DNF.

I have long intended to read this famous book. However, I'm afraid that I waited for an overly long time. There is an excessive amount of "zen" and insufficient "motorcycle maintenance", at least from my perspective. The four motorcyclists on their journey create a captivating story. Nevertheless, I am unable to engage with the philosophical aspect of the narrative. If I were a younger man, I can envision how it might be interesting and perhaps even profound to me. As the situation stands, I am approaching 66 years old, and I could only manage to get through 25% of it. It seems that as we age, our interests and perspectives change. What might have appealed to us in our youth may no longer hold the same allure. While the book may have its merits, it simply didn't resonate with me at this stage of my life. I will likely move on to other reading materials that better suit my current tastes and preferences.

Well, I nearly reached page 100, and that's probably because I shelled out the full price for this life stealer.

I might as well stick my head in the oven at around 104 degrees while donning some goggles.

Then, I could walk up the road to encounter the most uninteresting neighbours, John and Sylvia, and simply nod at each other.

Perhaps later, I could return home to my garage and toss 3 jigsaw puzzles onto the floor and attempt to put them back in the same box.

As I retire to my sleeping bag, I can attribute it all to Greek philosophy and ponder whether it's been a Classic or Romantic day.

And Chris, "shut the fuck up", no more questions. I've got an exciting life to lead tomorrow, and I don't want to think about ghosts.

Classic? More like Grand Theft Auto!!

Somehow this book, which I found really compelling ten years ago, seemed dead and uninspired on rereading it now.

I found the philosophy tiresome and pointless, and honestly had a hard time forcing myself to slog my way through it.

I think it had to do with the fact that the essential conflict of the book -- that between classic and romantic ways of thought (or science and art, rationality and emotion, function and form) -- is a non-issue to me, these days.

Phaedrus drove himself insane seeking a synthesis between these two modes of thought, but it's a synthesis I achieved myself many years ago.

His over-simplification of the world, in which science is unable to recognize "quality" and art is unable to recognize function, just completely rubs me the wrong way.

It's almost insulting, in fact, to someone who happens to be both a poet and an engineer; he seems to state that I must be able to do only one well.

It has always been obvious to me that it is not a duality, but a continuum.

Of course, I was never classically trained in philosophy, so I could be missing some subtleties to his arguments.

With such an intensely personal (in fact, autobiographical) book, it may be that you either relate to the narrator, in which case the story becomes very meaningful to you, or you don't.

The ending was very abrupt; after so long spent building up to the climax, he just left the reader to attempt to figure out what the resolution was.

Overall, it seemed to me like a book written more for the author than for his readers.

Partially, it seemed like he just wanted to exorcise his own demons.

Also, he wanted to give a lecture on philosophy, wrapped up in the thin framework of a novel.

It was neither entertaining nor enlightening.

Perhaps if I had read this book at a different time in my life, I would have had a different perspective.

But as it stands now, I can't recommend it to others.

It may have been a significant work for the author, but for me, it fell flat.

Maybe I'll give it another try in the future, but for now, I'm moving on to other books that I hope will be more engaging and thought-provoking.

\\"What’s new?\\" is an interesting and broadening eternal question. However, if one pursues it exclusively, it will only result in an endless parade of trivia and fashion, which is like the silt of tomorrow. Instead, I prefer to be concerned with the question, \\"What is best?\\" This question cuts deeply rather than broadly, and its answers tend to move the silt downstream.

I don't give a damn about motorcycles, but I do care about learning how to live. \\"If only I could analyze all the angles and really master my life!\\" part of me cries. \\"But it's got to be lived, in the end,\\" another part replies. You can't master it before living it.

Tension exists as what I want and what I have are not the same. Where can I find a happy balance? How can I do this thing we call Life right?

