The best books of philosophical fiction

My friend Mandy says she doesn’t believe in conspiracy theories because people aren’t that organised. Admittedly, governments have acted in lockstep recently but Robert M. Pirsig would agree with her—and if you’ve ever been stuck on hold for over an hour only to be cut off, problem unresolved, you’d agree with him! In Plato’s day, the world was mostly run by warlords with just a dash of democracy. Pirsig complains of sloppy mechanics too intent on the radio to care about his engine noise. Nowadays the world is run by precariously-employed hungover teens squinting at their drying nail varnish while misfiling your tax return. He calls it ‘the spectator attitude’ and his first bestselling novel is about why they feel that way, and what we can do about it. 

Martha Nussbaum’s book isn’t written as roman à thèse (thesis told as story) but it focuses on the dialogues of Plato and her work helped me understand a possible intention behind his philosophical fiction—when I was writing my own thesis on a more modern philosopher—especially how it tries to avoid the conflicts and suffering that compose Greek tragedy. Spanning millennia of muse-inspired myth about people under pressure, from Antigone in Ancient Crete (who just wanted to bury her traitorous brother) to Sophie in Nazi Germany (who had to choose between her children’s lives) this movingly-written and erudite book has the disturbing but very human insight that the howling Furies don’t let us off the hook just because we had no choice. And neither does our conscience.  

I recommend the sequel to Pirsig’s more famous bestseller because I’ve never owned a motorcycle (and I find bicycle maintenance hard enough), but now I own a sailboat—where his second story is set—so when he describes hearing people walking on the cabin roof, or checking the knots on the mooring ropes, I know exactly what he means because I’ve experienced this. Some of his fans felt this sequel was a betrayal of the magical mysticism of undefined Quality he described in the first book. For me, although problematic, it was a necessary clarification and one I not only used for my academic work on a range of controversies from abortion to transgender but also in my life-coaching practice: to inspire holistic transformation on all levels of wellbeing. 

I picked this book up in a charity shop, idly browsing while waiting for my elderly mother to choose a nice murder—so I think ‘unexpected’ is a good word to describe both the content and the quality. Once you get over the jarring juxtapositions, and accept the general absurdity of a middle-aged philosopher turned bank robber, occasionally on the lam, the characters (despite some distinctly unappealing attributes) become more sympathetic, and their outrageous fortunes and philosophical reflections do inspire interest in the fragmentary first recorded attempts at sustained thought about life, the universe and everything, in Europe: the pre-Socratics.

This was a book I bought and loved and lost (my fault for leaving it in the University of Glasgow library) but not just because I loved the TV series. Ok, mostly. But also because it gave me a whole new insight into the forceful philosophy of Nietzsche as embodied by Buddy’s friend, rival and nemesis, Faith, and this was really useful for me trying to put generational conflict into words for my Ph.D. The 25 authors obviously love the series and, as this is one that I know well and have rewatched with audio/subtitles in various languages as an easy way to learn, their insights have added interest by providing another layer of meaning in this already multi-dimensional enthralling—and hilarious—narrative. I want this book back!