …um… hissing sound.

If you don’t want to be addicted to sex, read this book. If you don’t want to feel like ever having sex again, read this book. It’s at your option to be charitable and credit Strauss for showing the unrewarding nature of addiction but, at best, he overshoots the mark and leaves you wondering how our species managed to continue to reproduce.

The Truth is a calculated book of sexually extreme situations. You can revel in them or not. But if you choose a bunch of them, and they keep sucking for dull reasons, then your narrative also gets dull. Wow, Pornhub sucks; wow, polyamory sucks; wow, swinging sucks; wow, having a harem sucks. It is all just variations on the same theme. Comments by therapists and friends (or at least what Strauss writes they said) are not the revelations they are presented in the book. Instead, they serve as nothing more than waypoints guiding Strauss onto the next unrewarding situation.

"You have the biggest heart of anyone I know."

If you think Strauss is everything he believes he is then maybe you can glean something from The Truth. Otherwise, got outside and smoke a cigarette.