Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (A Youdontsay Book Review)

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

So begins Hunter S. Thompson's iconic, infamous, and mind-fucking memoir, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. From the first paragraph to the last, the book never ceases to entertain and disturb with its drug-induced debauchery, dark humor, stream-of-consciousness narrative style, and savage criticism of the "American Dream." Readers looking for plot, character development, or an uplifting resolution would be wise to look elsewhere, but readers looking for an insane, horrifying, and hilarious look into a drug-addled mind will find no better testament to this fringe but peculiarly American way of high-octane living.

I recently read On the Road by Jack Kerouac, and while I enjoyed the writing style and the sincerity of the characters, I couldn't get excited by the story. I was waiting for a feeling of tension that never came. Fear and Loathing is like On the Road except fifteen years later and pumped full of acid. The tension came from the same place it always does on an acid trip-- am I going to get out of this with my sanity still intact?

The story starts out with Thompson and his attorney cruising across the desert in a rented red convertible, high out of their minds on mescaline and toting an ungodly assortment of drugs in their trunk-- everything from cocaine and speed to ether and opium. They're on their way to Las Vegas, where "Doctor of Journalism" Thompson is supposed to be covering the "Mint 400," a popular off-road race held just outside the city. Rather than engage in any interviews or actually spectate the race, Thompson and his attorney dive into their drugs in full force, searching for the "American Dream," and leaving in their wake a trail of terrified tourists and hotel staff. When the race finally ends, the author is called to another assignment in Vegas-- a conference on illicit drugs and drug enforcement, attended by hundreds of police and FBI. Relishing the irony of representing the drug users, Thompson and his attorney "Doctor Gonzo" attend the conference still loaded, and riding the wave of their week long bender.

As I said before, there is little to be found in the way of character development or plot. Neither Thompson nor his companion have any life changing revelations, and the only goal they set out with, finding the American Dream, is not exactly achieved. But the real value of Fear and Loathing is not to be found in any grand message or clever plot device-- the real value comes from the self-deprecating truthfulness and unfiltered realism with which Thompson describes his own lunatic adventures. We as the reader almost feel complicit, guilty-by-association, as we watch our heroes abuse a hotel maid, dose an impressionable girl with LSD, or convince an old police officer that marijuana-smoking satanists are decapitating eight people a day in California. The details are raw, and the exploits are at such a high level of crazy that they must have either been done by someone crazy or made up by someone crazy; in either case, Thompson's crazy credentials are never in question, and the reader begins to feel unsettled from spending so much time in his mind, as if some of that crazy might rub off on us and follow us around.

Final verdict: Fear and Loathing is essential reading for its unique narrative voice, its dark humor, the peculiarity of its characters, and the realism with which it portrays the experience of drug-induced psychosis. The only drawback would have to be its lack of plot-- one could read the chapters in any order and get essentially the same experience. Although, perhaps that may just be one more aspect of the psychotic mind, not a flaw in the book's construction.

Cover Photo: Image Source