The Oxford Dictionary defines ‘bricolage’ as ‘something constructed or created from a diverse range of things.’ It is a term generally used to describe an approach to art or other creative pursuits—think collage, mixed media etc.—that combine items, ideas, smaller works, lines of poetry, found items into one thing.
In Yoga publishing, ‘bricolage’ is a common approach: combining various types of information into one ‘collage of ideas’. A little bit of Yoga philosophy and mythology peppered with life advice and sidebars for ‘reflection exercises’ and ‘contemplations’. Perhaps some quotes from gurus who’s conduct may now be questionable. Pictures of deities and the occasional info graphic conveying metaphysical ideas. Throughout these types of books the authors mention uplifting anecdotes and poignant lessons from their own lives (often with a whiff of uncomfortable, covert privilege) as they encourage us to consider that with steady application of their ideas, we, too, could change our lives forever and for the better.
I’m sure you have a handful of these types of books in your studio or your study. I know I’ve got loads.
There is nothing inherently wrong with this subgenre. I’ve found inspiration and useful activities in many of these types of books. In fact, I’ve drawn ideas into my own practice that I’ve used for years from some of my treasured favourites.
But sometimes the mashing together of disparate ideas to create such a Yoga bricolage leads to confusing, misleading or downright wrong books and teachings. And too many readers can’t tell the difference.
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I’m currently reading a widely-available Yoga book that absolutely falls into this category. I’m going to keep the title to myself (because this isn’t about punching down on the author… but if you’re a part of my Patreon you know the one I’m taking about).
I knew nothing about the book or its author when I bought it. The website I used to buy my books suggested that I’d like it based on what I had already put in my shopping cart. I’m human: I added it. This book had a great title, a compelling description and several endorsements from Yoga teachers I know and trust.
Yet by page 4 I was already concerned.
· The ‘divine feminine’ was being conflated with gender.
· The philosophies of Yoga, Vedanta and Tantra were all lumped together as similar.
· The 7-Chakra model was presented as the only model, despite the author identifying as a practitioner of Sri Vidya Tantra.
· And on and on.
Essentially the books reads like a wide collection of ideas and teachings that have been cobbled together to illustrate the overall premise of the work, regardless of whether the pieces actually fit. This form of bricolage doesn’t bother me in the sense of its philosophical contradictions per se. My concern lies in the faith of the reader who, presumably, would take the author at their word, having not read widely enough to know they are being ‘fed a dog’s breakfast’.
These types of books aren’t created for Yogic scholars. They are written for Yoga enthusiasts who aspire to be slightly ‘better’ versions of themselves and think that Yoga might help. They are written for people who are looking to learn more about Yoga ‘off the mat’ but haven’t yet studied widely enough to think critically about the information presented. They are written for Yoga teachers who then go on to share the teachings with their students and teacher trainees, presuming all the while that ‘if it’s published, it must be legit’.
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Infrequently I am approached by publishers who want me to feature their authors on my podcast, Abundant Yoga Teacher. For the most part the books they are promoting are of the bricolage style and this presents me with a quandary. Because the Yoga bricolage subgenre is so problematic, having the guest come on my show without me having read the book in full first is simply not an option. Here’s the rub: the imprimatur of these guests can provide good publicity for my show, however reading the books takes time (and because I live in Australia publishers are too stingy to post me hard copies, so I have to read the PDF on screen).
Recently I was approached by a publisher spruiking a book based on the Yoga Sutras. (Actually, it was only the ‘8 Limbs’ that were covered, just one small part of Patanjali’s work… but let’s not let that rabbit hole tempt me for the purposes of this article!) I had some extra time, I was interested in having some guests on my show and—to be perfectly honest—I was keen to test my theory that inevitably and in general Yoga bricolage as a subgenre is problematic.
I agreed to the proposal and downloaded the book.
Sure enough, the book was highly readable, peppered with personal anecdotes of the ‘overcoming’ variety, infused with simplified translations of Yogic texts and complete with optional exercises for me to use in my own practice. And, surprise, surprise, it conflated ideas that lead to my confusion and would be misleading to your average ‘Yoga punter’.
What to do?
