I found this book to be truly remarkable. It was a strange concoction of emotions and experiences. At times, it was funny, making me burst into laughter. Then, it would take an odd turn, leaving me slightly off-putting. I couldn't help but wonder if the gaps in his "calendar-map" were caused by blackouts from excessive drinking.

I had read "Trout Fishing in America" way back when I was in high school. But to be honest, I really hadn't given him much thought until I came across the review of the recently published biography.

He is a quietly influential writer with a very strong and singular voice. His style has had an impact on many recent authors. I can hear echoes of him in the works of Douglas Coupland, David Foster Wallace, and even Chuck Klosterman. And I'm sure there are many others that I'll discover as I continue to explore this literary connection.

What's more, his prose has a lightness to it that is really refreshing. After delving into the heavy tomes of Dickens and Robert Caro lately, it's a welcome change of pace. His words seem to dance on the page, inviting the reader into a world of unique perspectives and vivid imagery.

Overall, I'm glad I revisited this author and his works. It has opened up a new avenue of exploration for me in the world of literature.

I couldn't establish any connection with him from the very beginning. For me, it was like sitting on a bus and the person next to me starts to describe things that I have no idea about at all, and I just nod or smile sometimes.

It was a rather strange and uncomfortable experience. I felt as if we were in two completely different worlds. He seemed so passionate about what he was saying, but I just couldn't relate.

Maybe it was a language barrier, or perhaps our interests were too diverse. Whatever the reason, it was clear that there was no real communication happening between us.

I found myself just going through the motions, pretending to listen, but in reality, my mind was elsewhere. It made me realize how important it is to have a common ground or shared interests in order to have a meaningful conversation with someone.

The things that come closest to perfection are those enormous holes in Richard Brautigan's brain and liver.

Well, it's okay. He is allowed to piss on love, common sense, peace in the world, and all those beautiful, good, and right things just as in heaven, so on earth.

With a certain style then. Always.

Richard Brautigan was a unique and controversial writer. His works often explored themes that were considered unconventional and even subversive. The idea of the "enormous holes" in his brain and liver can be seen as a metaphor for his perhaps unorthodox way of thinking and his ability to see the world differently. His attitude towards love, common sense, and peace was not one of reverence but rather one of irreverence. He seemed to delight in challenging the status quo and poking fun at the things that most people held dear. However, it is important to note that his work also had a certain charm and style that made it engaging and thought-provoking. Despite his controversial views, Brautigan remains an important figure in American literature.

Flight to Enriched to the extent of editing and elongation.

One of the forty horrible things in my life is flying with an airplane. When a person's head hurts, the person's nerves are directly involved with the speed and sound of the airplane. It is like a surgeon who has a surgical saw in one hand and a scientific book in the other, operating on a person without anesthesia and constantly saying to himself: "I wish I had taken my studies more seriously." Suddenly, his mother's head and hair, wearing gardening clothes, are found in the operating room, she comes towards me, looks at the hole in my stomach and hits the surgeon's head and says: "The money I spent on your education is in vain!" Then she points to me and says: "Look at the hole in his stomach. Now what do you want to do? I really want to see how you will get out of this responsibility."

After that, she brings a four-legged stool to a place where she can dominate the hole in my stomach, sits on the stool and says to her son: "Very good, my dear son! Now what do you want to do?"

Richard I, also known as Richard the Lionheart, is a famous figure in history.

He is renowned for his military prowess and leadership. Richard was involved in many significant events and campaigns.

One of the notable aspects of his life is the "beef" or conflict he had with various individuals and forces.

This could include disputes with other rulers, power struggles within his own kingdom, or challenges from external enemies.

The details of these conflicts likely involved complex political, economic, and personal factors.

Richard's actions and decisions during these times had a profound impact on the course of history.

His reputation as a warrior and leader was both feared and respected.

Studying the details of Richard I's life and the "beef" he had can provide valuable insights into the political and social climate of his era.

It also helps us understand the motivations and actions of one of the most iconic figures in medieval history.

I'm likely far too exhausted to pen this review, yet I'll give it a go:

A pal of mine, whom I just introduced to Richard Brautigan, deems this book not "magical" enough and/or overly autobiographical. She unfavorably contrasts it with Sombrero Fallout. As is evident from my five-star review, I dissent from her appraisal.

