R.I.P., Hunter S.

I can't let the passing of Hunter S. Thompson go without comment, but I'll steer away from the banal jokes about Gidget (Sandra Dee, who died the same day). There was a time in my life -- a very weird, uncontrolled time -- when the good Doctor's writings were a signpost, a guide to how journalism should be. There was a time when we referred to "The Great Shark Hunt" as our bible. (As that time coincided with my going to journalism school, you can see that some conflicts may have arisen.) And, of course, like any good twenty-year-old writer trying on every fashion he can find, I tried on gonzo writing and found it fit quite nicely. My most shameless imitation of Thompson, a pseudonym-bylined plotless screed about the opening day of the Carrier Dome, was reprinted last year in The Daily Orange 100th anniversary book. As a rip-off of Hunter S. Thompson, it holds up pretty well; as meaningful writing, not so much.

And as the years slipped away and I became a somewhat responsible adult, the pull and meaning of those early books remained with me, but I felt no compulsion to keep up with his contemporary writing. I just wasn't in that place anymore. A couple of years ago I saw Johnny Depp's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," something which I would have sworn was unfilmable, and was blown away by its perfection. Every time I watch it, it's still funny, and it's as funny as the book, which I was prompted to reread for the first time in years. But his books put me back in touch with who I was then, and don't have much to do with who I am now. No, I'm not surprised that someone with a very dark worldview and a morbid fascination with firearms took his own life in such a way. The impetus may be a mystery; perhaps the doc gave him some ugly news. I'm bummed that a CBC commentator last night beat me to the Hemingway comparison -- not just the suicide, which is obvious enough, but the writing itself, the act of casting himself in a living novel in which he was the protagonist. It ain't easy being larger than life.

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