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  <title><![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]></title>
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        <name><![CDATA[Hunter S. Thompson]]></name>
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[Jesus H. Christ almighty, but I MISS this man.<br/>This is a compendium of letters written, both personal and professional correspondence, between 1968 and 1976 that shows not only the biting wit but the razor sharp intellect of this now gone author. You know how people make off-handed comments lik...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/32966906">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[Collected letters of HST from 1967 to 1976. Very funny stuff. He takes aim at the usual targets, Nixon, greed, etc etc as well as many savage and outlandish threats directed at everyone from his old &quot;friend&quot;, the long-suffering Ralph Steadman, to the operator of the local Colorado Tv stati...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/20015974">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[This huge tome of Hunter Thompson's correspondence took me approximately two months to read, but that doesn't mean that I didn't like it. In fact, I enjoyed it quite a bit. However, the format leant itself to being put down for extended periods of time before returning to it. There's not much of any...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/53338370">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[<em>Disclaimer: There is nothing review-like about the following paragraphs</em><br/><br/>Chalk this one up to important life lessons. Let me explain. I went to graduate school for architecture. For those not familiar, it is a fairly intensive and rigorous process that is organized around a studio culture....<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/67610331">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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  <date_added>Fri Jul 18 13:53:58 -0700 2008</date_added>
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    <body><![CDATA[I'm in process of slogging through this one, the sections relevant to Thompson's run for Sherriff and the journalistic trips that resulted in &quot;<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7745.Fear_and_Loathing_in_Las_Vegas_A_Savage_Journey_to_the_Heart_of_the_American_Dream" title="Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas  A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream by Hunter S. Thompson">Fear and Loathing</a>&quot; are enteratining and exciting to read, even if the former get a little redundant as he explains himself to his wide range of cor...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/27649849">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[hst was a nut; he was also brilliant-- this collection of letters tracing through his career as a writer reflects both truths. i read this right after the biographical &quot;gonzo&quot;, which made it interesting to see his life from multiple perspectives. i'd recommend a similar course in order to ...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/62954641">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[So everybody knows I love Hunter S Thompson, but this book is AMAZING!!!  It's a collection of personal and professional letters written between 1968 and 1976 which string together to paint a picture of the political environment of the time, while simultaneously shedding light on how to make a livin...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/49961144">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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  <read_at>Thu Jan 01 00:00:00 -0800 2009</read_at>
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    <body><![CDATA[I did not know that H.S.T. was such a political junkie before I read these letters. He was a full time insider during the Nixon vs. McGovern campaign in '72. He even ran for office of Sheriff himself in Aspen Colorado. <br/><br/>A fascinating person and a singular writer, H.S.T. makes me want to go ...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/44024615">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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  <date_added>Fri Nov 16 21:43:40 -0800 2007</date_added>
  <date_updated>Fri Nov 30 18:50:48 -0800 2007</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[This book is likely to always be on my &quot;Currently Reading&quot; shelf since I randomly pick it up and read excerpts whenever I am in the mood for a rant, a raving tirade pointed seemingly haphazardly at whomever should happen to cross paths with the mercurial and sharp tongued Hunter S. Thompso...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/9221353">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[The multi-volume collection of letters is an unexpected gift for those who love HST. Perhaps not every single letter in the set is attention grabbing, but take the stop and shop method and read what you want. His correspondence with childhood friends, autors, enemies, and politicians among others is...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2526682">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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  <date_added>Sun Jun 14 21:31:40 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sun Jun 14 21:34:17 -0700 2009</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[Only the Hunter aficionado could appreciate his rants to local and national government officials and a surprisingly  humble letter of appreciation to Larry Turman - where he also tries to sell him a screenplay!]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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  <date_added>Sun Feb 22 21:18:43 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sun Feb 22 21:21:23 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[This is a collection of letters from 1968-1976, so I am really skimming through and using it as a source book...don't know that I will ever actually be &quot;finished&quot; reading it]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/47221344]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/47221344]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
