Between 1967 and 1973, when Thompson was at his best, he wrote with crazed, out-of-control, phantasmagoric violence. But he was living in crazed, out-of-control, phantasmagoric, violent times. A nation that had been placid suddenly raged with race riots and assassinations, manipulated by a crooked, villainous president and trapped in a terrible war.That last sentence drew me up short. It made me realize that what our own time lacks, quite precisely, is a Hunter S. Thompson figure. We desperately need someone who can shatter the pretenses of both the angry and passive, someone who can implode the perfervid fantasies that grip our country today just as surely as parallel fantasies gripped the country thirty-odd and fifty-odd years ago.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
A cartoon in a cartoon graveyard
Here's a nasty little piece from 1998 by David Plotz of what a sad, addled sellout Hunter S. Thompson became by the end of his life. But to prove his point, Plotz necessarily must recollect how raw and fresh Thompson was when he was at the apex of his powers, at the turn of the 1960s, and how much he was a perfect foil for his time:
Posted by Nils at 2/22/2005 10:24:00 PM