An Unfortunate Woman : A Journey

Rating:
Summary: A Gift from Non-Linear Heaven
Review: An Unfortunate Woman, by Richard Brautigan, is billed as a novel, but it's really more of a journal, taking shape around the suicide of one woman in Berkeley, and the impending death by cancer of another woman.
In the book, Brautigan calls the journey a calendar map, as he travels from his home in Montana to the Bay Area (where he stays in the house where the first woman hanged herself), Chicago, Alaska, Hawaii, Buffalo, and Toronto, then back to his ranch in Montana. Collected along the way are little insights into the people and experiences that make up the journey.
Sometimes seeming to be very little insights, they somehow add up to a larger whole, and a satisfying read. Still, I think you do have to be a Brautigan fan to truly appreciate what the book is. Another thing that it is, is a posthumous release. Although written in 1982, it was not released until 1994 in France (ten years after his death), and July of 2001 in the U.S. (seventeen years A.D.).
The theme of the book, revolving around an unexplained suicide, is made even more poignant by the fact that Brautigan himself committed suicide in 1984. As I understand the story, he was despondent about his career, and had been unable to find a publisher for his latest works (possibly "An Unfortunate Woman" included). His body was found (if my memory serves) by his agent, who was coming to tell him that he'd managed to get him a new book deal.
For anybody who loves the non-linear, non-traditional experience of Brautigan, this will satisfy to a certain degree (although certainly not his best work). If you need a strong plot and a clear direction from page one to page 110, click someplace else on this page and have a nice day.

Rating:
Summary: Overwhelming Sadness--A Must Read
Review: As a novelist with my debut novel in its initial release, I am fascinated by this glimpse of one of my all-time favorite authors nearing the end of his career. Richard Brautigan's suicide nearly two decades ago haunts American literature almost as darkly as Hemingway's does from four decades ago. In AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN, the reader can see where its author is heading. I'm glad this book has finally found print, but I'm sad knowing full well how the life of one of my literary heroes will soon end. Brautigan's final work tells, in journal form, of a man's journey following the hanging death of a friend. In some ways, it's a typical, rambling, fun Brautigan book. At certain points the man shines like he did at his best. It's the Sixties and Seventies all over again. At other points, sadness takes over, as one can see a magnificent talent fading. AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN is a book I'm glad I read, and I would freely recommend it to everyone.

Rating:
Summary: A cake-mix spoon book
Review: As a rule, I always avoid the flyleaf of a book.

Lots of different reasons (sometimes the flyleaf gives away some of the story; sometimes the flyleaf puts me off a book I would otherwise enjoy - that's happened a few times now, it takes a reliable friend's recommendation to send me back; sometimes the flyleaf peddles a kind of tired apocrypha - stories about the author's life, stories about the author's stories; and, sometimes, you get force-fed a whole lot of corn - odd sentences extracted from reviews, comments from people who think they know stuff, all that guff telling you why this is the greatest book ever yada yada yada).

For this book, though, for Richard Brautigan's "An Unfortunate Woman", the flyleaf rule goes out the window. I read the flyleaf the way a kid licks a cake-mix spoon.

Now, this could all get a bit AA but, yes, hand on heart, I am a devoted fan of the late and great Mister Richard Brautigan. I've read pretty much everything I could get my hands on (which is most of the novels and some of the poetry) and avoided all of the biographies (with the exception of his daughter Ianthe's sweet-sad book, "You Can't Catch Death"). I - uhm - eagerly anticipated this book (in the same way that I eagerly anticipated, say, Jeff Buckley's "Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk") because it is one more thing snatched from the jaws of an undeserved end. Same thing with John Kennedy Toole's "The Neon Bible".

I mentioned Jeff Buckley and that's useful to bear in mind if you're thinking of licking the cake-mix spoon. You know that CD right? "Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk"? You know that was released after his death. You know it would not have been released - at least in that state - if Jeff Buckley had not disappeared beneath the Mississippi waves. Same here. "An Unfortunate Woman" was a 160 page notebook filled with reminiscences. In lots of ways, we're doing something bad reading this. Maybe. It's sort of like reading over a corpse's shoulder.

