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Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72
by Hunter S. Thompson

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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7748.Fear_and_Loathing_On_the_Campaign_Trail_72?utm_medium=api&amp;utm_source=blog_review" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img alt="Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72" border="0" src="http://s3.amazonaws.com/photo.goodreads.com/books/1165639650m/7748.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7748.Fear_and_Loathing_On_the_Campaign_Trail_72?utm_medium=api&utm_source=blog_review">Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5237.Hunter_S_Thompson">Hunter S. Thompson</a> 
 <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1967168?utm_medium=api&utm_source=blog_review"><h3>My review</h3></a>
 rating: 4 of 5 stars I have a longstanding affection for reading books in the locations at which the books take place. I developed this interest during an apoplectic fit of maudlin sophomoricism when, at 18, I spent the summer in Paris reading everything possible connected to 20th century literature in that city (the collected volumes of Anais Nin's diaries, Henry Miller's Parisian fantasies, even that Hemingway book that only starts in Paris (The Sun Also Rises?), all those surrealist manifestos, Andre Breton's inept fumblings at attempted narrative (Nadja, ugh), etc etc etc).
 
 Which is all to say that it was a happy circumstance to read Fear & Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72 in the city where it begins and ends. San Francisco has always been on The Edge, and is a city for which no one has had a finer-tuned appreciation than the doctor of freak power and gonzo journalism himself. 
 
 And perhaps that was the happiest circumstance about my having read this book. I guess the bottom line on this book is that it might as well have been called Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '08, cause shit still sucks. Politics is still a bummer; election years are long-term bummers punctuated by little pustules of hope, that shatter like shot all over your face eventually, and usually unexpectedly. Elections are like the kind of low-grade and sustained bummer you get from smoking your midwestern mom's weed that you found in the freezer in a Viagra promo bag. You just want to close your eyes, and feel lucky and grateful if it doesn't give you a stroke.
 
 Another bottom line might be that, while shit still sucks, no one is having as much fun with it as Hunter did. Except maybe my mom. My parents recently installed a flat-screen TV on the wall next to their bed. My mom is completely obsessed with election coverage - "TOTAL COVERAGE", she calls it, in reference of course to Hunter S. She can give you each of 5 or 6 network outlets point spread projections for the upcoming Pennsylvania primary in real time. She knows odd and varied nuances of Michelle Obama's life story. She, like Hunter, has allowed the true infection of election coverage to take over like any other full-blown addiction. But hey, it's better than Ibogane, right Ed Muskie?
 
 The highlight of any Hunter S. Thompson book is the mad rush he pushes onto you from the page itself, like he's just this frantic mess of nerves and drugs and true grit, and the pages vibrate with his singular intensity. And, if nothing else, FALOTCT '72 certainly shows his raw power and ability to stay on task, not in a marginal way (like his coverage of the motorcycle race in Vegas) but in true newsman fashion, you know, Getting The Story. It's like he said himself - when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. But ain't no shame in a pro eating mescaline on the press plane from Sioux City to DC....
 <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/list/130698?utm_medium=api&utm_source=blog_review">View all my reviews.</a>

gaby's review
rating:
recommended for: junkies of all types; historians

I have a longstanding affection for reading books in the locations at which the books take place. I developed this interest during an apoplectic fit of maudlin sophomoricism when, at 18, I spent the summer in Paris reading everything possible connected to 20th century literature in that city (the collected volumes of Anais Nin's diaries, Henry Miller's Parisian fantasies, even that Hemingway book that only starts in Paris (The Sun Also Rises?), all those surrealist manifestos, Andre Breton's inept fumblings at attempted narrative (Nadja, ugh), etc etc etc).

Which is all to say that it was a happy circumstance to read Fear & Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72 in the city where it begins and ends. San Francisco has always been on The Edge, and is a city for which no one has had a finer-tuned appreciation than the doctor of freak power and gonzo journalism himself.

And perhaps that was the happiest circumstance about my having read this book. I guess the bottom line on this ...more I have a longstanding affection for reading books in the locations at which the books take place. I developed this interest during an apoplectic fit of maudlin sophomoricism when, at 18, I spent the summer in Paris reading everything possible connected to 20th century literature in that city (the collected volumes of Anais Nin's diaries, Henry Miller's Parisian fantasies, even that Hemingway book that only starts in Paris (The Sun Also Rises?), all those surrealist manifestos, Andre Breton's inept fumblings at attempted narrative (Nadja, ugh), etc etc etc).

Which is all to say that it was a happy circumstance to read Fear & Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72 in the city where it begins and ends. San Francisco has always been on The Edge, and is a city for which no one has had a finer-tuned appreciation than the doctor of freak power and gonzo journalism himself.

And perhaps that was the happiest circumstance about my having read this book. I guess the bottom line on this book is that it might as well have been called Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '08, cause shit still sucks. Politics is still a bummer; election years are long-term bummers punctuated by little pustules of hope, that shatter like shot all over your face eventually, and usually unexpectedly. Elections are like the kind of low-grade and sustained bummer you get from smoking your midwestern mom's weed that you found in the freezer in a Viagra promo bag. You just want to close your eyes, and feel lucky and grateful if it doesn't give you a stroke.

Another bottom line might be that, while shit still sucks, no one is having as much fun with it as Hunter did. Except maybe my mom. My parents recently installed a flat-screen TV on the wall next to their bed. My mom is completely obsessed with election coverage - "TOTAL COVERAGE", she calls it, in reference of course to Hunter S. She can give you each of 5 or 6 network outlets point spread projections for the upcoming Pennsylvania primary in real time. She knows odd and varied nuances of Michelle Obama's life story. She, like Hunter, has allowed the true infection of election coverage to take over like any other full-blown addiction. But hey, it's better than Ibogane, right Ed Muskie?

The highlight of any Hunter S. Thompson book is the mad rush he pushes onto you from the page itself, like he's just this frantic mess of nerves and drugs and true grit, and the pages vibrate with his singular intensity. And, if nothing else, FALOTCT '72 certainly shows his raw power and ability to stay on task, not in a marginal way (like his coverage of the motorcycle race in Vegas) but in true newsman fashion, you know, Getting The Story. It's like he said himself - when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. But ain't no shame in a pro eating mescaline on the press plane from Sioux City to DC.......less

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message 1: by aloveiz

04/18/2008 05:47PM

So spot on with this.

Hunter S. Thompson is a great thing.
I'm glad I read all of his books while he was alive.
There's something comforting about loving something that's alive..
that seems like an obvious statement... but it's not just obvious.