Richard Brautigan. Trout Fishing In America. Delta, 1967.
I loved
reading this book. A blast from the past to be sure. What was I doing
in 1967? Was that the Year of Love? Finished first year university.
Went to Expo '67 in Montreal. Canada was 100 years old.
I love
the sense of place in these sketches. Each different trout stream or
crash pad, sort of linked, a web spun by one spider who returns to
its centre, the Ben Franklin statue in Washington Square in San
Francisco. I love the idea that it's a code that I haven't quite
figured out yet. I love the anonymous notes from other writers,
trying to guess the senders just from the style. And I love the
surprising insights.
"The
Red shadow of the Gandhian nonviolence Trojan horse has fallen across
America, and San Francisco is its stable." [p. 99]
And the
selling of streams by the linear foot. Waterfalls sold separately.
[pp. 102-107]
"You
hardly see those cars any more. They are the old cars. They have to
get off the highway because they can't keep up." [p. 57]
I love
the fact that he, the narrator, was in Ketchum just after Hemingway
died, but heard about it later, through Life. [p. 89] Knowing how
this writer too ends up.
As if
Brautigan went fishing and snagged a hook on his dreams. Or are they
nightmares?
Would
anyone publish this book today? That's so sad.