  <id>42233486</id>
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  <text_reviews_count type="integer">48</text_reviews_count>
  <title>
    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
  </title>
  <image_url>http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1165639651m/7752.jpg</image_url>
  <link>http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7752.Fear_and_Loathing_in_America_The_Brutal_Odyssey_of_an_Outlaw_Journalist</link>
  <average_rating>3.96</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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  <read_at>Mon Jan 01 00:00:00 -0800 2007</read_at>
  <date_added>Wed Jan 07 11:12:49 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Wed Jan 07 11:13:49 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[More letters, more fun. This one, among other things, includes Hunter's haggling with Jann Wenner over his expense account for his famous trip to Las Vegas.]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/42233486]]></url>
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</review>
      <review>
  <id>48419054</id>
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
  </title>
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  <average_rating>3.96</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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  <date_added>Fri Mar 06 09:04:36 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Fri Mar 06 09:07:54 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Great stuff. Letter to Tom Wolfe is hilarious--<br/><br/>&quot;The hammer of justice looms, and your filthy white suit will become a flaming shroud!'' ]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/48419054]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/48419054]]></link>
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      <review>
  <id>64968758</id>
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
  </title>
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  <average_rating>3.96</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>931</ratings_count>
  <description>
    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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  <date_added>Sat Jul 25 21:46:58 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sat Jul 25 21:47:51 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Just like the other collections.  Still powerful and entertaining stuff.  A little more addled than the previous ones, though.]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/64968758]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/64968758]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
  <id>70350317</id>
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    <id>1152828</id>
    <name><![CDATA[RK]]></name>
    <location><![CDATA[Danville, VA]]></location>
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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  <average_rating>3.96</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
  </description>
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    <rating>4</rating>
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  <date_added>Mon Sep 07 08:28:44 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Mon Sep 07 08:29:07 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[this was WAY funny. this was so close to being a classic that i might as well just consider it one.]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/70350317]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/70350317]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
  <id>60252330</id>
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    <id>2343528</id>
    <name><![CDATA[Norah]]></name>
    <location><![CDATA[Putnam Valley, NY]]></location>
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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  <average_rating>3.96</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>931</ratings_count>
  <description>
    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
  </description>
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    <rating>5</rating>
  <votes>0</votes>
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  <read_at>Fri Jun 01 00:00:00 -0700 2007</read_at>
  <date_added>Thu Jun 18 20:31:07 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu Jun 18 20:31:44 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I usually don't go for letters, but he is just crazy/interesting enough]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/60252330]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/60252330]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
  <id>39862197</id>
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    <id>1793750</id>
    <name><![CDATA[Casey]]></name>
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    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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  <average_rating>3.96</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>931</ratings_count>
  <description>
    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
  </description>
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    <rating>4</rating>
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  <date_added>Thu Dec 11 08:10:56 -0800 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu Dec 11 08:10:56 -0800 2008</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Simply amazing, hilarious, wonderful, joy to read, again and again.]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/39862197]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/39862197]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
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  <text_reviews_count type="integer">48</text_reviews_count>
