Much as Jarvis Cocker probably does, (based on his introduction), I judge a bookshop on whether it stocks any Brautigan or not. If it doesn't, shame on them. If it does, I'll spend a little longer; after all, if they stock Brautigan, what else might they stock of an similar ilk that I don't know about...
Brautigan is the funniest, most irreverent , most eclectic writer I've ever come across. He writes free-wheeling joyful little stories with a bittersweet strain. They're mad, zany, fun. They strike off on tangents, make fun of a life, people, language. They breathe their philosophy (whatever that is) on every page.
Sombrero Fallout is particularly good (not quite my favourite, that's The Abortion). It tells the story of an American humourist writer with no sense of humour, his sleeping Japanese ex-girlfriend, and a story he begins but abandons and throws in the bin. This story, however, takes on a life of its own and creates itself from the wastepaper basket it finds itself in.
Beneath the wackiness, beneath the humour, beneath the stretched-credulity and deadpan humour, Brautigan's lessons are wise ones, and his strories are shot through with seams of sadness that are their only uniting theme. I would have loved to know this chap. I recommend everything he wrote.