While it's arduous to precisely determine how much of this book is autobiography, given the rather obscure facts of Brautigan's life, my friend perhaps has a valid point when she labels it as such. Brautigan did reside in Montana and San Francisco; as a widely published author, he无疑gave lectures across the country. Moreover, due to the book's form - a series of journal entries - and the confessional tone, it's nearly impossible not to assume that the majority of the rest is true.

However, I dispute her contention that the book lacks magic. Here's the first line (after the humorous and heartrending letter that commences the book): "I saw a brand-new woman's shoe lying in the middle of a quiet Honolulu intersection." Although there's no literal magic in that sentence - no frozen sombrero or Hawkline monster or watermelon sugar or any of the other surreal manifestations of his other novels - I still find the sentence to be magical. Let's analyze it. The shoe is "brand-new". It's alone. It's in the "middle" of an intersection...and in Honolulu, no less. How did it end up there? Whose was it? Where's the other shoe? These queries intrigue Brautigan, and they intrigued me as well. There's magic in the ordinary, this opening seems to imply.

Indeed, the remainder of this book is filled with all manner of ordinary magic - a dilapidated graveyard of unnamed deceased, a wild Alaskan legislator, a murder in Buffalo - that triggers numerous fantasies in the "narrator's" mind. He envisions a retirement community for washed-up thunderstorms, a trial featuring a lawyer in full knight's armor, a demented "birthday" hijacking of a subway train, a romance initiated in a supermarket aisle. Alright...so this last one is well within the realm of the everyday, but it too has a sense of the magical - an innocuous comment in the canned soup aisle that leads to a whirlwind romance. And that's the crux: the everyday gives birth to the magical; it contains it within itself.

I probably haven't presented a robust argument, and perhaps that's for the best. Maybe this book is solely for Brautigan enthusiasts. But something within me rebels against that idea. This book is humorous, charming, and, as is always the case with Brautigan, effortless to read. Besides, it's not as if I'm a mindless advocate for every Brautigan book: his most renowned, Trout Fishing in America, I've yet to successfully peruse. But this one I've read repeatedly, picking it up whenever I'm lonely and desire to be in the company of a warm, generous, and, yes, magical mind.

Five stars: for the magic and for the fact that, despite its ostensible form, this is far more than a collection of self-indulgent journal entries. It is Richard Brautigan not only at his peak but in his essence.

Once again for you all: I'm reading your works at least a little. Your works are a personality that you think you know well, but then it surprises you with something else...

This time I went after (a poor woman).

This book can be a friend that tells you about its travel memories, and it tells them in such a strange way that you don't understand...

In my opinion, a poor woman's neck and head were higher than the rest of your works. The satire of the story, the beautiful sentences that are really the food of the soul, you know very well where to use which sentences...

You repeated the same thing in "The Quest for the Golden Fleece" too, leaving the person alone with a few unanswered questions!

Don't you know where the other woman in the story was forgotten?

Why did she commit suicide?

What was the plot of the first long shoe in the story?

Did he have an affair with his daughter?

Always questions?

Oh, you lost this man and thank you to his daughter for bringing this work to your friends. Why did I say your friends? Because really, someone who doesn't understand your madness can't even read a book of yours. In the middle of the story, maybe they'll say what nonsense you put in the book!

You are ahead of time in everything that can be said to you.

I had the intention of dressing up as Brautigan for Halloween. However, I ultimately decided that it would be far too much of a bother to explain to everyone exactly who I was supposed to be. So, instead, I went as Mia from Pulp Fiction.

Anyway, Brautigan has been one of my all-time favorite authors for a considerable period. Loving this short book was not at all a surprise to me. His writing style is characterized by a clear and powerful voice. At times, it can be a bit on the sad side, but it is always filled with his signature satire.

I firmly believe that everyone should give Brautigan a read at some point in their lives. Whether it's his poetry or his short fiction, there is truly something that will appeal to everyone. His works have a unique charm and a distinctiveness that sets them apart from others. They can make you laugh, make you think, and even touch your heart. So, don't miss out on the opportunity to discover the wonderful world of Brautigan's writing.

I am always the last one to notice what has happened in my life.

But I feel that everyone is the same, and the idea that a person can understand his life is just a kind of crazy delusion.

We often think that we can control our lives and make rational decisions, but in fact, most of the time, we are just passively accepting the arrangements of fate.

We may think that we have a clear goal and are working hard towards it, but in the end, we may find that our efforts are in vain and the result is not what we expected.

