I've found, over the years, that poets often make good novelists, but not always. I'm afraid Ko Un falls into the latter category. My reason for liking poets as novelists is their beautiful descriptive prose and Ko Un used almost none that I noticed in this book. This is the tale of a young boy, Sudhana, who is found, near death, adrift on a river in a plank raft. He is rescued by Manjushri and, as soon as he recovers, Manjushri tells him he will show him the way and is sent back adrift. He then sets out on a journey seeking enlightenment. The book then goes into a series of short chapters, each two or three pages long, some a few pages more, all telling about his meeting with some person, usually a teacher of some mystical "truth". There is virtually no elaboration or descriptive prose in the encounters and, as far as I could tell, no actual usable truth told. Most of it is overly embellished but meaningless jargon. An example of the amount of information told in these short chapters is one in which Sudhana finds he has leprosy and as the disease progresses he is thinking of cutting off his fingers but then the disease miraculously goes away and he meets up with the girl he loves, who was introduced at the first of the book but who he abandoned to go on his quest. She then becomes pregnant but he sets off on his next quest anyway and is gone for several months with some guru on a mountain top and when he finally returns he finds that the baby has died and his girl left, never to be heard of again in the book. All of this was told in a single three page chapter but this was typical of each of the chapters in which barely a paragraph or two were used to explain any occurrence that happened. It was a very disappointing read for me because I went into it with high expectations, thinking it was going to be similar to Hermann Hesse's extraordinary book Siddhartha but it fell far short.