Kilgore Trout eats a Braut

The news of Kurt Vonnegut's demise last week came to me pool-side. Basking just above the 30th north parallel the modern age allowed me to read the news through this very blog. Just prior I sat writing a piece on another author that deeply touched me. That is not to say that I did not enjoy, nor find immense inspiration from Mr. Vonnegut and his work. In fact I looked into TIAA-CREF simply because he appeared in one of their television spots. I didn't put my eggs in that basket but I do feel I owe that man a lot. Instead of waxing on about his influence on me and the sadness of the loss, I will post what was swimming around my think-tank at that time and offer it up, set ablaze like a funeral pyre.




On a train from San Francisco to Stockton on a hot August day I was reminded that humans are truly an unpredictable bunch. I was there on vacation with my girlfriend. We had spent a few days in the city and we were on our way back for the remainder of our stay in the land of Schwarzenegger. Just sitting there unassumingly; she thinking about the few days we spent, I wondering what type of dinner awaited us as the scorched California landscape flew by. I assume it was our bohemian appearance or perhaps it was the pull of all things cosmic, a man, who I at the time could picture myself becoming in 15 years, approached. It did not feel odd or threatening, as an unsolicited conversation with a complete stranger sometimes can. It felt as natural as if it were all down in a script and we were simply acting the part. Without as much as an introduction he handed me a book and said flatly "I think you may like this" and returned to his seat.

I was intrigued so I began to read the book. Revenge of the Lawn, a collection of short stories by Richard Brautigan. I had never heard of him. It was a green hardcover no bigger than 15 books of matches dunked in water and rolled into a ball. I took a sip of the first, and title story, and immediately it captivated me. It was charming and funny and sincere all within the first few paragraphs. As the train made love to the tracks so did I to the pages. I drank in more, woozy. It was as if I uploaded my profile for an ideal story to Match.com and this came back. We met, fell in love, got married, and now appear together in their latest TV spot.

Just as the train slowed to a stop I finished the 6 pages shellshocked. Never had I read anything that spoke to me so completely. I walked back to the bearded-stranger-on-the-train, thanked him and handed him his book. My girlfriend and I got off at that station and headed toward the doleful streets of Stockton.

A few days later still drunk from the Lawn I found myself in a shopping mall located directly across the street from another shopping mall in a book store who could be named after a 18th century Ornithologist. Down the B isle in the Literature section I found her. In the one instance where modern society's excesses are a good thing the collection I sought was leading the pack of two other Brautigan books.

In the 9 years since I have read many more his books but Revenge of the Lawn and that chance encounter on the train has shaped my life. That is what a good book and a great author can do.