3 stars.
Rickson Gracie: old man yells at the clouds.
In my naïveté, I assumed by the title that some fundamental lessons about existence would be transmitted to me from legendary Brazilian Jiu Jitsu grappler and vale tudo fighter Rickson Gracie. What did I get? 150 pages of Gracie family drama, followed by 50 pages of Rickson detailing his vale tudo career, with a fetishistic obsession with his time in Japan and the "samurai spirit", capped with 50 pages of spiritual observations about life after divorcing his wife and moving back to Brazil, and finishing his tour de force by browbeating the state of modern BJJ grappling.
Not enough of a self defense emphasis, he says, in modern BJJ grappling, while simultaneously criticizing the hard sparring culture and emphasis on porrada... Which one is it, Rickson? He seems to be advocating for the lost jiu jitsu of his grandfather Helio Gracie, a man revered with a cult like fervour, a jiu jitsu which allows the weak coward to defeat the strong tough guy. Rickson argues for punch blocks and self defense techniques, seemingly ignoring the existence of combat sports which do striking and stand up grappling far better. Rickson seems to think BJJ needs to be the perfect self defense martial art, and criticizes the overemphasis on it as a competitive endeavour.
Oh well, the book is very readable, though this isn't due to some magic penmanship from Rickson. The prose is basically non existent, utilitarian at best. I can't fault him too much, as English is his second language, but still, you would think some effort from the editors would go towards making the language smooth.
I suppose it achieves the goal of making it sound like Rickson is talking to you, as his voice is very clear throughout (see previous paragraph).
There are some good aspects to this book, ones that took me by surprise. Rickson is surprisingly adept at turning anecdotes into life lessons, and at describing the feel of the fight. For all their fetishistic, and dare I say orientalist tendencies, his descriptions of his time fighting in Japan are very compelling.
Rickson is also surprisingly philosophical in his own depiction of his spirituality at times: "I walked my bike to the edge of the sea, and as I was taking off my shoes, I noticed something white poking through the sand. I didn't know if it was a rock or a shell, but I immediately felt drawn to it, so I dug it out. It was a small wooden figure with the head of an elephant and human arms and legs. It looked vaguely familiar, and for whatever reason, I felt its positive energy in the same way that I felt drawn to the energy of the sun or the sea. I put it into my pocket and took it home. When I got home, I felt compelled to build the figurine a small house in my backyard. First, I made a wooden floor, then I built a frame that I thatched with palm fronds. Once I was satisfied with how it looked, I put the statue inside. I do not believe in luck or coincidence, to me, everything is a sign that is either positive or negative. I accept the fact that forces larger than me are in charge, and I look for spiritual clues in life."
There's something simple, vulnerable, and human, about this. Rickson captures what it feels like to have a gut instinct and follow it, rationality be damned.