Archive for March, 2007

Gonzo Journalism, a Response to My Father

In a brief email exchange over the past couple of days, my father has expressed curiosity at the style of writing I employed in a recently published piece. The following is my response to his questions as to the appropriateness and indications of Gonzo Journalism.

Having read a fair bit of Hunter S. Thompson’s work, I wouldn’t say that he used Gonzo journalism as a tool to point out problems with objective journalism, so much as he used it to completely avoid the pretense of objectivity. I think his philosophy was that journalism is irrelevant if it doesn’t spring from a personal invested interest in a story. As such, his work is effective because he frames the events of the stories in the context of his own personal investment in them. The result is a biased article, but one that often is able to penetrate the heart of the issue at hand.

His most famous work is “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” a bristling account of his infiltration of a law enforcement convention on narcotics while at the same time claiming to be on a myriad of illicit substances (including, but not limited to: ether, mescaline, cocaine, marijuana, and LSD. It’s a wonder he lived long enough to shoot himself in the head.). His point, obviously, was that the police were oblivious and that the greater law enforcement community was unable to grasp the extent of the drug culture in the early ’70s.

So, to answer your first question, it’s not so much a matter of appropriate material for Gonzo journalism, as a choice to on the one hand attempt to report an unbiased, impersonal account of an event, or on the other hand invest in the event personally and assess the result. Hence it’s label as experimental journalism.

As far as clues or indications of Gonzo style, the first and most glaring would be the presence of the personal pronoun “I”. In hard news, the journalist is a disembodied voice. The personal pronoun will occur in any number of styles of journalism, including human interest, editorial, etc. So it isn’t exactly a fool-proof indicator, but it will help you distinguish between an attempt at objectivity and a personal story. This is a fairly simple clue.

A slightly more subtle red flag might be that the story feels more like a narrative and less like a news brief. In your typical hard news article, the most pertinent information will be divulged within the first few paragraphs. In Gonzo journalism, the construct of the story is entirely dependent on the theme or thesis the author intends for it to communicate. Thus, you will often find at some point, a distinct tendency for the author to extrapolate personal insights to his audience without any apology for the forthrightness of his or her approach.

Once you have identified these clues, I would look for the central theme or aim of the piece, and disregard some of the smaller, more negligible details of the story. This may be difficult to swallow as someone who finds themselves dedicated to the love and discovery of truth. However, in this style of journalism, the truth isn’t in the details, but in the point of contact with the reader (whether that point is the personal insight, the statement made, or simply a connection to the characters in the story, is entirely up to the reader.)

Gonzo journalism falls neatly into a fairly contemporary critical theory of literature called “Reader Response,” which asserts that the burden of interpretation and, by consequence, significance of a given literary (or really any artistic) work falls primarily upon the reader. Once the author of the work has completed and put his or her work into the public eye, it is fair game. Clearly, there are certain inalienable truths and unequivocal points which exist. However, the manner in which these are absorbed by the reader are colored by personal experience and will therefore differ from person to person. Rather than attempting to make universal sense out of a multi-faceted artistic experience, Reader Response theory embraces the diversity and allows for personal divergences in the affect and interpretation of any given work.

I suppose I’ve rambled on for long enough. Hopefully this is a jumping off point for you. If you’re interested in reading any Thompson, I’ll try to get my copy back from xxxxx for you to borrow.

“Stranger than Fiction” vs. Suspension of Disbelief

At the behest of a number of my friends and relations, I finally got around to watching Stranger than Fiction. It’s worth checking out if you haven’t seen it.

Stranger than Fiction

However, I am constantly beguiled by the general acceptance of mediocrity into the canon of great works. It seems that all one has to do is acknowledge the fact that you know your work is mediocre and viola, you’re a genius.

The entire narrative of the movie is a cut and paste amalgam of tidbits from stereotypical phenomena that fall quite neatly into the categories it so cleverly attempts to undermine. While the film is attempting to send positive messages about the quality of life (and/or pancakes) within the framework of a semi-tragic comedy, all it really succeeds in doing is retelling us the same story we’ve been sold a million times before. Namely, the answer to all your problems is to “live your life,” which is about as useful as the psychotherapist near the beginning of the movie telling Harold “trees are trees.” Oh, and then you’ll get the girl.

Dustin Hoffman

All of this is neatly framed in the context of a writer’s struggle with block, yet another worn out and exceedingly transparent metaphor. I should say, it is well photographed, and the subtlety of the special effects is refreshing, and the acting is excellent. But in the end, the script is just “ok”.

Emma Thompson

The thing that gets me is that the author seems to think that by acknowledging this at the end in a conversation between the professor and the writer, he has absolved himself of responsibility for it’s mediocrity. As if by owning up to all of the conventions he has used makes it permissible for him to do so glaringly and unsparingly.

It’s not just this film in particular I’m indignant about. Another notable example of this type of thinking in the literary realm is Dave Eggers’ A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, a self-referential novel if I’ve ever read one.

It seems that my generation is spawning a breed of artists with enormous creative potential and absolutely nothing to say. These stories are well told and at times they are riveting and heartbreaking, but I feel unfulfilled at their finish, in no small part because I have not been spared the details of the creator’s methodology.

I don’t think willing suspension of disbelief has gone the way of the buffalo, at least not yet.