The lost Beat in his lonely world
Trout Fishing in America
I just read three of Richard Brautigan’s works in an omnibus volume for the first time in forty years. Brautigan is a writer that was unique in that I felt that if you compared him to other notable writers of the 1960’s, he would usually come up short. However, taken for himself and what he was attempting to do, I think he generally succeeded. His work was a blend of metafiction, magical realism, expanded consciousness, and flower power philosophy that had no equivalent in the works of his contemporaries. He was easy to dismiss and make fun of but he wrote unapologetically in his niche. He was also gentle and idealistic, with no trace that I could detect of the irony or cynicism that is so prevalent in the work of the 21st century.
‘Trout Fishing in America’ is the book that he’s probably best known for writing. It was his first “novel”, although nothing about it is novelistic in the way of plot or character evolution. The book is perhaps more of a collection of absurdist, surreal mini-essays on themes that generally tie in to this idea of Trout Fishing in America, which he has gone so far as to personify. Trout Fishing in America is a mythic entity in Brautigan’s world.
It is also, like many of his other fictional works, a first-person narrative. The “I” character can easily be interpreted to be some version of Brautigan himself. This is reinforced by the cover photograph, which shows Brautigan with his lady friend posed in front of a well-known statue of Ben Franklin in San Francisco. The cover photo is referred to multiple times throughout the book so he wants us to consider the cover as just as essential to the book to the contents within.
One tactic that Brautigan takes to a greater extent than any other writer I’ve read is that he will take a metaphor and allow the metaphor to overtake the reality. For example, in the chapter titled “The Hunchback Trout.” He begins with the statement, “The creek was like 12,845 telephone booths in a row with high Victorian ceilings and all the doors taken off and all the backs of the booths blocked out.” This prompts the next sentence: Sometimes when I went fishing in there, I felt just like a telephone repairman, even though I did not look like one. I was only a kid covered with fishing tackle, but in some strange way by going in there and catching a few trout, I kept the telephones in service.” From then on in the chapter he refers to the creek as telephone booths and himself as a telephone repairman. He allows that image to dominate how he approaches the simple activity of catching a hunchback trout.
The image of trout fishing evokes Ernest Hemingway’s various stories about hunting and fishing and the fact isn’t lost on Brautigan. He recalls finding out about Hemingway’s suicide by shotgun (eerily prophetic as that is the method Brautigan himself used to end his life over 20 years later). Brautigan doesn’t just refer to the idea of trout fishing or write about fishing experiences, he personifies it. Trout Fishing in America is an entity that lives in the forms of a sixth grade “terrorist” group that writes on the backs of the jackets of first graders the phrase, “Trout Fishing in America”. Trout Fishing in America encounters FBI agents searching for a ‘ten-most wanted” criminal who claims to love trout fishing. Finally, the narrator has a conversation with Trout Fishing in America when he is fishing in the Big Wood River, a few miles from Ketcham, Idaho, where Hemingway killed himself. They discuss memorable fishing sites and various memorable fish that were never caught.
In an ultimate surrealistic anecdote that also comments on the popularity of outdoor sports, the narrator tells about a place called the Cleveland Wrecking Yard that sells used trout streams:
‘”Can I help you?”
“Yes, I said. “I’m curious about the trout streams you have for sale. Can you tell me something about it? How are you selling it?”
“We’re selling it by the foot length. You can buy as little as you want or you can buy all we’ve got left. A man came in here this morning and bought 563 feet. He’s going to give it to his niece for a birthday present,” the salesman said.
“We’re selling the waterfalls separately of course, and the trees and birds, flowers, grass and ferns we’re also selling extra. The insects we’re giving away free with a minimum purchase of ten feet of stream.”
“How much are you selling the stream for?” I asked.
“Six dollars and fifty-cents a foot,” he said. “That’s for the first hundred feet. After that it’s five dollars a foot.”
The exchange continues along these lines and finally the narrator asks where the stream came from. “Colorado”, the salesman replies. “We moved it with loving care. We’ve never damaged a trout stream yet. We treat them as if they were china.”
The narrator explores the store and indeed finds trout streams, waterfalls, various animals, insects, birds, and even wanders into the used plumbing department where he finds stacks of toilets piled on top of one another.
The book ends generally where it begins and one leaves the book realizing that it could begin and end anywhere, meandering its own way, much like a trout stream.
