1.0

Rating of ONE star out of FIVE. This does not indicate that the book was not good, but that I didn't like it.

In fact, I kind of hated it.

I can understand the wide appeal that such a book would have. It may even be an important book, but it's not a book I responded towards in any positive way. There are a lot of infuriating things about this novel, but one of the worst crimes committed by Pirsig happens early on. He states that, in order to do a good job, he needs to take his time with the story. In this way, he basically shrugs off any criticism that this book is too long. It is too long. It meanders too much. Of course, this criticism simply means that I don't agree with Pirsig, and that I, in fact, am part of the problem.

As for his actual criticism of modern thinking, I don't even know where to begin, to be honest. Towards the end of the book (which is just what is fresh in mind right now), he re-interprets Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. He inserts his own beliefs in those of Plato and Socrates, and thus rewrites history. He does not do this through solid reasoning, but rather, in a way that confirms his own suspicions about philosophy, life, and rhetoric. All the while, he posits himself as a student that the academy hates, that the teachers despise, because he knows more than they do. You see, young Phaedrus here (the abhorrent, pretentious name he gives the character of his youth), is the embodiment of truth, virtue, and someone who wants to learn.

This is all absolutely maddening. I went into this book expecting to love it, and there are some parts that I did really like. These likable parts, however, are not enough to excuse the rest (and bulk) of this meandering, infuriating, condescending, piece of garbage written by a self-involved, self-important, lunatic.

But of course, because I don't like it, it's because I'm part of the system, and part of the problem.