Therefore, we should learn to accept the uncertainties and changes in life, and not be too persistent in our own ideas and plans.

Only in this way can we better adapt to the changes of life and find our own way.

In my opinion, to enjoy this book, one must be a lover of Byron! Otherwise, reading this book, which is a collection of fragmented memories of Byron's long journey, I would not recommend it at all. Especially if someone wants to start reading Byron for the first time, please do not start with this book!

This book seems to be more suitable for those who are already familiar with Byron and his works. It contains many details and anecdotes about his travels, which may be interesting to some, but for beginners, it may be too overwhelming and difficult to understand.

There are many other great works by Byron that would be a better introduction to his poetry and writing style. For example, "Don Juan" is a classic masterpiece that展现了Byron's wit, humor, and keen观察力. Another option could be "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," which is a more accessible and engaging work.

In conclusion, while this book may have its merits for certain readers, it is not the best choice for those who are new to Byron. It is important to choose a work that is appropriate for one's level of familiarity and interest in order to fully appreciate the beauty and power of Byron's poetry.

At a certain point, one feels like a posthumous being, almost as if lacking a high self-esteem or being a serial reader of Adelphi. It doesn't matter what age one is, what experiences one has had, what the life expectancy is, or whether one understands the world around them. It's not even a matter of happiness or pain. One just feels posthumous, and that's it. All the complexities wither away, and one enters the happy era of simple reasoning. One becomes as banal as the cycle of life. One finally lives within one of those dreams that don't require a psychoanalyst. Even if death is far away. Even if death is close, as is the case with this book by Brautigan written a couple of years before he hanged himself and published years after his death, it doesn't matter. It would still be posthumous, even in the presence of other hypothetical books afterwards, even if the author had skipped that banal setback of having to die (probably, for a fatal moment, he forgot he was posthumous).

Technically, it's not even a book. It's just a jumble of thoughts supported by a writing never refined by the author and without any editorial adjustment. It is highly not recommended for those who have never read anything by this magnificent writer finally rediscovered (hurry up and buy his books as the ISBN has failed and overlook the terrible translations that are the trademark of this publishing house) or for those who seek in reading a style, a memorable figure, or a phrase. The images are fast and sketchy. The language is extremely poor. There are travels, sex, death, illness, and a surprising and metaphorical watermelon. All vital functions that can summarize a life, but never grasped, no longer part of a system of reference. They are just what they are, pass by and blend, become posthumous. Attentive readers will be able to fish with dynamite and pull up nets full of sirens, songs of personal and political defeat, the eternal sunset of Reagan's America. I, in my new vocation to posthumousness, am content with the little pile of naked words.

This comes to my mind:
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand
(Bob Dylan, Every Grain of Sand) (a song, incidentally, contemporary to the book)
https://youtu.be/P8C-cE4rBII

I don't have enough money to make my emotional life complicated. I had a simple emotional life and in most cases, when my emotional life is simple, it means that basically I don't have an emotional life. I try to be indifferent to emotional problems, but problems suddenly come to me and in the long sleepless nights, I ask myself what happened that I lost control of the basic things related to the heart?

"The Unfortunate Woman" is the last book that Richard Brautigan completed two years before he took his own life on his farm, but he didn't publish it until sixteen years after his death when his only daughter and heir in New York submitted the book to the publisher and it was published as an important work of Brautigan in 2000. This book is a fictional and suggestive travelogue. The unfortunate woman in this book, who has hanged herself in her room and Brautigan, due to bad luck, apparently lives in her room for a while and sleeps on her bed. In the scope of the work, it exceeds a hint of the author's suicidal thoughts and his entanglement with death. Brautigan mentions in a part of this book that he wrote the book based on his daily life experiences. Therefore, this book is not only a vivid fictional work like other works of Brautigan that people read it with pleasure and are amazed by the author's satire, but also a historical document that shows the thoughts of a tired, strange and necessary writer from American society.

I feel that this book is a thousand unfinished questions with unfinished answers added to them. Where did the woman who hanged herself go? Where did I forget the woman in this story? Is this woman now forgotten and her story committed to oblivion? How did her childhood pass? Did I say why she hanged herself? Do I really know the reason for her act? The beginning of this story now comes to my mind and reminds me that I started this story with a woman's shoe that had fallen at a crossroads in Honolulu. Well, so what?