And yet, and yet. Peter Fonda said "How fortunate we are to have another book by our friend Richard Brautigan . . ." A sentence into the book and that's how you feel. A book by a friend.

Brautigan books fall into two camps (I've always felt). You get the comedy, the silly (I'm thinking of, say, "The Hawkline Monster" or "The Abortion"), and you get the sweet-sad (say, "In Watermelon Sugar" and "So the Wind Won't Blow it All Away"). "An Unfortunate Woman" falls into the second camp. The messier more grown-up second camp. In lots of ways, "An Unfortunate Woman" reads like the wreck of "In Watermelon Sugar" and "So the Wind . . ." Margaret - the woman who hangs herself at the climax of "...Watermelon" - haunts "An Unfortunate Woman". The narrator is fleeing the memory of the unnamed woman who hung herself in his apartment. He wanders around and thinks about stuff. He wanders around a whole lot of different places, the intention being to write some kind of mind-map. He comes home. That's about that.

Your old friend - the one you'd lost touch with, the one you thought you wouldn't be hearing from anytime soon - is there, telling you stories. It's just like it always was. There is no sense of time having passed. There is no sense of a gap in your knowledge (although you can't help but feel sad when he gets melancholy).

You're just sharing some stories and drinking some liquor and wondering why all books don't feel this - what?

I've been sitting here staring at that sentence for about ten minutes. The book feels good, the book is enjoyable and the book is this, that and the other. If I had my way, I'd end the sentence with the word "wise" (because reading "An Unfortunate Woman", you do conclude that Brautigan could be wise).

With this being Brautigan, though, and with this being the last time:

You're just sharing some stories and drinking some liquor and wondering why all books don't feel this mayonaise (I've always wanted to end a review with the word mayonaise).

Rating:
Summary: Coda to a Career
Review: As the first book of Brautigan's to read, An Unfortunate Woman may not be the best place to start. But as a coda for his marvelous career, this is a book not to be missed. The importance of the book is not so much its subject or its undetectable plot, as for the facination of its musings and the unmistakable Brautigan style. I always feel refreshed by the simple sentence structures and child-like observations when I read his work. This book is no different. I found an elegant bittersweet feel to the way life slips away, how our best intentions are diverted by life, and how we seem to accomplish a portion of that which we intend. The sadness and lonliness that permeates the work is in counterpoint to the sense of wonder we get from Brautigan's style. Sadly, the posthumous publication of the work points to the real ending of the book. Richard Brautigan was unique as an author, one who will probably be underestimated in stature for a time, but one who touches our hearts as few others can and makes us set the world on its ear to see what's inside. If you've read other of Brautigan's work, don't fail to see how the story ends...

Rating:
Summary: calender no escaping[ IN THE LEDGER OF DEFICITE]
Review: faLLEN notebook almost an ode to guilt biLdt up, LIKE REGRET,WRITING AS CATHARSIS HIS ONLY COMPANION a legend IN HIS OWN MIND ,wissfull recollections ,revisited, immortalised in a simple time DONE IN,CALENDER TIME STARK AS DEATH the stalker, steps loosely tossed in account of semi, real mussings imaginary steps to avoid pain these, journeys caves ins, what was ifs turn plaguely dour executionner knocking at the door, manifestationsCLEAR, FROM THE OPENING KNOCK,HAUNTED foretold place obvious, reminder of the obvious nature he anwers a telephone call to acknowledge death comming,ITS OBVIOUS, THIS BOOK,[ POSSIBLY should of never been published,]go for it gusto told narrative, plain is simple, unedited, go where the mind may go venture, stumble about on the outskirts of ordinacy cordinates calender implied, these private I FIRST PERSON awful conseguences done in UN DONE, RUN STAB AT JOURNAL HONE SPUN done in tales of women scorned and trampled on, by beheaded clearly bored perfectallussions to meanings anomonous, head off in every direction journal as journey time on hands done in, hase,lsCLEARLY SEMI SECRET CONFESSIONALS TO SELfisms ,TerminalIMPOSED EXILE, WRETCHED , MATTER OF FACT EXECUTIONS, quasi,auto pilot, ampified AWFULLNESS, SEE YOU LATTER, ANOMONOUS ENCOUNTERS,in the mirror,morning afters,ball point in hand pedesrian ledger of accounts add up to bankruptcy, at odds with thir WAS once promise of.JUSTinDEATH NO JUSTICE, HIS SCATTERED NOT intent to be published WRITINGS would,see THIS light OF DAY,POSSIBLE HE WISHED EM TO STAY private, reading AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,THEIRS THE SMELL of seedy,not meant to be READ, especially commented on,by me,

