I don't understand why this book is so widely beloved, and I certainly don't get the idolization of Ken Kesey. I can't help but wonder—am I missing something that makes this novel so good? I find Wolfe's writing style obnoxious as fuck. The unique writing and voice was fun for the first few chapters, but it soon became so grating that I can hardly get through a single page. It gives me a headache:::: I f-f-f-f-f-find it so incredibly ANNOYING.
The Merry Pranksters come across as pretentious, childish, and insufferable. Is that the point? Is it supposed to be satirical, showing how pretentious they all are? Reading this in 2024, it's hard to be impressed or intrigued by this group of people. They're all middle-class white kids who abandoned their comfy suburban lives to get high on acid and just be annoying, claiming that LSD is the new and only path to spiritual nirvana.
And their affinity with the Hells Angels… what the fuck? I live in San Francisco, and no one here has any respect for them or the awful legacy they have in the Bay Area. They're racist, sexist, homophobic assholes tripping on their own toxic and fragile masculinity. Why did the Merry Pranksters even associate with them if they were supposed to embody the peace, love, and unity vibes of the '60s? I can barely read the sections with them in it because I know what awful people they are.
I can't stand the pretentiousness and sanctimoniousness of Ken Kesey, along with his obviously inflated ego. The whole book feels like a circle jerk about how amazing, prophetic, and brilliant he is. But what did he even do? He gave people advice and would say the most random stuff that was devoid of any meaning or substance. Most of the time, what he'd say didn't make sense, yet people still oogled over him. The whole group acts like they're better than society, more attuned to the universe and don't fall for the trap of American consumerism and capitalism, yet they blindly worship this guy who just trips out in the middle of the Redwood forest.
His speech, or whatever you want to call it, at the anti-Vietnam War protest in Berkeley is whack. Imagine if someone went to a Palestine protest today and said, "No, look, the issue is that we're paying attention to the war and thus giving the military forces what they WANT. What we need to do is just turn our backs on the whole thing and pretend it isn't happening. Then it will end!" If some guy tripping on acid said that at an anti-war protest today, he'd probably get laid out. The whole sentiment is like, "Yeah, man, let's stick it to the man by getting fucked up and painting a bus with some neon paint. That'll do it!"
If Tom Wolfe is self-aware and the book is intended as a criticism of hippie counterculture and how mind-numbingly pretentious all of the Merry Pranksters were, then I get its appeal. But damn, it is hard to slog through a book about suburban, middle-class white kids talking about how groovy it is to tune in, drop out, and preach about how acid is the only way toward spiritual ENLIGHTENMENT::: and whatever else the f-f-f-fuck they ramble on about.
It's the kind of book I might have found fascinating as a 16-year-old who had never dropped acid or done any hard drugs. Michael Pollan, James Fadiman, and Aldous Huxley are much better and more convincing about the cultural phenomenon and potential benefits of psychedelics.
What am I missing? Why are people so wowed by this book?
by Dumbledore27