I have an issue with Hunter S. Thompson’s writing. I like it, but I feel like I’m not in on the secret. It’s like someone saying something to you and you understand it, but everyone else is on the joke that you didn’t quite catch.
See, I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, as well as the Rum Diaries. The latter was described as witty and hilarious on the blurb or review and it surprised me, because I liked it, but not because I found it hilarious. Ever since reading that fleeting review of it, I’ve felt like I like Thompson, but I’m missing the entire point of what he’s writing.
So, Screwjack is a short story and I rattled through it pretty quickly, but unlike the past books I’ve read – I didn’t wholly like it. I felt like I might have rushed it because I feel insecure reading his work. Like… How do I explain reading a book and feeling like I’ve completely missed the point? I don’t know. It’s a weird sensation, and it’s all because of The Rum Diaries being called ‘hilarious’.
Probably my least favourite of his work that I’ve read, but I’m definitely going to re-read it after some time away to see if I’m still oblivious to what the hell’s going on. It’s just weird to enjoy a book, then find out you’ve had a different reaction to… the world. But, unlike the others of his I’ve read, I didn’t enjoy it too much.