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Kingdom of Fear: Loathsome Secrets of a Star-Crossed Child in the Final Days of the American Century
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About Kingdom Of Fear: Loathsome Secrets Of A
Product Description The Gonzo memoir from one of the most influential voices in American literature, Kingdom of Fear traces the course of Hunter S. Thompson’s life as a rebel—from a smart-mouthed Kentucky kid flaunting all authority to a convention-defying journalist who came to personify a wild fusion of fact, fiction, and mind-altering substances. Brilliant, provocative, outrageous, and brazen, Hunter S. Thompson's infamous rule breaking—in his journalism, in his life, and under the law—changed the shape of American letters, and the face of American icons. Call it the evolution of an outlaw. Here are the formative experiences that comprise Thompson’s legendary trajectory alongside the weird and the ugly. Whether detailing his exploits as a foreign correspondent in Rio, his job as night manager of the notorious O’Farrell Theatre in San Francisco, his epic run for sheriff of Aspen on the Freak Power ticket, or the sensational legal maneuvering that led to his full acquittal in the famous 99 Days trial, Thompson is at the peak of his narrative powers in Kingdom of Fear. And this boisterous, blistering ride illuminates as never before the professional and ideological risk taking of a literary genius and transgressive icon. Review The Washington Post Thompson's voice still jumps right off the page, as wild, vital and gonzo as ever. Publishers Weekly Rollickingly funny throughout, Thompson's latest proves that the father of gonzo journalism is alive and well. The Washington Post He amuses; he frightens; he flirts with doom. His achievement is substantial. About the Author Hunter S. Thompson was born and raised in Louisville, Kentucky. His books include Hell's Angels, Fear and Loathing at Rolling Stone, Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72, The Rum Diary, and Better than Sex. He died in February 2005. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Kingdom of Fear When the Going Gets Weird, the Weird Turn Pro There are no jokes. Truth is the funniest joke of all. —Muhammad Ali The Mailbox: Louisville, Summer of 1946 My parents were decent people, and I was raised, like my friends, to believe that Police were our friends and protectors—the Badge was a symbol of extremely high authority, perhaps the highest of all. Nobody ever asked why. It was one of those unnatural questions that are better left alone. If you had to ask that, you were sure as hell Guilty of something and probably should have been put behind bars a long time ago. It was a no-win situation. My first face-to-face confrontation with the FBI occurred when I was nine years old. Two grim-looking Agents came to our house and terrified my parents by saying that I was a “prime suspect” in the case of a Federal Mailbox being turned over in the path of a speeding bus. It was a Federal Offense, they said, and carried a five-year prison sentence. “Oh no!” wailed my mother. “Not in prison! That’s insane! He’s only a child. How could he have known?” “The warning is clearly printed on the Mailbox,” said the agent in the gray suit. “He’s old enough to read.” “Not necessarily,” my father said sharply. “How do you know he’s not blind, or a moron?” “Are you a moron, son?” the agent asked me. “Are you blind? Were you just pretending to read that newspaper when we came in?” He pointed to the Louisville Courier-Journal on the couch. “That was only the sports section,” I told him. “I can’t read the other stuff.” “See?” said my father. “I told you he was a moron.” “Ignorance of the law is no excuse,” the brown-suit agent replied. “Tampering with the U.S. Mail is a Federal offense punishable under Federal law. That Mailbox was badly damaged.” Mailboxes were huge, back then. They were heavy green vaults that stood like Roman mile markers at corners on the neighborhood bus routes and were rarely, if ever, moved. I was barely tall enough to reach the Mail-drop slot, much less big enough to turn the bastard over and into the path of a bus. It was
