Counterculture is a dirty word. Instead of diluting the influence of social pressures on individuality, the counter-culture imposes a new hegemony on those who don’t belong to the mainstream. It is composed of its own ideals and standards and, under the guise of rebellion, pushes for an even more rigid social structure than the one it opposes. So, when modern-day hipsters buy a new pair of Levi’s 510s, countercultural pressures also try to influence their musical taste, their diet, and many other aspects of their life. On top of all that, they’re even being told how to read.
Drug authors are notorious for getting the endorsements from various contemporary counter-cultures. Some of the trendiest youths passionately stand behind the likes of William S. Burroughs, Charles Bukowski, Hunter S. Thompson, and the whole Beat generation for their unique portrayal of and response to the human condition. But can contemporary readers genuinely relate to these authors’ struggles? And why do they want to, exactly?
Burroughs’s Naked Lunch, which has literary significance for its obscene and often controversial depiction of the narrator’s struggle with drug addiction, is an obligatory text for the Urban Outfitters crowd. But it’s not being marketed as a vivid portrayal of a broken man dealing with his individual struggle. And it’s not being explicitly marketed as a text with literary significance. It’s being a marketed as a t-shirt. Wear Naked Lunch.
Charles Bukowski wrote novels that more or less revolve around the character of Bukowski: an aggressive alcoholic and aggressive womanizer with an aggressive lack of work ethic (his gravestone reads “Don’t Try”).
Some readers may find that they can relate to the semi-autobiographical anti-hero from Ham on Rye through their own struggles in adolescence, but others are likely to be taken in by his ideals. Alcoholism: it’s cool, it’s hip, it’s fine, try it out. As a matter of fact, buy Factotum and they may just throw in a free flask.
The authors themselves are not at fault for the movements that popularize their works. Alcoholism apparently worked fine for Charles Bukowski, and he managed to write prose that did a hell of a job expressing the struggles that he faced. In a similar way, Burroughs and heroin go together like a small child and lollipops.
But when members of a culture market these authors’ works to consumers as if they describe an acceptable way of life—and glorify the authors themselves rather than the literary merits of their texts— they are potentially influencing others to blindly indulge in negligent behaviors.
This is not an argument against the merits of drug authors, and this is not an argument against the use of drugs. But we should acknowledge that today’s counterculture is all too capable of encouraging its members to adopt the lifestyle of the self-destructive authors it esteems. Go ahead, do drugs if you’d like, but please have a better justification than having read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
You can ask Jim about his favorite author’s favorite substance of choice at jmcgrory@georgetownvoice.com
