I think the difference here is it felt like those things played into the overall ruminations in the book about aging and wasted time. Here I kind of liked the directionless plot line and self centered characters. It's funny because the things I liked about this book didn't seem to appeal to me when I read On The Road right before this. I can see why people might have disliked it, but the things people disliked about it worked for me here for some reason.

I'd take Thompson over Miller all daylong. If Henry Miller had written this novel I wouldn't have gone anywhere near it. Someone told me that this was basically like a second-rate Henry Miller, and that he would have made a much better job of it. For gonzo fans don't expect anything gonzo-esque - you won't find it here. Thompson might have driven the narrative into a bit of a dead end by the end, but, going along for ride prior was a real treat. They encounter looting, a wild party, and Chenault letting her hair down a little too much for the locals, before disappearing into the night. Thomas, where a carnival has enticed Kemp, Yeamon, and his sexy blond girlfriend, Chenault - whom Kemp has had his eyes on right from the off. For a while, nothing really happens other than Kemp and company ordering drinks and generally mulling over life in San Juan, before trouble looms, as Kemp and two colleagues - Yeamon and Sala - from the San Juan Daily News, get into a violent altercation with cops, followed by more of a real problem on the island of St. Part of his problem is simply San Juan itself, which Thompson writes about with panache and danger. He seems to find himself on the one hand caught between a restless idealism and on the other a feeling that something terrible is right around the corner.

No acid obviously.ĭespite the fact he gets to drink rum during day and get his leg over on the beach at night, 30-year-old Kemp is a character where the word morose easily comes to mind. For me, this was more enjoyable and accessible than Fear and Loathing - not necessarily better mind you, but more like a proper novel and less like deranged exuberant journalism. No beating around the bush - just straight to the point in the least amount of words possible. All held together: despite the fact Paul Kemp is far from sober most of the time, by a Hemingway-esque, first-person, clear and simple prose.

The rum diary author