Week Beginning Sunday 23rd April 2006: "Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas" (1971) by Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005)

First Line

"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold."

Diagnosis: 7/10. A famous "great opening line". I didn't go into this book knowing much about Hunter S. Thompson apart from the general mythology about Gonzo, drugs and his eventual suicide, but this first line is probably exactly how I'd expected "Fear and Loathing" to start. Straightaway, the opening evokes Kerouac's "On The Road", a book which Thompson clearly had in mind when he wrote this, and sets the tone for the reckless, chemical-induced, self-destructive mayhem which is to follow.

Main Characters

Hunter S. Thompson a.k.a. Raoul Duke: The narrator - it is unclear, and pointless to speculate, just how autobiographical this novel is, but the character Thompson creates as the narrator is, coincidentally, a journalist in search of the American Dream with only a hired Cadillac full of many different kinds of illegal mind-altering substances and an unpredictable Samoan attorney for company.

The Attorney a.k.a. Dr Gonzo: The Samoan is Thompson's companion throughout the novel, and is equally as drug-crazed and outrageous as the author.

Lucy: A young girl, a highly strung artist from Montana who is befriended by the attorney, who introduces her to drugs and alcohol and then has sex with her in the hotel room.

Impressions

"Fear and Loathing" appeared in Rolling Stone in two volumes in the early 1970's, and, given the way that it is presented as a factual account of Thompson's experiences, I would argue that it is less of a novel than a piece of journalism. Its subtitle is "A Savage Journey Into The Heart Of The American Dream", and you can certainly feel the vitriolic anger with which Thompson sets about deconstructing the myth.

In terms of the action and plot, the book is actually pretty repetitive - the two men are sent to Las Vegas to cover a famous motorcycle race, but when that becomes impossible, they check into a hotel, take drugs, have disturbing and paranoid hallucinations, take more drugs, destroy their hotel room a bit more, almost kill each other several times, and then audaciously try to infiltrate an anti-drugs meeting of District Attorneys from all over America while high on mescaline.

Its brilliance, though, lies in Thompson's narrative and the intellectual digressions that he goes off on. It certainly feels like a strange kind of journalism, even now, with the usual detached, objective tone given over to a voice that is completely involved and subjective. At several points, Thompson laments the passing of the idealism of the 1960's, and the fact that the utopia that many of the great countercultural icons worked towards has never materialised. Though the casual use of narcotics plays a huge part in this novel, I don't think Thompson could be accused of glorifying drug use - with his portrayal of Lucy, and his descriptions of both himself and the Samoan and different points, he shows that instead of expanding the mind, drugs in fact limit the mind and turn users into mindless zombies. The drugs are used as an escape from the grim reality of Twentieth Century America, in which the heady idealism of the 60's has exploded and the promises of a quick and easy road to happiness have been exposed as bullshit. As a particularly slow-witted waitress says when asked if she knows where the American dream is: "What's that? What is it?...Could that be the old Psychiatrist's Club? It was a discotheque place..."

Beginnings

This is the beginning of my "project", which I have devised because I have just finished a degree in English and Theatre Studies and now feel as though I have no incentive to read anymore. So, while I was watching "The Office" the other day (the episode where they do the pub quiz then throw Tim's shoes over the roof), I was struck by an unlikely boast from Finchy that he reads "a book a week". Now, I imagine that it's obvious what my project is, but for the slow of thinking, I am attempting to emulate that high-minded and noble goal.

My intention is to read one novel (or play, or full collection of poetry, depending on how I feel) every week, then post a short synopsis and my impressions of it. I often find that when I'm talking about books with someone, I can say that I have read a book but then remember nothing about it offhand. Hopefully this will help me to remember the things that I read, as well as providing a valuable service for those people who stumble onto this blog who are bored/lost/even a little bit interested.

There is no real rhyme or reason to the choices of book - I have a feeling I'll be choosing relatively short ones, for the simple reason that I'm unlikely to get through War and Peace in one week (another one that I've actually read but can't remember very much about except the fact that I enjoyed it at the time). I'm going to try not to be a snob about it, and go for newer bestsellers, but the fact is that I actually like reading the classics and stuff, so there'll be a few of them as well.

Neither is there going to be any structure to my criticism/analysis - just my general impressions. Perhaps a character list, and a little run-down of the main themes/symbols as I see them. Also, I like first lines of novels, I think they tell you a lot about whether you're going to enjoy the book, so a good idea may be to grade the first line out of 10, just for poops and giggles. For purposes of comparison, this is an example of a 10/10 first line in my opinion, I committed it to memory when I read the book a few years ago because I liked it so much:

"It was the afternoon of my eighty-first birthday, and I was in bed with my catamite when Ali announced that the archbishop had come to see me" - Anthony Burgess, Earthly Powers.

To me it has everything - the shock value of the old man and his catamite, the juxtaposition of this with the arrival of the archbishop, the mystery of how the archbishop knows him, what he wants, who Ali is, who the catamite is, where they are - I could go on. Again, I don't really remember much else about the book itself, other than it was very long but worth the read - I couldn't tell you the name of the narrator though, for example (except that I THINK the archbishop was called Carlo).

Another of my favourite first lines, perhaps 9/10 -

"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice." Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years Of Solitude

Had to look that one up but I remember it as my second favourite, just didn't have the exact wording in my head. Okay we get the idea I think. I'm going to start with the book I finished last night, which can count as last week's read: Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson. Stay tuned folks.