Are you a who or a what?

I recently finished “Endgame,” a fascinating biography of the famously eccentric, world champion chess legend Bobby Fischer. It’s a remarkably fair and even-handed account of Fischer’s bizarre and volatile life.

What I found most fascinating about the whole thing was precisely how irrational so much of Bobby’s behavior was, particularly for someone so incomparably brilliant at the supremely rational game of chess. His anti-semitism. His anti-Americanism. His paranoia. And his predilection for conspiracy-theories. In addition to all of this, the man was a consummately selfish jerk. “Troubled soul” is simply far too weak a label.

I kept yearning for something to congeal and organize all the madness. But nothing did. He is a man who simply did not fit. And yet, I suspect that Bobby Fischer seemed just right to Bobby Fischer, which is a good reminder that maybe consistency and predictability aren’t the highest human virtues.

What REALLY frustrated me about his story? That he wasn’t human enough? Or that he was far too entirely human after all? At the very least, I have to admit that Bobby Fischer was no machine, and perhaps that’s a very high form of praise for any human.