The Mechanics of Motorcycle Maintenance 

Robert M. Pirsig begins “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” with a compelling introduction. “I haven’t really had a new idea in years,” a statement his protagonist makes in the beginning, is quoted here. Pirsig warns that that the narrator intends to stay close to us, the readers- he does not want to be isolated. In a way, it is solipsism- the narrator is aware of his own mind, and we inhabit that area.

“Zen and the Art of Motorcyle Maintenance” isn’t predominantly about motorcycles or its maintenance; although there is a sprinkling of motorcycle knowledge, especially in the early stages. In ways, it is like “Moby-Dick”; very vaguely, of course.

A father and son, along with a couple of their friends, go on a motorcycle journey across Northwestern America. As this journey progresses, the father, who is our narrator and whom Pirsig based on himself, initiates what he terms a “Chautauqua”- “an old-time series of popular talks intended to edify and entertain, improve the mind and bring culture and enlightenment to the ears and thoughts of the hearer”- according to him.

Pirsig’s novel is pervasive and sprawling, just not in a geographical sense. It is parleying between the narrator and the narrator, and we bear witness as he comes to terms with the world in a philosophical sense. He notices that his friends (a husband and wife), are not entirely comfortable with technology; this observation is prodded and prowled upon in his brain till he comes to a conclusion with which he is satisfied.

Motorcyles play an important role, especially in the beginning. There is a subtle political dig when he compares repairing a motorcycle to the existing system; It is power-packed, yet lasts only a paragraph.

However, as mentioned before, the book isn’t about politics, or motorcycles, or technology. It is about Pirsig. With an IQ of 170, Pirsig was undoubtedly a genius, who suffered a mental breakdown and was diagnosed with schizophrenia and was subsequently treated with electroconvulsive therapy on multiple occasions; in this book, he covers that phase, covering the journey of his alter-ego, whom he gives the name “Phaedrus”.

As the narrator recites Goethe’s “Erlkonig”, (Wer reitet so spat durch Nacht und Wind? Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind), after he mentions to his friends that his son has been diagnosed with mental illness, there is a certain darkening of atmosphere. Phaedrus’ entry dictates that there has been a change in the winds- no longer will it be about John and Sylvia Sutherland.

Much of the book is then occupied by Phaedrus’ actions. The narrator is not fully aware of what occurred during that time; pieces and incidents stick out in his mind, which he copiously recounts alongside some of the notes that he possesses. As the narrator digs in deeper, recollecting the past which he does not fully remember as he tries to father his son, there is a feeling of a person hanging from the edge of the cliff; one wrong move is all that would be needed.

Immense time is spent on discussing “Quality”- a topic which covers a lot of the pages. Phaedrus, during his time as a professor, started musing about “Quality”; its seemingly undefinable nature, the various responses it elicited from various peoples, teachers and students alike, and the fact that it seemed to play a huge role in people’s lives, despite them not even knowing what it properly meant. We follow Phaedrus as he conducts experiments with his students, and mulls over the philosophical meaning of it all; what is “quality”?

Intelligentsia would claim they understood it all; his ramblings and his musings and his clarifications; but I harbor a doubt as to whether even he understood it all. I am about to finish the book, and it is clear that the narrator is slipping; his past and his present are catching up, and he is acutely aware of it and fighting to prevent it from happening again.

Come to think of it, the book isn’t about zen either. It is a careful concoction of philosophy and self-realization; about a father trying not to fall into old ways; it is about motorcycles, but not in the way you think.