Like so many who have aspired to write—especially those of us of the caucasian penised variety—I have long placed the late Hunter S. Thompson in the pantheon of my personal literary gods. After all, throughout his work he managed to infuse our language with a crackling electricity, verve, and raw hilarity that often made me think, Why can’t I write like that? And like any genius, he made it look effortless.
So I will freely admit to being one of legions of wannabes who have, from time to time, tried to capture his lightning in a bottle and harness it for my own artistic benefit. I’ve been very guilty of aping his style, and while at times this has helped energize my own words, I fear, like most attempts to channel that thing that he had, it has largely been a naked failure. Only one guy could ever really do what he did. Still, that hasn’t stopped me from trying, again and again.
I bring this up because I came to David S. Wills’ new book on HST, High White Notes: The Rise and Fall of Gonzo Journalism (Beatdom Books, 2021, 557 pages), as a bonafide fanboy. While I was aware that Thompson’s literary prowess had significantly waned in the later years of his life, I had long chosen to look away from the dross and concentrate on his output produced at the height of his powers: books such as Hell’s Angels, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72, and The Proud Highway, his first volume of letters that just may be the best stuff he did. These are works that helped form me and their words still live in my bones, so I wasn’t sure if I was totally ready to take in Wills’ unflinching examination of Thompson’s lifelong output. After all, it can be hard to witness the autopsy of your hero.
Wills’ certainly isn’t the first to write about HST, but most of the other books have concentrated on the man, rather than his words. After all, Thompson’s larger than life “Raoul Duke” persona came to overshadow his work, so examining the human behind the act has been the more tempting prospect. And while High White Notes does trace the major plot points of Thompson’s life, the book avoids getting too wrapped up in mythology, focusing instead on the words. It’s a serious piece of literary criticism, and a stunning one at that.
David S. Wills is the founder of Beatdom, a print journal dedicated to examining the works of the Beat writers, and has penned books on subjects such as Allen Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs. While Hunter S. Thompson wasn’t technically a Beat (he was a bit late to the party), the influence of that particular movement on his work was monumental; there would be no Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas without Naked Lunch. The literary trajectory the Beats launched freed up a lot of space for writers such as HST to experiment, so it makes sense that Wills chose to focus on him for his latest work. HST is a one man, fully-fledged branch on that family tree.
The book’s title is attributed to F. Scott Fitzgerald, who used the phrase “high white notes” to describe those sublime moments when a writer’s rhythm, words, and feel come together to achieve a kind of verisimilitude. These are those rare yet sublime moments when the writer is truly in “the zone,” and, according to Wills, Hunter S. Thompson lived for this particular high. At several points he stresses how Thompson was willing to live with pages of so-so prose just as long as he hit those vaunted heights. HST knew that high white notes could never be sustained through the whole piece, but if he managed to nail that sweet spot even once, his job was done. Anyone who has toiled at the lonely craft of writing will surely identify with this, and if you’re ever fortunate enough to achieve a high white note or two, you’ll know and savor it.
According to Wills, despite the fact that Thompson wrote with a photo of Hemingway on his desk, it was Fitzgerald who was his real artistic inspiration. He goes to great lengths to drive this point home, even going as far as to map out the rhythm of HST’s famous “crest of a wave” passage from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and compare it with Fitzgerald’s even more celebrated “green light” passage from The Great Gatsby. Wills seems to suggest that Thompson’s greatest high white note was achieved by directly imitating the cadence of Fitzgerald’s.
This is the key to the success of High White Notes: Wills has not only done his homework, but positively nerds out on the material. He counts syllables, breaks down paragraphs, and documents the appearances of HST’s stock words and phrases (of which there are many). I’m convinced that he’s read every bit of Thompson’s writing available to the public, some multiple times. This is a deep dive into the writing of one of the biggest figures of 20th century American letters, and the whole time the reader can rest assured in the knowledge that they’re in the hands of someone who really knows what the hell they’re doing. If there’s a writer out there more acquainted with the work of HST than David S. Wills, I’d like to meet them.
One of the coolest things about the book is that it shatters the idea that Thompson only wrote from a place of pure talent, that he was just some kind of savant who never had to work to master his craft. Wills shows us how disciplined and committed he was, at least in his early days. Here was a young writer very aware of the potency of his ability, while also dedicated to laying the groundwork necessary to develop it. Thompson would type out pages from The Great Gatsby just to get a feel for Fitzgerald’s rhythm, and he obsessed on the minutiae of language in a way that guaranteed his growth. He surely put Malcom Gladwell’s proverbial 10,000 hours in required for mastery, and soon saw his efforts bear fruit.