Rating:
Summary: calender no escaping[ IN THE LEDGER OF DEFICITE]
Review: faLLEN notebook almost an ode to guilt biLdt up, LIKE REGRET,WRITING AS CATHARSIS HIS ONLY COMPANION a legend IN HIS OWN MIND ,wissfull recollections ,revisited, immortalised in a simple time DONE IN,CALENDER TIME STARK AS DEATH the stalker, steps loosely tossed in account of semi, real mussings imaginary steps to avoid pain these, journeys caves ins, what was ifs turn plaguely dour executionner knocking at the door, manifestationsCLEAR, FROM THE OPENING KNOCK,HAUNTED foretold place obvious, reminder of the obvious nature he anwers a telephone call to acknowledge death comming,ITS OBVIOUS, THIS BOOK,[ POSSIBLY should of never been published,]go for it gusto told narrative, plain is simple, unedited, go where the mind may go venture, stumble about on the outskirts of ordinacy cordinates calender implied, these private I FIRST PERSON awful conseguences done in UN DONE, RUN STAB AT JOURNAL HONE SPUN done in tales of women scorned and trampled on, by beheaded clearly bored perfectallussions to meanings anomonous, head off in every direction journal as journey time on hands done in, hase,lsCLEARLY SEMI SECRET CONFESSIONALS TO SELfisms ,TerminalIMPOSED EXILE, WRETCHED , MATTER OF FACT EXECUTIONS, quasi,auto pilot, ampified AWFULLNESS, SEE YOU LATTER, ANOMONOUS ENCOUNTERS,in the mirror,morning afters,ball point in hand pedesrian ledger of accounts add up to bankruptcy, at odds with thir WAS once promise of.JUSTinDEATH NO JUSTICE, HIS SCATTERED NOT intent to be published WRITINGS would,see THIS light OF DAY,POSSIBLE HE WISHED EM TO STAY private, reading AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,THEIRS THE SMELL of seedy,not meant to be READ, especially commented on,by me,

Rating:
Summary: Not everything that shines is gold
Review: I was left with a sense of annoyance after reading this book. Maybe it was because i started it believing it was a memoir. When i then read the contrived jacket, i learned it was a work of fiction: "Dark, humorous, and exquisitely haunting, his final book of fiction...". In the book, the writer reveals that his birthday was January 30, his daughter married without his approval, he hated traveling, etc. I had never before heard about Richard Brautigan, so i did a bit of research. What a surprise to find out that he was born on January 30, his daughter married without his approval, he hated to travel, and so on. So this work of "fiction" turned to be pretty autobiographical after all.


The style of the book is certainly different to anything i have ever read before. The narrative is almost what you would hear in a conversation. There are many artificial segments interspersed here and there. For example, "Maybe i'll describe what I have been doing since I interrupted or was interrupted writing this book nine days ago..." He goes on to describe a dream, and then all of a sudden 14 days have passed and he says the book is "mischevious and grows more and more to follow the way life works out". How helpless.


Another aspect of the writing that i did not like at all is the self-indulgence that permeates it. "I got a glass of wine as I said I would - interruption for a Montana nature break. I just felt something dimly crawling on my arm". And he goes for an entire page talking about a spider. The last page, where he thanks the company that made the notebook, is another example.


So sorry about Brautigan. The expression "pobre hombre" comes to mind when i think of him. What a painful existence he must have lived. But, no matter how fanciful or different your writing style is, that doesn't make it art. Others have explored the subject of death in a far more compelling, delicate, articulate manner. Brautigan's vision was ultimately selfish, the way he was with his daughter, his relationships, his friends. And it shows.



