On the 20th February 2005, Hunter Stockton Thompson committed suicide after shooting himself in the head at his notorious Colorado compound, 'Owl Farm'. In a nearby room his daughter-in-law accompanied his grandson whilst Thompson's own son was also in the house. It was the end of a remarkable life, one lived above the speed limit (in every sense of the phrase) before finally going over the Edge he so fondly spoke about.
Thompson's autobiography, Kingdom of Fear, is typical of the man himself. Never one to play by society's mundane rules or to adhere to vapid normality, his life here is presented as a series of letters, newspaper clippings and anecdotes which would make the most seasoned raconteur green with envy (and sickness).
The autobiography is notable by its absence of Thompson's childhood. He only ever mentions his formative years in brief, blink-and-you'll-miss-it sections and it would appear to the reader at least that life truly started when the art of writing took hold. We get accounts of his time in the army where he honed his writing skills before moving onto a variety of newspapers and magazines, sent to report on obscure sporting events which he seemed to embrace with relish.
The cast is pretty much as expected: enraged lawyers, colourful prostitutes, violent foreigners and famous actors, all of whom had their lives changed, for good or ill by Thompson, like a drop of LSD in your morning tea. However, for all of Thompson's vibrant stories, he saves his main reserve of energy attacking George Bush Jr's administration. Published in 2003, Thompson has a lot to aim at; post-9/11 America was ample fodder for Thompson's bile, a country led by a man who he calls 'the child-president' and a 'whore beast'. Indeed, it would seem that Thompson, a man who had seen and reported on Richard Nixon's tempestuous Presidency, felt more aggrieved by Bush's shambolic pastiche of a Presidency than any other he reported on - and that was quite a few, earning him his stellar reputation as a fine political writer.
Now to the good stuff. The autobiography features a selection of booze-, gun- and drug-fuelled tales. Amongst the more memorable is his late-night excursion to Jack Nicholson's house, celebrating the Hollywood rogue's birthday. From a vantage point overlooking the actor's house embedded in an Aspen valley, Thompson decided to set up an amplifier and proceeded to play a tape of a pig being eaten alive by bears. At 119 decibels. After the lights went out in the Nicholson home, Thompson opted to make the small trip down to the house and place his present on the porch of the movie-star - a bleeding elk's heart. The next morning Thompson received news that his good friend Jack was in trouble. Apparently in the early hours of that morning there were sightings of a crazed stalker lingering menacingly around the Nicholson compound, intent on committing barbaric acts on the Nicholson clan...
Other moments include Thompson and his vicious Dutch friend, Geerlings, beating up the Brazilian war minister's son in Rio de Janeiro, a lion (yes, a lion) finding itself in his convertible and on the receiving end of Thompson's impeccable decision-making, his infamous campaign running for Mayor of Aspen, his time reporting on the Vietnam war and his well documented court case involving a rather interesting feminist in the porn industry (what really happened in that hot-tub?).
Despite the abundance of hilarious tales, I found the book failed to deliver on what Thompson is ultimately defined by: his lifestyle. Those who have read his works will find this hard to digest. For all his brilliant writing, be it political journalism, sports journalism or first-hand accounts of the scaly underbelly of America, Thompson is best known for his 100mph lifestyle. If anything, there were not enough drug stories, trouble-making and general bad behaviour, but maybe I'm just one of many who have bought into the Thompson myth, setting standards for the man which, in reality, are beyond the capabilities of most men. Although I enjoyed reading his autobiography and experienced a sense of a life lived to exhilerating extremes, I felt that it revealed a rather uncomfortable truth: that his life is dominated by obsequious myths which are part and parcel of any larger-than-life character. A fun, multicoloured read, but to quote the great man himself, 'It never got weird enough for me'.
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