It is here where High White Notes is the most compelling. We get to witness a writer of considerable gifts come into his own, from his early days doing raucous sports articles for an Air Force newspaper, to diving deep into the biker scene of Hells Angels, surely one of the greatest works of American journalism of the time. This was a guy who was not only hungry, but also had the deep chops to back it up.
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is the book that blew the doors off of Thompson’s career. It’s what he’s best known for today, and rightfully so. Published in 1971, Wills maintains that it was an “elegy for the 1960’s,” the decade that HST was perfectly timed to both experience and document. This melange of journalism and fantasy sequences—told from the point-of-view of a narrator placed smack dab in the middle of the action—established the genre of gonzo journalism as a one man show. It was Thompson in his finest form: rabid, irreverent, culturally insightful, and explosively imaginative.
Though Thompson is still classified as a journalist, Wills makes it clear that Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was largely a work of fiction. It was actually written from the notes and audio tapes from two separate trips to Las Vegas, and while it’s clear that Thompson and his partner, Oscar Zeta Ocasta, downed champion amounts of booze during their escapades, the descriptions of wild drug use were likely invented, or at least based on experiences outside of the narrative of the book.
This blending of fact and fiction is what Thompson built his career on. This, plus making the story about the writer, is what defines “gonzo.” It flew in the face of all of the ethics and standards taught in journalism school, but Thompson was not a conventionally educated man, and his talent was so mighty that a number of editors and publishers were more than happy to let him get as high as he could and then go ahead and reinvent the wheel.
This, however, proved to be his tragic flaw, and Wills pulls no punches in describing HST’s slow slide into babbling caricature. This is where High White Notes becomes a tough read for the fanboy. From the mid 1970’s on, Thompson became unreliable: On many occasions he accepted huge advances (tens of thousands of dollars or more) for stories he never even bothered to file. He suffered from debilitating writer’s block, and much of the work he did manage to finish was shoddy and lazily slapped together.
There wasn’t a specific day where HST went from brilliant wordsmith to self-parodying hack. This downfall instead occurred over the course of decades. During this time, according to Wills, Thompson still managed to hit the bullseye a few times, but for the most part, the second half of High White Notes is a detailed, no-holds-barred examination of a great talent squandered.
So what happened? Like most observers, Wills reckons it was the combination of booze and cocaine, which Thompson had become helplessly addicted to by the end of the 1970’s. The coke kept the motor running, but something about it also destroyed his ability to write. Over time he became more disjointed, befuddled, and sloppy. Wills maintains that he was unable to concentrate and string more than a few sentences together at a time on the page.
Still, he had his name. He was A-list famous, and this meant that the work kept pouring in, even if he was barely up to the task of actually completing any of it. Moreover, in Wills’ view, HST’s outlaw Raoul Duke persona had come to define him so deeply that he became trapped by it. Wills maintains that Thompson was an early master of what we now call “branding,” but that the brand of a gun-toting, drug-ingesting, ranting and raving badboy eventually overshadowed the actual work, while at the same time imprisoning the human being inside.
Wills’ examination of Hunter S. Thompson’s slow-motion artistic deterioration is depressing at times, especially given the man’s staggering talent. He ended up pissing it all away in a blur of powder, booze, and fevered ego bravado. Wills also makes it clear that no one was more aware of this than Thompson himself, whose later years were often marked by episodes of disappointment and fathomless despair for not only what he had lost, but for who he had become.
This, of course, helps us understand his decision to put a gun to his head in the kitchen of his “compound” at Woody Creek, Colorado, in 2005. However, in High White Notes, we see Hunter S. Thompson fall apart on the page, rather than through the course of biographical snapshots. Wills applies his laser focus to HST’s output, and is unsparing in his criticism of the subpar work, of which there was so much in those final years.
Still, the book ends on a positive note: Wills reminds the reader of HST’s tectonic influence on journalism and beyond, how he reinvented modern literature by creating a whole genre associated with a single man. This, along with several major works peppered with all of those sweet “high white notes,” is his real legacy. He made reading exciting for millions, and moreover, he made many of us want to write.