\\"We're living in topsy-turvy times and I think that what causes the topsy-turvy feeling is inadequacy of old forms of thought to deal with new experiences.\\"

The idea that living strictly rationally, according solely to the dictates of Reason, leads to a dead-end is appealing. Prisig's system of thought, the Metaphysics of Quality, which doubles as both a conception of reality and a values system, offers an antidote to consumer burnout and the inadequacies of a developed world. You need Reason and rational thinking to operate, but you don't want to lose sight of the Romantic frame of mind. He presents his arguments methodically and rationally, almost like a lulling mantra. The point is not to examine motorcycling; it's only a convenient means of illustration. The point is to examine character and how it's expressed through our actions or manifested in our lives. Substitute motorcycles for any subculture you like and the lessons might be the same. These ideas are old, but Pirsig shares them with a commanding earnestness that makes them seem alive again. He is quiet, thoughtful, and meditative. But also dry and sometimes starkly spartan. The book meanders and loses focus for long stretches at a time. Perhaps this is intended to provide illustration through example, but it's not something I appreciated.

3.5 stars. Maybe a 5 for a certain crowd, at a certain time of life. It gave me some food for thought and interesting considerations to mull over, but in the end, I don't think I can call it life-changing.

The author went completely insane and almost dragged me down with him!

After postponing this one for years, I finally got around to reading it recently and was shocked by how it was almost nothing like what I had anticipated. Instead of just motorcycle talk, there was also philosophy thrown in. I definitely did not expect the ponderings of a depressing and crazy individual.

However, that's not a reason to despise a book. I don't hate Zen..., but I'm not head over heels in love with it either. I was on the verge of giving it only 3 stars mainly because it seemed unable to move me. I mean, for a roadtrip book, it often appears to wallow in the doldrums far too frequently.

I gave it an extra star because I have a weakness for philosophy in the form of rational evaluations and minute dissections of the mind, which this book has in abundance. The writing itself is quite good. In fact, at times, I felt like I was reading very well-written fictional characters. The author's son's whiny desperation was irritating, but for the right reasons, as it felt so genuine.

My recommendation is to read this if you have a penchant for philosophical contemplations, but don't bother if you're only interested in the motorcycle aspect.

Pirsig talked about his character for 450 pages. I wonder what he thought when he saw that the book was noted here.

As far as I read, people either loved this book very much or hated it. Just as it should be. A strong idea that stands out from the crowd and stands at the pole is always met with such a reaction. I am on the same side as Pirsig and I liked the book very much. I couldn't have not liked it anyway, as we both hit our heads on the same word while seeking wisdom: ἀρετή.

I admit that it is a difficult book, and I even have to admit that it is not the kind that anyone can easily like. It can be said neither a novel nor a philosophical book. It has a little of both in it, and moreover, no effort has been spent for their beautiful combination. In the novel part, the author is telling who Phaedrus is, and in the philosophical discussions, what he did (and this arrangement, as you will understand when you read the book, takes an important place in his theory). If I were writing a novel, I would not write like this, and if Pirsig were writing a novel, he probably would not write like that either, but this is an autobiography. He wrote down what his story was. Moreover, it is the autobiography of a difficult life. It takes courage to write down these experiences.

I am also aware that it addresses a very limited audience. If you have no philosophical background, you will understand nothing and die of boredom. If you have studied philosophy at the university or have a very special curiosity, you will again die of boredom because everything will seem to be explained to you too stupidly. If you are not interested in Eastern philosophy (and we are more inclined to love Pirsig in this regard), the book will seem too imaginative and out of the rules to you. If Western philosophy does not interest you, you will not have the opportunity to read it anyway. As you can see, according to this calculation, only 3 people in the world can read it. Its being a bestseller is really an incredible luck (it happened to hit the right generation exactly) for the work, and it probably would not have been published today. Of course, the author himself shares the information that it was rejected by 121 publishers even at that time.

I cannot easily recommend it to anyone, but it has taken its place as one of the most special books in my library.

P.S: Don't expect to learn too much about Zen from this book by being misled by its name. You need to have some information on this subject already, because Zen philosophy is being explained in this book in a "practical" and implicit way. Let's direct those who want to read a book in the nature of an introduction to Zen to Alan Watts.

