It no longer surprises me as to the talent and genius that is Hunter S Thompson. A man who’s values and principals didn’t match that of the hypocritical moral majority, but they were at the core deeply honest and fair. Thompson makes no bones about where his allegiance lies, and where his disdain is clearly situated. In this case his hatred and despising of Nixon is never hidden, and always brought out in candid detail.

What no one accuse Thompson of is not being impartial, even when his heart lays on the side of good, if the good do bad then he will note it down. Yet there are times when even his humanity demonstrates that there are times when journalism must stop and the lives of those that are written about are allowed to live in peace.

Still Thompson amply demonstrates his shrewdness and his journalistic intelligence by turning what is one of the few events in American history which bores the hell out of everyone but Americans into an event that is filled with gossip, back stabbing, lies, deceit, claim and counter claim. Thompson carefully details all the nooks and crannies of the Campaign for Presidency that took place up to and during 1972 when Nix was demonstrated as having had a clear hand in the Watergate scandal.

This book is as much about Hunter’s passion as it is about the election in so much as it demonstrates that Hunter will stop at no lengths to get to the truth of the matter, and even at the cost of his health, when it causes him to fall seriously ill, his unheralded declaration that he must continue regardless of his condition.

Reading Hunter’s account, you can only be appalled and dismayed at the politics of 1972 and the fours years previously and after the whole election

You feel sorry for him at times, as you do for the poor bastard politicans that are betrayed all in the intent of wanting to do good, but finding out the rest of the country doesn’t care what you want to do. It’s all about them and what they want. One particular scene that springs to mind is when Hunter wonderfully describes a scene with Vietnam war veterans causing a demonstration of solidarity for their loss and the victims of a war that should never have happend. It’s a dark and solemn moment, and I can’t think of anyone other than Hunter who could have so candidly described the rage and disappointment those veterans felt marching, being betrayed by the very people that sent them to war.

What is most frightening about the journalistic diary of the campaign trail was the in-house fighting and betrayals that took place within the Democratic party itself. Frightening is perhaps understanding the shocking reality of what was taking place, and the sheer cock-ups that take place causing the self-desctruction of the Democratic party. Nixon has nothing to lose in order to go all out for a second term, and yet the Deomcratic party have failed to bet Nixon the first time around decide to place all their eggs into one basket. The unlikely hero of the democractic party was neither nominated by the old hats, nor were they endorsing him – and they weren’t the only ones, as many other official nominees went out of their way to slur and tarnish the reputation of a colleague all for their own gain.

This book is as much about Hunter’s passion as it is about the election in so much as it demonstrates that Hunter will stop at no lengths to get to the truth

Reading Hunter’s account, you can only be appalled and dismayed at the politics of 1972 and the fours years previously and after the whole election. In many ways it seemed to echo the sickening politics of now with the current Democratic and Republican parties both playing underhanded tactics in order to beat the other. The Democrats once more causing their own self destruction, and again as in 1972 and previously, prematurely making assumptions that are unfounded and playing into the hands of the Republicans by knocking each other out senseless.

Like Hunter’s other books, there is a dark, almost sinister humouor underneath it all, some out loud hilarious moments, and Hunter’s own extravagance in his excessive use of drugs. As ojurnalistic writers go, what Hunter wasn’t was boring, dry and derivative. Constantly pushing himself and his work, he often brought a freshness and envigorated energy to his writing that no other journalist I can think of could bring, and therefore will be sorely missed.

Verdict: A stunning account of a nasty election, written with energetic vibrance and fascinating detail. Journalism as it should be