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by Andrew Sinclair?
Of the flower children of yesteryear, Richard Brautigan published the most original fables and the straightest prose. There seemed more than Gertrude Stein? or Saroyan? in him. There was a searching for contemporary myths and feelings as intense as in a haiku. The Tokyo-Montana Express' has come off the rails. It is the diary and jottings of an uncoupled mind. More like pot pourri'' now, Mr Brautigan gives off a faint and disordered smell of the writer he was. "I think my mind is going," he observes of himself. "It is changing into a cranial junkyard." He is too talented not to try to put his head together again.
The Times [London]
April 9, 1981: 12
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