Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Hunter S. Thompson
Hunter S. Thompson's groundbreaking novel about his real life experience traveling to Las Vegas under a pseudonym Raoul Duke and his attorney Dr. Gonzo ( Mexican lawyer and activist Oscar Zeta Acosta in real life).
Tasked by Sports Illustrated to cover the annual Mint 400 race that's going to be held in Las Vegas, after haphazardly planning the trip both Duke and Dr. Gonzo ended up with what Hunter S. Thompson describes as:
"The sporting editors had also given me $300 in cash, most of which was already spent on extremely dangerous drugs. The trunk of the car looked like a mobile police narcotics lab. We had two bags of grass, 75 pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers . . . and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls"
What was supposed to be an easy sporting coverage of the Mint 400 race quickly turned into an frenzied LSD driven "savage journey to the Heart of the American Dream" and what transpired next is a mixture of mayhem, more drug addiction, hallucinations, booze and pissing every god damn people along the way. Which includes running off from an expensive hotel bill, ditching the Great Red Shark and Lucy the under age girl, and a side job covering the National Narcotics Convention as HST reasons out "the drug people should be rightfully represented".
A classic type of "Gonzo Journalism" that HST have famously invented and practiced throughout his whole writing career. "Fear and Loathing" although lacking in real reportage of journalistic norms or a clear plot, nobody can deny the fact that this book offers some of the best narrative writings only a great writer such as Hunter S Thompson could ever deliver.
From the opening line of
"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like, "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive . . ."And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about 100 miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?"
to the classic "wave speech" that is for everybody to read out loud and for me belongs in the same league as thet "mad people" quote by Jack Kerouac.
“San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . . History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of "history" it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time — and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened. My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights — or very early mornings — when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder's jacket . . . booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) . . . but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. . . . There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . . And that, I think, was the handle — that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting — on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . . So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”
If those passages does not amaze you then you don't know how to recognize great writing...and for that you need a reality check....
"Fear and Loating in Las Vegas" its more than being the "best book about the dope decade" its a book where words and prose forms this energy high and dry that will catapult one's imagination LSD or non-LSD into a frenzied acid trip, back to reality and make you crave for such wonderful prose that no other writer living in the world today are capable of writing.
Tasked by Sports Illustrated to cover the annual Mint 400 race that's going to be held in Las Vegas, after haphazardly planning the trip both Duke and Dr. Gonzo ended up with what Hunter S. Thompson describes as:
What was supposed to be an easy sporting coverage of the Mint 400 race quickly turned into an frenzied LSD driven "savage journey to the Heart of the American Dream" and what transpired next is a mixture of mayhem, more drug addiction, hallucinations, booze and pissing every god damn people along the way. Which includes running off from an expensive hotel bill, ditching the Great Red Shark and Lucy the under age girl, and a side job covering the National Narcotics Convention as HST reasons out "the drug people should be rightfully represented".
A classic type of "Gonzo Journalism" that HST have famously invented and practiced throughout his whole writing career. "Fear and Loathing" although lacking in real reportage of journalistic norms or a clear plot, nobody can deny the fact that this book offers some of the best narrative writings only a great writer such as Hunter S Thompson could ever deliver.
From the opening line of
"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like, "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive . . ."And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about 100 miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?"
to the classic "wave speech" that is for everybody to read out loud and for me belongs in the same league as thet "mad people" quote by Jack Kerouac.
“San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . . History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of "history" it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time — and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened. My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights — or very early mornings — when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder's jacket . . . booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) . . . but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. . . . There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . . And that, I think, was the handle — that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting — on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . . So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”
If those passages does not amaze you then you don't know how to recognize great writing...and for that you need a reality check....
"Fear and Loating in Las Vegas" its more than being the "best book about the dope decade" its a book where words and prose forms this energy high and dry that will catapult one's imagination LSD or non-LSD into a frenzied acid trip, back to reality and make you crave for such wonderful prose that no other writer living in the world today are capable of writing.
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