In Watermelon Sugar
written by Richard Brautigan and published in 1968.
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| In Watermelon Sugar. I found this paperback in a used bookstore during a college. If I recall my College boyfriend's family had a cabin in a town, that town had nothing at all in it except a used bookstore, and that used bookstore had this book. (Great story hu?) |
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| Painting by Theodore Bihun |
We were always amazed (because for some reason as young twenty somethings) we thought we had read a lot of books and knew such a wide variety of authors, and the selection in this shop impressed us. Maybe as I look back it was their very reasonable pricing which impressed us.
Anyway, I'm certain ten percent of my current library was purchased there and that of course is where I found In Watermelon Sugar. I have read it at least once every summer since I first bought it.
It is a tale of a commune organized around a central gathering house which is named "iDEATH". In this environment, many things are made of watermelon sugar (though the inhabitants also use pine wood and stone for building material and fuel is made from trout oil). The landscape of the novel is always changing. Each day has a different colored sun which creates different colored watermelons, and the central building also changes frequently.
If you ever find yourself in a used bookstore maybe where the prices of the books are soft pencil on the inside of the front cover, try and find yourself a copy of In Watermelon Sugar. I promise it will be worth it.
A tiny bit of the book:
I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am,
but I am one of those who do not have a regular
name. Ny name depends on you. Just call me
whatever is in your mind.
If you are thinking about something that
happened a long time ago: Somebody asked
you a question and you did not know the
answer.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was raining very hard.
That is my name.
Or somebody wanted you to do something.
You did it. Then they told you what you did was
wrong---"Sorry for the mistake,"---and you had
to do something else.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was a game that you played when
you were a child or something that came idly
into your mind when you were old and sitting
in a chair near the window.
That is my name.
Or you walked someplace. There were flowers
all around.
That is my name.
Perhaps you stared into a river. There was
somebody near you who loved you. They were
about to touch you. You could feel this before
it happened. Then it happened.
That is my name.
Or you heard someone calling from a great
distance. Their voice was almost an echo.
That is my name.
Perhaps you were lying in a bed, almost ready
to go to sleep and you laughed at something, a
joke unto yourself, a good way to end the day.
That is my name.
Or you were eating something good and for
a second forgot what you were eating, but still
went on, knowing it was good.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was around midnight and the fire
tolled like a bell inside the stove.
That is my name.
Or you felt bad when she said that thing to
you. She could have told someone else:
Someone who was more familiar with her
problems.
That is my name.
Perhaps the trout swam in the pool, but the
river was only eight inches wide, and the moon
shone on iDEATH and the watermelon fields
glowed out of proportion, dark, and the moon
seemed to rise from every plant.
That is my name.
In Watermelon Sugar
Richard Brautigan
- 1968
