** spoiler alert ** No other city in America mixes high-class with trash as effortlessly as Las Vegas. Glitz and glamor stupefy the out-of-towners who flock to the city as fresh meat, ripe to be hustled. Thompson was right to speculate that this city smacked of The American Dream -- a concept with many dogmatic believers but few prophets. But Vegas only loves the winners. Everything else is swept under the rug or escorted outside. The search for that dream is just a big tease like the pasties on a burlesque dancer. "Learn to enjoy losing," Thompson said.
Thompson seems to vacillate between deciding that Vegas is a collection of freaks and criminals or high-rollers who don't tolerate scum. Waves of paranoia coat this book as we follow the narrator through ups and downs -- in life and in drug use. Thompson seems to fear Vegas as much as he respects and is fascinated by it -- not by the promise of winnings or sex, but in how it affects the people bathed in its neon lights. This lost generation that has already become jaded and hopeless, not looking for inspiration but for new drugs to put itself out of its own misery.
I read this book on the flight to and from Vegas, my very first trip there. What a perfect companion for this trip. On the flight there I was buzzing with excitement, ready to jump in Thompson's red convertible and hold on tight. On the way home I felt exhausted and relieved, and much like Thompson, appreciated the kind gestures of the stewardesses.
The novel does not end bleakly, however, as Thompson rushes off on a new high in Denver, snorting amyls and entertaining the idea of obtaining a vicious albino Doberman. Being more of a normal, myself, I settled for a good meal and a full night's sleep.
FAVORITE ASPECT: Thompson's stunning wit. I laughed countless times at his phrasing, boundless imagination and aptitude for farce.
LEAST FAVORITE ASPECT: Can't think of a damn thing.
RANDOM: "Just another freak in the freak kingdom."
PERSONAL NOTE: How appropriate that when we visited Fremont Street, the giant overhead LED display featured "American Pie" by Don McLean, replete with digital Chevys and dancing girls in 1950s dress. That song memorialized an event that became a symbol for the end of the innocent 1950s, a time before the drug and sex revolution of the 1960s that Thompson sees as a failure, and ushered in a new era of nostalgia. The American Dream seems to have died along with Buddy Holly -- Thompson's search for it in 1971 is fruitless; the trail grew cold before he tried his first hit of LSD.