There’s an interesting debate running over at
The Guardian Online concerning the literary credentials of one
Mr. Hunter S. Thompson. I’m very much in the
I-couldn’t-care-less-about-this-writer camp. I remember reading ‘Fear and Loathing . . .’ in my teens and thinking it was great but, much like re-reading
Kerouac, when I recently dipped back into it, some fifteen years later, I realised there’s not much to this writer’s work – in fact, nothing at all in my opinion. After the initial hit HST left me very cold indeed. Very much a vainglorious self-aggrandiser.