This would have been an outstanding book had it simply been a travelogue documenting his journey across the country with his son. That particular part was indeed written skillfully and was highly entertaining. However, when it veered onto the philosophical side path, things quickly went awry.

[Note: SPOILERS AHEAD, if you're concerned]

Generally speaking, when individuals take issue with the philosophy of this book, the fans of the book tend to believe it's because they didn't understand it. But I understood it just fine. In fact, I understood it well enough to notice every error in thinking that the author made along the way.

The author commences his treatise on "quality" with a flawed assumption: that quality cannot be defined. This is based on the premise that none of his students can define it. What a remarkable leap of logic: just because something hasn't been accomplished yet, it implies it can never be done. One need only look at the entire history of science to disprove this.

Let me have a go: quality is a measure of the extent to which something adheres to its intended purpose.

This straightforward definition resolves his entire dilemma by circumventing his most significant misstep: attempting to define quality without considering the context. Quality holds no meaning without context, which is precisely why he struggles to define it. Something that represents the epitome of quality in one context can be the polar opposite in another. For instance, a hammer is of the highest quality if the context is "driving a nail," but not if the context is "removing a speck of dust from your eye."

He engages in another discourse where he endeavors to demonstrate that science is fundamentally flawed because, as hypotheses are investigated and more questions are introduced, it actually moves us further from the truth rather than closer to it. I'm sorry, but that's simply not the case. He's conflating "dogma" or "belief" with "truth." When you discover more questions, you don't know any less. You merely gain a better understanding of how much you didn't (and still don't) know. You're still closer to knowing how things truly are (i.e., "truth").

The book is rife with these kinds of philosophical missteps and illogical reasonings, to such an extent that it becomes a laborious task to get through. In reality, I probably would have given up, but I found the travelogue portions interesting enough to persevere.

In the end, however, I was left yearning for the book that could have been.

Robert M. Pirsig's "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" is a remarkable work.

The opening line, "I can see by my watch, without taking my hand from the left grip of the cycle, that it is eight-thirty in the morning," showcases the author's clinical precision. The self-reference of looking at his own watch becomes a leitmotif, as the book delves deep into the author's soul. Pirsig is clearly a morning person, already on the highway early. The detail of looking without removing his hand adds a cinematic touch to a seemingly ordinary scene.

The extended analogy between tuning a motorcycle and the concept of quality is thought-provoking. The relationship between Pirsig and his son is a focal point, poignant yet not pathetic. Tragically, Pirsig's son was killed later, shattering his already fragile mental state.

This book is an excellent introduction to philosophy, especially Zen Buddhism. Each reading reveals something new. It is truly a masterpiece. I highly recommend reading "Lila," the follow-up book.

For me, "Zen" is a source of solace and reflection. I mourn the loss of Pirsig, a misunderstood and under-estimated thinker and writer. May he rest in peace.

Aristotelian ethics, Aristotelian definitions, Aristotelian logic, Aristotelian forms, Aristotelian substances, Aristotelian rhetoric, Aristotelian laughter. Ha-ha, ha-ha.

The bones of the Sophists long ago turned to dust, and what they said turned to dust with them. The dust was buried under the rubble of declining Athens through its fall, Macedonia through its decline and fall, the decline and death of ancient Rome, Byzantium, the Ottoman Empire, and the modern states. It was buried so deep, with such ceremoniousness, such unction, and such evil that only a madman centuries later could discover the clues and uncover them, and see with horror what we had done.

The author presents two storylines. The first takes us on a motorcycle trip across the country with his son. The second reaches back in time to a man named Phaedrus. One of them may seem fictitious or like stretched creative nonfiction or metafiction. However, in the end, the reader realizes it all really happened. I forgot the story was nonfiction until the end, when Pirsig looks back ten years to the first publication and explains the devastating death of his son, the supporting "character." He had been stabbed to death. This follows an emotional ending to the original work that overloaded me with terror and sentimentality, dropping the feelings of a beginning resolution and returning my heart to questions about the reality and meaning of life.