  <title>
    <![CDATA[Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist]]>
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  <average_rating>3.96</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>931</ratings_count>
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    <![CDATA[Louisville's finest returns with another huge batch of his private correspondence, hammered out from Woody Creek on his typewriter with the frenzied rat-tat-tat report of shots from the hip. Covering the Wonder Years, from the election of Nixon (which first fired his invective), Vietnam, the 1972 campaign, publication of the instantly notorious <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>, to Watergate, the walking pharmacy reveals himself to be a surprisingly dedicated librarian, having dutifully filed carbons of all his correspondence for such an eventuality. By 1968, the success of <em>Hell's Angels</em> had seen his stock, if not his income, rise, and on the magazine Scanlan Monthly was born Gonzo journalism, dismissing objectivity for furious spontaneity fired from both barrels. However, the hidden image on the Polaroid was a bleary-eyed moralist in deadly earnest, uncontrollably seized by the free-associative rantings of a Tourette's sufferer.<p>The good doctor sees himself, the sub-title suggests, as an outlaw journalist. He certainly wants to resettle his country, and in many ways these 750 pages read as a &quot;Dear John&quot; from an estranged and bitterly spurned lover, the offending suitor being the American Dream. It's no coincidence that Gatsby, that symbol of its empty heart, is a recurrent reference. In fact, a book about the Death of the Dream was the white elephant that stalked these years, the Big Work that never happened. At least this volume contains much invention, not least of the self, and, if not always sober, then certainly incisive thinking, whether he's addressing fellow Gonzoid Ralph Steadman, Tom Wolfe or the Alaska Sleeping Bag Company. He claims his business is &quot;defusing bombs and disarming landmines&quot;, a disingenuous reversal of how he often seems to be acting. An iconic reputation became his ball and chain, and he grew into a love/hate figure, particularly to himself, resembling an outrageous uncle at a family party. He was to become worshipped beyond his means, but for this period, while he huffed and puffed to blow Nixon's White House down, he remained a legend in his own overblown inkdom, something these letters vividly capture. --<em>David Vincent</em></p>]]>
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  <read_at>Sat Dec 27 00:00:00 -0800 2008</read_at>
  <date_added>Wed Oct 08 18:15:20 -0700 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sat Dec 27 08:27:22 -0800 2008</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[A great book about not compromising on your dreams. The book begins just before he met R. Steadman and ends just before he started to believe the myth he had created.There is no better way to get a view of a persons life as he saw it, through hi own eyes than by reading his letters, especially when ...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/34858064">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
  <id>31619460</id>
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    <name><![CDATA[Joseph]]></name>
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  <id type="integer">151486</id>
  <isbn>068487315X</isbn>
  <isbn13>9780684873152</isbn13>
  <text_reviews_count type="integer">4</text_reviews_count>
  <title>
    <![CDATA[Fear And Loathing In America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist (Thompson, Hunter S. Gonzo Letters, V. 2.)]]>
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  <average_rating>3.95</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>22</ratings_count>
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    <![CDATA[<p>Brazen, incisive, and outrageous as ever, Hunter S. Thompson is back with another astonishing volume of his private correspondence, the highly anticipated follow-up to <em>The Proud Highway.</em> When that first book of letters appeared in 1997, <em>Time</em> pronounced it &quot;deliriously entertaining&quot;; <em>Rolling Stone</em> called it &quot;brilliant beyond description&quot;; and <em>The New York Times</em> celebrated its &quot;wicked humor and bracing political conviction.&quot;<p>Spanning the years between 1968 and 1976, these never-before-published letters show Thompson building his legend: running for sheriff in Aspen, Colorado; creating the seminal road book <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas;</em> twisting political reporting to new heights for <em>Rolling Stone;</em> and making sense of it all in the landmark <em>Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72.</em> To read Thompson's dispatches from these years -- addressed to the author's friends, enemies, editors, and creditors, and such notables as Jimmy Carter, Tom Wolfe, and Kurt Vonnegut -- is to read a raw, revolutionary eyewitness account of one of the most exciting and pivotal eras in American history.<p>Provocative and revealing, <em>Fear and Loathing in America</em> cements Hunter S. Thompson's reputation as one of the great literary and cultural icons of our time -- the only man alive to have ridden with both the Hell's Angels and Richard Nixon.<p></p></p></p></p>]]>
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  <date_added>Sat Aug 30 18:30:22 -0700 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Mon Dec 29 16:04:30 -0800 2008</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[Bought this waaaaayyy back in either '00 or '01. Better late than never...<br/><br/>Didn't finish due to...<br/><br/>12/29/08: As much as I love the good doc's work, I can't bring myself to finish it right now. The letters are funny and highly inspirational at times, but they drag on and are kin...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/31619460">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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