The Pill versus the Springhill Mining Disaster
This collection of poems is defined by the same guiding principle that led to the writing of ‘Trout Fishing in America’. Few of the poems are longer than a page. Many take up less than half of a page. Some are short as haikus. In fact, some could be considered haikus themselves. It’s easier to understand the effect of these poems by sampling a few of them.
Karma Repair Kit Items 1-4
1. Get enough food to eat,
and eat it
2. Find a place to sleep where it is quiet,
and sleep there.
3. Reduce intellectual and emotional noise
Until you arrive at the silence of yourself,
and listen to it.
4.
Love Poem
It’s so nice
to wake up in the morning
all alone
and not have to tell somebody you love them
when you don’t love them
any more.
And the title poem:
When you take your pill
it’s like a mine disaster.
I think of all the people
lost inside of you.
Multiply one of these poems by about 100, and you have a good indication of the experience of reading ‘The Pill versus the Springhill Mine Disaster’.
In Watermelon Sugar
This novella actually has a coherent narrative structure. The opening circular sentence sets the tone for what follows: “In watermelon sugar the deeds were done and done again as my life is done in watermelon sugar.”
The narrator (Brautigan? He’s on the cover again) lives in this unusual settlement at an indeterminate time in a settlement which has an Edenic serenity to it. He lives in a shack on the outskirts and there is something resembling a downtown area but the center of the settlement, the communal gathering place where people eat and socialize, is a place called iDEATH. That name immediately evokes the death of the i, being the ego, where the occupants live in peace and harmony. They process watermelons, cook them down to their essence—‘watermelon sugar’—and somehow incorporate said sugar into building planks so in essence, their houses and buildings are made from watermelon sugar. The narrator remembers being a child in the area with his parents, when tigers came and ate them. These were talking tigers. They didn’t hurt him, just asked what he was doing. He said he was working on arithmetic homework so they helped him. He wrote one of the first books written in the area for the last forty years. It was about weather. He’s hard at work on a new book, not about weather, but won’t tell any of his fellow citizens exactly what it’s about yet.
The tigers eventually lost the power of speech and moved on. The sun changes color each day and is somehow connected to the watermelons. Monday is red, with red watermelons, Tuesday is golden, sun and watermelons, Wednesday, gray, Thursday, black, soundless watermelons (there is no sound, including human speech on these days), Friday, white, Saturday, blue, and Sunday, brown with brown watermelons. Each day then has its own color.
The narrator is “going steady” with Pauline, who does most of the cooking at iDEATH. Pauline was best friends with Margaret, the narrator’s former girlfriend. For unspecified reasons, he and Pauline fell in love and Margaret was heartbroken. She stills comes to his shack but he ignores her knock. Beyond the boundaries of the town lie the Forgotten Works. This is a decrepit wilderness, essentially a giant junkyard of discarded, useless items. The main occupants there are “inBOIL and that gang of his.” inBOIL is the brother of one of the town elders who grew more dissipated and sodden by alcohol. He and his gang are unwashed, crude, and rude. inBOIL looks threatening although he mainly comes around to say things like “You don’t know what iDEATH is. I’ll show you what iDEATH really is.” The threat is realized one day when they come to the town, demonstrating iDEATH by mutilating themselves, cutting off thumbs, noses, other body parts, and bleeding to death. Margaret, already depressed, has become fascinated with inBOIL and that gang of his and has explored the Forgotten Works. After their “iDEATH”, she hangs herself.
The entire story is told in this serene, deadpan tone. Brautigan still can’t get away from trouts, though. He beings in “the Grand Old Trout’, an old trout raised in the trout hatchery at iDEATH. He has grown big and old and comes downstream out of curiosity. He and the narrator just stare at each other. They recognize each other from a time when they were both much younger.
In this story, Brautigan has actually harnessed his metaphors to a coherent, though strange, narrative. Is iDEATH really a new Eden? Is inBOIL a new Cain, who directs his rage inwardly rather than killing his brother? I think there’s sufficient room for such an interpretation given the choice of words. For me, it is a memorable psychedelic fantasy that I first read in my early twenties that has left an impression and stayed with me to this day. I doubt if Brautigan will ever come back in fashion to the extent that he ever was in the 1960’s. However, I think he’s worth checking out, not just as a relic from an earlier time but as someone who, for better and worse, let his imagination run wild and free, something we could all benefit from today.