The second storyline concerns a man named Phaedrus, a "character" named for a figure in ancient Greek philosophy. I thought the name was a beautiful fit. The story and the unfolding of Pirsig's opinion felt beautiful too. Pirsig mentions the writing process, having been a teacher of rhetoric. He explains his belief that art should come from the heart or soul and not be confined to a set of unbalanced scientific rules, this being the pursuit of what he calls "Quality." He discusses the term "quality" often, the main thrust of his "argument" in his theme. He uses other names for Quality, such as "Holy Trinity," the "Tao," and his personal choice, "The Buddha."

The author presents the philosophy as an introductory gateway. Although I had a difficult time keeping up with it all, I enjoyed it and it instilled a desire to read more philosophy. I want to own this soon and read it again. I had a stronger understanding as I read it, but now as I try to remember the argument trains, I find myself lost. However, I still get the gist of what he is saying. The paradigm of society has been corrupted because we have separated life's meaning of "Quality" from "everything else" through an ancient basis of philosophy founding all of Western thought. He blames Aristotle. His argument seeks to unite religion, art, and science, thus Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

"Peace of mind produces right values, right values produce right thoughts. Right thoughts produce right actions and right actions produce work which will be a material reflection for others to see of the serenity at the center of it all. That was what it was about that wall in Korea. It was a material reflection of a spiritual reality."

Before opening this book, I was convinced that "maintaining a motorcycle" was related to keeping it on the road - being able to balance it, to maintain equilibrium like an acrobat, straddling his wire high above the heads of the audience gathered to observe his art. I shared this with a friend, hoping to hear his preconceived version (because he hadn't read the book and probably wouldn't, judging by his remarks). Of course, I got a sneer - naturally, it was a matter of keeping the motorcycle upright - checking fluids, loosening, removing, tightening... But I know that my friend's "classical mind", as defined by Pirsig, prevails. Maybe that's why our predispositions towards the title are diametrically opposed? Because my "romantic mind" prevails? At first, I thought this way, but then I realized that for me, the classical and the romantic have always been equally present. So where did this wrong intuition come from? And is it really wrong? Just one title, and yet it gives a wonderful opportunity for self-observation in the area of the unconscious. Now it's clear to me where my confusion comes from - from my attitude towards the motorcycle, which I've always had as something too risky, even overly risky, something that's hard to control, something that can give you incredible feelings of freedom and power, but also condemn you or take your life in a single moment. Probably I would be able to deal with the repairs more easily than with keeping a motorcycle on the road. For English speakers, such a dilemma doesn't exist - "to maintain" is one verb, the other is "to balance" (correct me if I'm wrong). But in Bulgarian, the word "поддържам" is polysemous and leads to exactly such misunderstandings. Pirsig's motorcycle can be understood in many ways. It is neither just a real object nor just a metaphor for something else, for example, for life in general. The metaphors here are actually many and that's the charm of the novel. Pirsig gives each reader the opportunity to understand their own things by reading what he has written. That's why the opinions about the book are so polar.

As a reader, I was to some extent in a privileged position to approach this book after spending four semesters in the "Philosophy" specialty at Sofia University (it seems that I also shared Phaedrus' fate and refused something that I was actually doing very well). The language in which Pirsig speaks was very familiar to me because the novel is essentially a polemical dispute with the great philosophers of the past. They all searched for the first cause, the foundation, the truth, the essence. They have been nullifying this essence for centuries and on thousands and thousands of pages. One of the masters in this occupation, of course, is Plato. I would hardly have understood anything of Pirsig's ideas if I hadn't read the four volumes of the ancient Greek philosopher before. Just like many others after him. And yet, I can't say that I managed to understand everything. Pirsig surpasses his readers not only with his ideas - his mind works too complexly, too differently, and too long ago for us to try to climb to his level. He graduated from college at 14, with an IQ of 170, measured at the age of 9. But also a man who in the course of his life reached the point of mental breakdown. He lay for two years in a psychiatric institution, where he was subjected to electroshock therapy. For me, this book is very personal - not only because it is completely autobiographical, but because through it Pirsig tries to put the things in his life back in their places. Where they were before the collapse occurred. Before he lost Phaedrus, whom he loved so much, but in whom he couldn't trust. For readers with one personality, this dialectic is difficult to understand. Everyone would be happy if, in case of being split, to be put back together into one personality through the power of medicine. But for Pirsig, this was a huge personal drama. The cure came at the price of losing a significant part of the Self.

