My Favorite Piece of Literature

With a simple, nondescript opening line on page 1, Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas sets off his pivotal story of a jaded journalist’s ride into the gaudy world of Las Vegas as he covers the prestigious Mint 400 motorcycle race.


He finds himself in search of a physical manifestation of the american dream while in Las Vegas, a subconscious attempt to cope with his own aging and departure from the mid ninety sixties Hippie culture that had defined his entire generation.


The book is Thompson’s own love letter to the flower generation, a generation he readily identifies with and conceded to being part of while he worked on his first book, Hell’s Angels.


Thompson shows his mastery of the written word by giving us a compelling first person narrative of Duke’s journey into the glitzy and glamorous world of Las Vegas, a city Duke (and in turn Thompson) cannot fully comprehend.


I’m fond of this book in large part to Thompson’s own writing style and his ability to capture the imagination despite his heavy reliance on the first person, a style that usually irks me away from any great story.


Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is a book that holds your hand while you witness Duke’s fall into sleep-deprived madness but also one that leaves a lot open to interpretation and debate, where realities shift between hallucinations and subconscious banter of an entire generation.