Simon Amstell Vintage, 2019, PB, 224pp, £8.99, 978-1784705695
Beginning with Simon Amstell’s childhood, his obsession with television, and the solace of the stage, Help develops into a discussion on the nature of being human, focusing particularly on our anxieties, our internal monologues, and our need to be accepted by others. A society infatuated by celebrities and superficial quick fixes to happiness can lead to a relentless review and readjustment of the self until we no longer know who we are, and are incapable of being what we strive daily to appear as: (what is considered to be) ‘normal’.
As a memoir, Help provides a fascinating insight into Amstell’s life, from his troubled relationship with his family and their difficulty accepting his sexuality, to exploring in detail the intricacies of his past and current relationships, ultimately ending with his ayahuasca drug-taking experience, something he found both therapeutic and traumatic. Despite this, his ‘trip’ ends with him quite literally vomiting forth an understanding of his true self via a series of potent and life-changing visions, and finally being able to accept his own identity.
Arguably the most illuminating aspects of Help, however, are the stand-up transcripts littered throughout the text. Stand-up comedy, when transcribed and taken out of context in this way, transforms into something entirely different: the self-deprecating joke becomes bleak, real, dangerous. Without a crowd of people to cut the post-joke hush with laughter, the build-up and the punchline stagnate in our minds — the wall of security created by the usual cacophony disappears, and behind the human making jokes on stage is just a human, like ourselves, fragile, sensitive, desperate for connection and to be accepted.
What are transcripts from a comedy routine soon begin to read as revealing transcripts from a therapy session, offering not only a unique discussion on the role and purpose of comedy in our society as a means to protect ourselves and others, but also as a means to reveal our most vulnerable states. Help explores the common themes of all memoirs — childhood, identity, trauma, family, desire — yet the interspersed transcripts offer something unique to the form, elevating it from an important examination of life, anxiety, and connection to a deconstruction of the position of comedy and humour in a world plagued by tragedy, insecurity, and loss.
- © British Journal of General Practice 2019