The author's words are quite indicative of what his novel represents in terms of composition. It was supposed to be an essay. But the essay has expanded incredibly - so much that he himself could no longer hold it in that form. However, writing a boring academic work, as fundamental as he was, didn't appeal to him. He knew that no one would open it to read. The same thing happened with Kant's "Critique of Pure Reason" at the time. Then Pirsig thought to add the image of the narrator, saddled his motorcycle. Simple and genius. The motorcycle is the medium that draws the reader to the essence of the work, and it is in the philosophical discussions between Pirsig and Phaedrus - two personalities, enclosed in one common body and one common mind. All the descriptions of natural beauties and so on are added with the only task to serve as an artistic ballast - to separate the episodes intended for intense thinking on a given topic. That's why the whole journey with the motorcycle is somehow senseless, unnecessary. Justified only in its role as a channel on which the author's philosophical concepts are to be expounded. The scenes are repeated and repeated - often even showing Pirsig's obvious boredom with the fact that he has to write about this too. It shows the lack of effort to fill the artistic images with content, to diversify the action with something memorable and interesting for the reader. Only in the last part of the novel is there some development in the artistic aspect. The rest is as if written incidentally, without passion, because it has to be preserved for the really important passages. The narrator and his son are in constant motion, and yet they seem to be frozen in the middle of time and space, meditating, trying to bring the past and the future back to the point of the present. Zen. Some readers would probably be attracted to this seemingly romantic journey through the vast American desert, but it's only seemingly. It is for the rest of the mind from the complex themes. "Are you tired - think a little about the motorcycle, to rest, because after that something really important awaits us." In this sense, the book is also didactic - the author knows exactly what he wants to say, but also how exactly to do it. Despite the complex philosophical matters that Pirsig throws us into, something on the pages doesn't allow us to leave them unread. This book is not just about Zen and about (technical) motorcycle maintenance. It's about everything in this world, about the whole of life. It's ultimately also about balancing the motorcycle on the road.

It makes us think deeply about our own lives and the choices we make.

It challenges our preconceived notions and forces us to look at things from different perspectives.

In conclusion, "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" is a remarkable and thought-provoking work that has had a profound impact on many readers.

It's a truly gruelling story that intertwines the elements of genius and madness. This narrative is not just a simple account but a poignant fabrication that served a crucial purpose. It allowed him to carry on with his life in a safe manner, all the while experiencing a sense of completeness. The genius within him was perhaps the driving force behind this elaborate fabrication, as if it was his way of making sense of a world that might otherwise have been too chaotic or overwhelming. And yet, the madness that lurked beneath the surface added an element of danger and unpredictability. This story is a fascinating exploration of the human psyche, showing how even the most brilliant minds can be driven to create their own realities in order to survive and find meaning.

Maybe I am just not spiritual enough to appreciate Pirsig's critically acclaimed best-selling cult classic?

It is a fictional account that centers on a philosophical exploration of the concept of quality, a motorcycle journey, and the nature of the main character.

Out of 12, it is a One Star read for me.

In 2013, I read this book.

The story seems to be complex and profound, but perhaps due to my own limitations, I failed to fully understand and engage with it.

The idea of quality is presented in a unique and thought-provoking way, but I struggled to grasp its true essence.

The motorcycle journey adds an element of adventure and freedom, but it also feels a bit disjointed from the philosophical aspects.

The main character's nature is also somewhat mysterious and difficult to fathom.

Overall, while I can see that this book has its merits and has been highly regarded by many, it simply did not resonate with me on a personal level.