Once upon a time, I had to write a book report for my stress management class. I guess that's not too much to ask, since we never have quizzes or tests, and our homework typically consists of only book assignments and naps.
Anyway, I read this book. It was alright. I can't figure out if I liked it or not... But feel free to read what I wrote about it...
The last half is the best, if I do say so myself.
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The
briefest synopsis of this book I could give would be to say it’s the story of a
man and his son who, one summer, take a long motorcycle trip together. However,
if I were to tell someone that just before they began reading, that wouldn’t
give them the slightest inclination as to what this book is really about. There
is infinitely more. In fact, I’d venture to say this book is complex enough
that no matter how many times you read it, you’d find something new every time.
To
take my synopsis a bit deeper, while the story is about the narrator and his
son on a trip, it’s also about his relationship with the few other characters
to whom we’re introduced. It’s a comparison of their perceptions of life and
his. It’s a recounting of his life and his philosophies through what the
narrator calls a “Chautauqua.” Among a large variety of topics covered, the
narrator talks of quality, relationships, mental illness, values, technology,
theories, acceptance, and of course, motorcycle maintenance.
While
this book does not deal directly with stress management, the narrator talks a
lot of thought and behavior. When talking of John and Sylvia Sutherland, the
friends who travel with us for the first portion of the book, the narrator points
out something very closely related with things we’ve discussed in class: “…they
must have been thinking about how bad all this is. That’s what’s really wearing
them down. The thought.” Of course it is! If only John and Sylvia knew that our
brains were behind absolutely everything, that their thought influenced their
situation, their mood, their world. Their situation wasn’t inherently bad; it
was merely their perception of the situation, and perhaps the influence of
their perception. It’s simply about how we look at things.
In
contrast, the narrator describes another friend we meet, Robert DeWeese, as
“all here and now, completely relaxed.” That phrase immediately brought the
concept of mindfulness into my thoughts. The narrator says, “I realize that
although this is the authentic image of DeWeese himself, it’s also a brand-new
person who’s been renewing himself continually and I’m going to have to get to
know him all over again.” I love that idea of being so present in the moment
that we’re continually changing. While the character is fictional, I think
DeWeese’s level of mindfulness is something one ought to work to obtain.
The
concept of Quality is something discussed quite a bit during the second half of
the book. It was the focus of Phaedrus’ thoughts and lectures for a time,
Phaedrus being the name the narrator used to refer to his younger, “former”
self. He became obsessed with trying to define Quality, only to realize that to
define Quality would simultaneously remove the Quality and turn it into
something less desirable. I loved that Quality didn’t need to be defined, that
one could simply know it without having a meaning for it.
Spoiler
alert: isn’t it interesting that, while avoiding giving Quality a definition,
Phaedrus realized that the small stipulations he’d put on Quality had defined
it, and that it was the realization that led to his downfall? I find that
fascinating, and terribly depressing at the same time.
The
short answer to the question of why I chose this book is simply that it was the
only book on the provided list that I already owned. The better answer is this:
Over this past summer, I celebrated my 21st birthday. I’m one of
those people who tend to approach a birthday with a bit of anxiety—have I
accomplished what I hoped I would in the past year? Have I done enough? What
will life bring in the next twelve months of my life? What was Oprah doing at
21? You get the idea. Anyway, a good friend and I were at Barnes and Noble one
evening, which was not uncommon. My friend is one of the smartest people I know,
I trust (nearly) everything she says to be a fact. She’s a couple years older
than me, and I very much trust her wisdom, so I asked her to direct me to a
book that would change my life (because I’m sure that’s what Oprah would do).
She gave me two: Slaughterhouse Five, and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle
Maintenance. I haven’t finished Slaughterhouse Five, so I can’t yet tell you
the impact it’s had on my life.
I
guess the question at this point is whether or not the book fulfilled its
purpose—has it changed my life? Right now, my answer is not yet. As I mentioned at the beginning of my ramblings, this book
is complex. For me, reading the narrator’s Chautauqua is comparable to reading
Isaiah in the Old Testament. What do I know of Kant or Plato or Aristotle?
Surely I know more now than I did at the beginning of the book, but it’d take
at least another reading or two to better grasp the teachings analyzed in this
book. I need time to process.
I’m not sure
that I’d recommend this book to others, unless it were to be my aforementioned
smart friend, in which case, she’s already read it. This book requires
commitment, it isn’t light reading. And who has time for commitment these days?
For weeks, I was sure that all I wanted was to finish reading this novel and
move on. However, multiple times, I found myself craving this book. Sitting at
my desk at work, I’d wonder what Phaedrus was going to teach next. I’d be
thinking about Chris and what his mother was like and what his future would be.
Mostly, I’d wonder what the narrator’s name was, and the lack of an answer will
never cease to bother me. And, thanks to my cursed curiosity, and an insane
desire to understand Aristotle, I’m afraid I have to read the book again. Thanks a lot, Mr. Pirsig. You
have me hooked.
