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608 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1964
Like a Cat, Out Went Sadness
Richard Brautigan, the great American poet and sometime novelist, was already as old in 1963, when I was born, as I was in 1992, when I belatedly found out about his death. And now... as I write and rewrite this review, I am just as old as he was when he chose to opt out of his life.
I wish he were still alive. He'd be twice as old as I am, give or take, and probably still at least twice as wise. But his special dreaming vision didn't keep him from killing himself, from putting his misery out like the cat.
Out went sadness, but there it sits, just outside the door, howling to get back in.
"I went downtown to see three movies in a Market Street flea palace. It was a bad habit of mine. From time to time I would get the desire to confuse my senses by watching large flat people crawl back and forth across a huge piece of light, like worms in the intestinal track (sic) of a tornado."Even in this first novel, Brautigan's gently-skewed prose style seems fully developed. Simple words recited slowly, in a contemplative voice, belie sharp edges of violence and open sexuality, broad themes to which Brautigan would often return.
—p.42
Elaine was breaking up. Elizabeth was smiling. I was casually memorizing everything and Lee Mellon got a piece of newspaper and put the dope on it, and began to manicure it: to separate the seeds and stems and work the dope up until it was delicate in nature.Imagine that being written in any other decade.
"Ah, dope," Lee Mellon kept repeating over and over again. "It's dope. It's dope. Mamma warned me against it. My minister said it would rot the bones in my brain cells. My papa put me over his knee and said, 'Stop turning the barnyard stock on, son. One of the cows laid an egg this morning and one of the rabbits tried to put a saddle on.' Ah, dope. It's dope."
I had never turned on with Lee Mellon before and it looked as if it would be different. The young dope fiend seemed to know what he was up to.
—p.137
"The Mellon Curse. It comes in the form of a gigantic hound every decade. You know 'Twas not the track of man nor beast, but that of a gigantic Mellon Curse.'"The hound, of course, was no ordinary hound... it was a Mellon collie, I'm sure, though Brautigan himself refrained from saying so.
—p.97