Take a photo of a barcode or cover
cjspear 's review for:
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values
by Robert M. Pirsig
I went into this book thinking it was cheap philosophy for the uninitiated, and being a complete neophyte myself, I almost fell for it. A quarter of the way in I developed an admiration for the method in which Pirsig delivers his ideas. He approaches philosophic ideas through metaphors that come about naturally in a narrative. The narrative of the 'journey' is as old as time, and writers have long used the physical journey to represent a mental or spiritual journey as well. Pirsig proceeded to break down philosophic ideas with constant reference to his motorcycle, its parts, and its repair. This was entertaining and thought provoking, but only for the first quarter of the book.
As the book goes on, it leaves behind not only its motorcycle maintenance analogy and premise, but also any connection to the journey whatsoever. The vast majority of this narrative has no relation at all to the behemoth passages of philosophic cram that are sandwiched in between. Two unrelated texts are intertwined in a baffling attempt to draw insight from a boring motorcycle trip.
The biggest obstacle to overcome in reading this book is the author's pretense. Pirsig claims multiple times that this is not a work of fiction, that it is autobiographical, and that he is not even bothering to make the story interesting, because it is all fact. This is so clearly false at so many parts. It is a slap in the face for the novelist to tell his audience that he won't even try to make his novel interesting. The climax of the book, in which 'Phaedrus' throws down against the professors of the University of Chicago is painfully contrived. For all his talk about not making characters, Pirsig creates the most two-dimensional, unrealistic Saturday morning cartoon villain out of the UChicago profs. I wouldn't have been surprised if they had curled their moustaches and cackled maniacally. He portrays a dogmatic, completely unintelligent board of philosophers that he is able to outsmart completely just by calling a single passage of Plato an analogy rather than truth.
His pretension is shown in every chapter as he constantly refers to his former self, this Phaedrus, as a brilliant genius, smarter than Aristotle and Plato. It's quite insufferable. Not to mention he doesn't know the actual Greek meaning of the fake name he gives himself, Phaedrus.
Finally, if I have attacked him enough, I would love to share a quote that I thought brilliant.
"A fool can say the sun is shining and that doesn't make it dark out."
I have to attack his arguments for what they are, and not by what I think of him. So here I go. He claims 'Quality' is where science meets the arts, romanticism meets classical intelligence. He claims we all feel it naturally, and recognize it when we see it. He places so much importance on this concept. By his word, I should be able to recognize quality innately, but I believe that I see no quality in this book whatsoever. Furthermore, he spoke at great lengths at how science and art meet in quality, but I disagree. Romanticism and art value quality. Science values objectivity, and he fails to disprove that or show any connection between innate quality and rational objectivity.
As the book goes on, it leaves behind not only its motorcycle maintenance analogy and premise, but also any connection to the journey whatsoever. The vast majority of this narrative has no relation at all to the behemoth passages of philosophic cram that are sandwiched in between. Two unrelated texts are intertwined in a baffling attempt to draw insight from a boring motorcycle trip.
The biggest obstacle to overcome in reading this book is the author's pretense. Pirsig claims multiple times that this is not a work of fiction, that it is autobiographical, and that he is not even bothering to make the story interesting, because it is all fact. This is so clearly false at so many parts. It is a slap in the face for the novelist to tell his audience that he won't even try to make his novel interesting. The climax of the book, in which 'Phaedrus' throws down against the professors of the University of Chicago is painfully contrived. For all his talk about not making characters, Pirsig creates the most two-dimensional, unrealistic Saturday morning cartoon villain out of the UChicago profs. I wouldn't have been surprised if they had curled their moustaches and cackled maniacally. He portrays a dogmatic, completely unintelligent board of philosophers that he is able to outsmart completely just by calling a single passage of Plato an analogy rather than truth.
His pretension is shown in every chapter as he constantly refers to his former self, this Phaedrus, as a brilliant genius, smarter than Aristotle and Plato. It's quite insufferable. Not to mention he doesn't know the actual Greek meaning of the fake name he gives himself, Phaedrus.
Finally, if I have attacked him enough, I would love to share a quote that I thought brilliant.
"A fool can say the sun is shining and that doesn't make it dark out."
I have to attack his arguments for what they are, and not by what I think of him. So here I go. He claims 'Quality' is where science meets the arts, romanticism meets classical intelligence. He claims we all feel it naturally, and recognize it when we see it. He places so much importance on this concept. By his word, I should be able to recognize quality innately, but I believe that I see no quality in this book whatsoever. Furthermore, he spoke at great lengths at how science and art meet in quality, but I disagree. Romanticism and art value quality. Science values objectivity, and he fails to disprove that or show any connection between innate quality and rational objectivity.