The author of this powerful memoir is the daughter of Richard Brautigan, who became internationally famous in the 1960s and 1970s for Trout Fishing in America, In Watermelon Sugar, A Confederate General from Big Sur, and other works. Her parents separated when she was only two, after which she alternated spending time with her father and her mother. Despite his alcoholism, depression, and suicidal impulses (he eventually took his own life in 1984 when he was forty-nine years old), Ianthe loved her father intensely and relished their time together.
This book does not give a comprehensive account of Richard Brautigan’s life. Instead, in a series of bittersweet vignettes, Ianthe delves deeply into what it is like to be close to someone as famous as her father was back then; she describes the pain of observing her father deteriorate but feeling helpless to do anything about it except be there for him. Her touching account is a stark reminder of the effect of our decisions and deeds on those dear to us.
The dark reality that underlies the story is, of course, Brautigan’s suicide. When he was alone in his house in Bolinas, California, he shot himself with a .44 Magnum. Soon after discovery of the body, Ianthe was with her mother; she ran out into the night crying, “I’m going to die; I’m going to die.” Her mother, attempting to sooth her, said, “You can’t catch death.” In other words, death is not contagious. As she shares her thoughts, Ianthe seems to be trying to convince herself of that. For a long time, she writes, she felt that her father’s suicide was her fault, that she should have been able to do something to prevent it. She never does really understand why he did it. She says that “as I was going through some of his unpublished poetry I found myself looking for a sign, a note, something to tell me why. For a few seconds my heart beat fast, and I actually thought I might find a reason. I didn’t.” Later she observes that although with her rational mind she realizes that suicide is not contagious, she cannot bring herself to give anyone her father’s old coats. She writes, “It’s not their fault that my father, in a moment of despair, succeeded in killing himself.” She hangs on to the coats, but doesn’t give them away.
All of this sounds maudlin and depressing, but it’s not. Ianthe’s love for her father shines through the darkness. Shortly after his death he begins to appear, occasionally, in her dreams, and when he does he comforts her. And she receives great solace when “a renowned expert on suicide,” after hearing her story, says that “he’s finally safe.” In the end, she goes to visit her grandmother, Richard’s estranged mother, for the first time, and there is a reconciliation of sorts.
As I said above, this memoir is not primarily about Richard Brautigan. It is about the consequences of our actions on those who hold us dear. Ultimately, it is about the power of love to illuminate even the darkest of circumstances. I did not find reading this account, despite the subject matter, to be at all depressing. Despite her trauma, Ianthe recovers and carries on; she marries, has a daughter of her own, and converts her grief into art as she writes this book.
Once a close loved one of mine took his own life. I’m sure that many of you have experienced similar tragic events. This book is a reminder to persevere despite the pain, for our own sakes and for the sake of others who depend on us or look to us as examples. Death is not contagious, but inspiration and love are. In a moment of weakness Richard Brautigan took his own life, but the love he had imparted to his daughter was powerful enough to transcend that deed and inspire her to create this stirring memoir. Highly recommended.
