ABSTRACT
Ever since Richard Brautigan’s remarkable irruption on to the experimental, radical literary scene of the mid-1960s, his work has come in for much the same kind of commentary. Brautigan’s own complexion and complexity apparently would not suffice; study after study gave evidence of what Roland Barthes used to call ‘cosmetic’ criticism. Naming was solving: ‘funky’ and ‘young’ became part of the critical vocabulary. Criticism retells the matter of his work but loses sight of its essential spirit; no explanations are offered of the unique blend of inventions and devices that gives his fictions their particular and extraordinary flavour. Perhaps Brautigan is in fact so easily read that it is perverse to look for the intricate complexities of his craftsmanship. Certainly few have felt inclined to explore the inner workings of texts which are, on the surface, so easily ‘consumed’, even though they obviously resist traditional approaches.