After some consideration I proposed to the publisher that I would still be prepared to have the guest on my show on the proviso that I could address the contradictory content and provide the author the opportunity to respond and clarify. This was agreed by all parties.
On the day of the interview I was nervous. I’d never confronted a guest on my show before so I’d made sure my research was sound. I was ready to substantiate my claims. I started the interview and it was going well. The pleasantries. The backstory. The segue to talk about the book. Then I started in with my questions about the problematic content.
I was really hoping for a robust yet warm debate. I was also hoping a conversation like this might give faith to readers who like these types of books. I was hoping to show my audience that it is possible to disagree and enjoy respectfully thrashing out the differences. I was hopeful I’d misread something or wasn’t as ‘advanced’ as my guest and they were going to show me my own shortfalls. But it didn’t go like that.
This fairly famous Yoga teacher, with tens of thousands of followers, not only couldn’t justify why they had conflated contradictory ideas and simply been inaccurate on certain fronts, they didn’t even realise that they had been.
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Over the past week I’ve been DMing with a colleague and teacher who I admire greatly about the book I referred to at the beginning of this article. We’ve been sharing frustrations about the misinformation, logic gaps and general low level of research and therefore integrity it contains.
My messages to her have been of the petty, jealous variety: here’s another small error! I should have a book deal if this gets a book deal etc.
My colleague’s messages to me are far more insightful, so much so that they inspired the development of this piece. She asked how can we trust the information we are taking in is accurate? How can we trust our teachers are sharing valid wisdom with us? She wrote, ‘It’s an interesting contemplation around authorship and research and teachers and trust’.
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In 2014 Penguin Australia published a cookbook called ‘The Whole Pantry’ by Belle Gisbon, a wellness influencer who was also famous for her Apple App of the same name. At the time, Gisbon was held up as an alternative treatment pioneer, having overcome her own brain cancer with juice and enemas.
When Gibson was uncovered as a fraud, Penguin withdrew the book from sale. (If you want to know all about Gibson and her grift, I recommend the book ‘The Woman Who Fooled The World’ by Beau Donelly and Nick Toscano, published by Scribe in 2018.) The publisher stated that the work was ‘published in good faith’, meaning none of the health claims had been fact checked prior to publication, including the suggestion that you could cure your brain cancer with enemas (source). Consumer Affairs Victoria, the government watchdog for matters such as this, fined Penguin Australia $30,000 as a result.
While this doesn’t come close to rectifying the impact of misinformation spread by a fraudster to people in potentially perilous health situations, at least it is something. I do not know of recourse happening in the Yoga bricolage genre.
Work that is published without being adequately fact checked is still work that is published without being adequately fact checked. Whether it’s a cook book or a Yoga book. Whether its offering health advice (like ‘The Whole Pantry’) or spiritual advice (like the two books I’ve referred to in this piece).
In my guest interview experience mentioned above, it was clear that the writer didn’t have enough knowledge herself to write the book she thought she had written. It seemed to me that she wasn’t even aware she’d created something riddled with inaccuracies. Further, presumably her editor and publisher hadn’t checked her manuscript for accuracy either.
Is it because of the nature of the advice (spiritual rather than health) that there is no recourse for the spreading of inaccurate information? Is it because the majority of the audience for this genre doesn’t have enough knowledge or desire to think critically about the information provided? Or is it simply that the demand AND supply of these types of books is so great that sorting the good from the bad is just too overwhelming?
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So if we can’t trust the author, the editor or the publisher to be the gatekeeper of factual information in the bricolage style of Yoga writing, what do we do?
We must read widely.
We must be discerning.
We must have colleagues to talk to about concepts and ideas.
We must hone our critical thinking skills.
We mustn’t presume that ‘publication’ means ‘accuracy’, and that something that made it into a book is ‘legit’.
And for me? Perhaps I must stop adding random Yoga books to my shopping cart.
This month I am looking for my next amazing 1:1 client! Perhaps it’s you? Check out my private Yoga business coaching package, ‘Grow, Serve & Shine’ here: https://www.amymcdonald.com.au/coaching
More in to the free stuff? Awesome! In addition to these blogs, I put out a weekly training in the form of my podcast, Abundant Yoga Teacher, that you can check out here: https://www.amymcdonald.com.au/abundantyogateacherpodcasts