Rating:
Summary: Pure Brautigan
Review: Maybe I just prefer candid spontaneous writing, but I thought this was a great book -- right up there with Brautigan's best. I don't think of it as "posthumous" in the sense of being inferior to his other work, but in the sense that we are lucky to have it at all.

This book made me laugh out loud 3 or 4 times. Very few books have made me laugh out loud even once. Brautigan's "Confederate General From Big Sur" is the only other book I can think of that's made me laugh. So I'd say this is a very funny book, and at the same time a book about death, disease, suicide, depression.

It is, as Brautigan says, "a freefall calendar map." I feel that the theme of the book was stated in the section about the Japanese cemetery -- he felt like the exhumed dead people: he was just being moved around by life without much say in the matter. This book is a prolonged meditation on the aimless, meaningless nature of life that throws us from one predicament into the next.

It is a book about traveling by a man who does not like to travel. It is a book about things that happen to you that no one else cares about. It is a book about all of the little daily events that happen regardless of great personal tragedies, death and dying.

I would not emphasize the fact that this book was written "shortly before his death." This was finished, if we are to believe his dates, in summer of 1982, and he committed suicide in 1984. So at the very least a year and a half had passed (I don't know the exact date of his death).

This is a must-read for all Brautigan fans and for anyone who appreciates autobiographical, non-linear novels. We are very lucky to have this book.

Rating:
Summary: This is already a relic.
Review: People who can't remember whether Richard Brautigan is alive or dead should read this book to remove all doubt. This book was in a notebook that Brautigan finished on June 28, 1982 with thanks for the notebook and pens that he bought on January 30, 1982, his 47th birthday. Some of it isn't pleasant. Already on February 6, 1982, he wrote, "In my Top 40 of terrible things to do in my life is flying with a hangover." (p. 50). There is a big gap, with no entries dated between March 2, 1982, and June 22, 1982 when he was busy in Montana teaching writing for the spring quarter "at a local university." (p. 70). One of the things that makes the book so sad is that he thinks the reader really wants to know how he broke his leg, and he finally admits, "I fell over a very intelligent piece of furniture in my hotel room." (p. 74). He didn't want to be writing so much about himself. He was trying to figure out something about a woman. "I think she was in her early forties, but I do not know her exact age and probably never will. I guess it wouldn't make that much difference in the long run. She's very dead." (p. 78). Everything from then on seems to be nearer the end. June 28, 1982 has a lot of "Continuing" entries, including his advice to a former writing student, "I told her to write about the things she knows about." (p. 106). His own lapses are only too obvious when he writes about rereading "to find out where I was when I stopped writing and lapsed into so many short and painfully embarrassing longer lapses." (p. 107). I really shouldn't have told you about how he broke his leg. It is that kind of thing that makes anyone's use of the word "intelligent" highly suspect.

Rating:
Summary: A bit faded but recognizable....
Review: Richard Brautigan's "An Unfortunate Woman: A Journey," composed on the160 pages of a spiral notebook with Pilot pens back in '82, is a post-modern (but doggedly pre-computer) ramble through the "free-form calendar map" of Brautigan's initial months at being a 47-year-old. Clearly, he is neither very good at nor very happy with this profession, thus the uncharacteristic (for him) gloom in both tone and content. Might this pervasive sentiment be the result of our months with him being sandwiched between the deaths of two women, one to suicide, the other to cancer? Well, yes, but as Brautigan reveals, he is also feeling "a terrible sadness coming over (him)" as a weary writer, nearing 50, who critiques the text we are reading as being only "so many inconclusive fragments, sophomoric humor, cheap tricks, and detailless details." Of course, he is right about this, but then it is, after all, an unedited offering, published posthumously by his daughter, for Brautigan himself committed suicide just two years later.

At times it is uncomfortable observing the forced torture that writing has become for him; one can almost sense Brautigan's using his own workshop techniques as cues to try to restart his own creative engines: OK, gimme me a page on, say, getting a portrait taken with a chicken in Hawaii, or seeing a lady's single new shoe in an intersection,...etc. Happily, this is a partially successful endeavor as evident by flashes of the gentle
metaphors, deadpan humor, and descriptive wit for which he's fondly remembered.