Revenge of the Lawn, The Abortion, So the Wind Won't Blow It All Away
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REVENGE OF THE LAWN: Originally published in 1971, these bizarre flashes of insight and humor cover everything from "A High Building in Singapore" to the "Perfect California Day." This is Brautigan's only collection of stories and includes "The Lost Chapters of TROUT FISHING IN AMERICA."
THE ABORTION: AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE 1966: A public library in California where none of the books have ever been published is full of romantic possibilities. But when the librarian and his girlfriend must travel to Tijuana, they have a series of strange encounters in Brautigan's 1971 novel.
SO THE WIND WON'T BLOW IT ALL AWAY: It is 1979, and a man is recalling the events of his twelfth summer, when he bought bullets for his gun instead of a hamburger. Written just before his death, and published in 1982, this novel foreshadowed Brautigan's suicide.
color as the ship. I can almost see the captain. He is saying something to one of the crew. Now she takes the thermometer out of her mouth, looks at it, smiles, everything is all right, and puts it away in a little lilac carrying case. The sailor does not understand what the captain said, so the captain has to repeat it. A Study in California Flowers OH, suddenly it's nothing to see on the way and it's nothing when I get there, and I'm in a coffeehouse, listening to a woman talk who's
I said. "So do I or I'll have to go downtown," she said. Next to the last sawmill pond was a yellow old trailer up on blocks of wood. One look at that trailer showed that it was never going anywhere again, that the highway was in distant heaven, only to be prayed to. It was really sad with a cemetery-like chimney swirling jagged dead smoke in the air above it. A kind of half-dog, half-cat creature was sitting on a rough plank porch that was in front of the door. The creature half-barked and
let him in. I opened the door but he stood there with his hand on the bell rope, though he was not ringing the bell any more. It was still dark and Foster was wearing his eternal T-shirt and his buffalo-heavy blond hair hung about his shoulders. "You should take my advice," he said. "Get rid of this damn bell and let me put a real bell up for you." "We don't want a bell that will frighten people," I said. "What do you mean frighten people? How in the hell can a bell frighten people?" "We
doing something that did not make him happy. Though the building was quite attractive, there was nothing the people in that little building could do for us. We needed another service from the Mexican people. Everybody was shoving us for dollars, trying to sell us things that we didn't want: kids with gum, people wanting us to buy border junk from them, more taxicab drivers shouting that they wanted to take us back to the border, even though we had just gotten there, or to other places where we
realized that they were gone. It's a real puzzler but I didn't and now eight years later, I've decided to return to the winter that I was twenty-six years old, living on Greenwich Street in San Francisco, married, had an infant daughter and wrote these two chapters toward a vision of America and then lost them. I'm going back there now to see if I can find them. Rembrandt Creek" REMBRANDT Creek looked just like its name and it was in lonely country that had very bad winters. The creek