by Hunter S. Thompson

I am by no means an expert on the Beat or New Journalism literary movements, but I have by now been exposed to enough writing from the era that I know what I like - and I liked this book! This was my first exposure to Hunter S. Thompson, but he shares the fast-paced, scattered style of Tom Wolfe and Jack Kerouac that works best if you let it wash over you and don’t take it too seriously.

There’s an unspoken law in books like this, and it’s what makes them so fun to read: the authors never mention sleeping. On The Road, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, and Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas are all focused on describing partying in about as much detail as you could ask for, but always move from one day to the next without a lull in narrative. They always say “we stayed up doing drugs, and then around 8am we went to breakfast.” “We all went back to our hotel rooms and got some sleep” is omitted, every time.

It makes the book feel like a roller coaster, and, every time, I love it.

There are some scattered allusions to “chasing the American Dream” which threaten the reader with the search for higher meaning in the narrative. More disciplined minds might be able to form a nuanced analysis, but I think the only meaning here - at best - is that the American Dream is dead, or useless, or a joke.

The writing also contains some light commentary on the vanity & uselessness of newspapers and traditional journalism, but the book’s real indictment of the profession is obviously the style and premise of the book itself: a drug addled journalist absolutely failing to deliver reportable facts.

But the book is best enjoyed as pulp. I recommend it to fans of Jack Kerouac, Tom Wolfe, and Charles Bukowski. It’s also a great book to read if you want to be convinced never to do drugs again 🙂.