Fear and Loathing

When I first started reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas I thought that I would love the novel.  The first scene on the highway with all of the drug and the bats swooping and screeching was incredible and I thought that it would remain entertaining throughout.  However, in the end it was a battle to finish the book.  The craziness just got to be too much for me.  It is possible that not having lived through the 60s and 70s that I just didn’t get it.  He is supposedly searching for the American dream and seemingly never finds it.  I suppose that this is a criticism of the American Dream itself; that it doesn’t exist anymore.

The extreme drug use blurs fact and fiction and seems to be a criticism of the generation of drug abusing hippies that seek enlightenment through powerful hallucinogenic drugs.  For me though, the drug-induced craziness destroys any semblance of narrative framework or coherence.  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to take away from the book, other than drugs are bad and the American dream is a myth. 

It seems like Thompson’s persona became too much for him to keep up with.  When you have a reputation for doing crazy things and being a hard-drinking, drug-taking nutjob where do you go from there?  He was obviously a smart guy with passion and a talent for writing, but his life confuses me and makes me feel sad for the way he ended it.