Brautigan Shmautigan (Or, Perhaps I Judge too Harshly)

March 12, 2007

I’m begining to think that if you ask any young person with writerly pretentions in the Bay area, she’ll be more than willing to commiserate with you in lamenting the stifling beat legacy that hangs over us, more oppressive than the San Francisco fog .

It drives me insane, and yet, I’m very curious about what it means to be a Californian. Who are these mysterious frontier creatures? What is the stuff of which they’re made? My friend Sydney recently lent me a copy of Richard Brautigan’s The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster, a book I initially dismissed as mostly clumsy, dudely, dated, and diluted.

After the second reading I softened and concluded that I’m content to regard Brautigan sort of the way people react to puns. Even when they are clever, they will always solicit a groan. Part of me will always groan at these poems, and yet, something endearing emits a undeniable charm. Syd and I exchanged some text messages on the topic and when we met for after-work margaritas on Friday, I brought the book with me. I told her there was one in particular that wrested appreciation from judgement and before I coould continue she guessed it.
“It was It’s Raining in Love , wasn’t it?”

I’ve included the link for your tender, groaning pleasure.

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One Response to “Brautigan Shmautigan (Or, Perhaps I Judge too Harshly)”

  1. Saerah said

    I’m really glad I just read that. Really.

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