I’ve written several biographies and I’m kind of proud of them. But then I got this new biography of Richard Brautigan.
Hjortsberg’s book, Jubilee Hitchhiker (Counterpoint, $42.50), will inspire biography envy in the heart of any writer who tries to tell the story of another human being’s life. This book is huge and absorbing and rich with life — and, despite its extra-small type over 852 pages, it never ceases to be absorbing.
Brautigan was a key figure in my adolescence. He was the Great Hippie Poet, the writer every wannabe artiste in my high school wanted to emulate. As the author of Trout Fishing in America, The Pill Verses the Spring Hill Mine Disaster and In Watermelon Sugar, he was the quintessence of cool for my generation during those (1968-1972) years. We were the sons and daughters of liberal America in a bohemian university community, and Brautigan was our poet laureate.
He was the right writer at the right time. His poems were sometimes complex, but could also be mere snorts of whimsy and bemusement.
Witness “Xerox Candy Bar”
:
Ah,
you’re just a copy
of all the candy bars
I’ve ever eaten
His novels broke the proscenium and made whole careers possible for generations of writers to follow. (Insert Tom Robbins, David Foster Wallace and others here.)
And he looked out at us, from his book jackets, with that stoned and inscrutable face, droopy moustache, slouch hat, eyes crinkling at the corners with some private giggle. Hell, we all even tried to dress like him.
And then, one day in 1984, when the train was long gone, he shot himself to death. He wasn’t found for more than a month.