I am gritting my teeth. In seeking to right an oft-repeated wrong I must first claim some liberal arts credentials. Well, I left school at 15 for journalism and that was a good start. Since then I have read Proust, listened more than once to the Grosse Fuge, bought a quintet of Almodovar DVDs and would kill to own a Turner.Does that do it? Now let me turn on the idiots who made this self-aggrandisement necessary.
Most reviewers, notably those doing TV, major on liberal arts. This is obvious when something technical crops up. If the guy driving round the world in a Deux Chevaux describes how he bodged up a broken suspension, that’s boreeng darlings. Tell us more about your fears, your incipent gay-ism and what you feel about all those colourful natives. Feelings count, not track rods.
It gets worse. It’s not just antipathy but a celebration of ignorance. These people, limited to a book-bound world, revel in not knowing what a track rod is. As if knowing would diminish their crystal-pure thoughts on Derrida. Needless to say they were all at sea when “Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance” was published.
Am I finished? Yes, that’s it. Track rods resume soonest.
