I’ll gladly admit I’m probably too stupid to see the genius that Burroughs created with this book, but I just don’t see it. A series of incoherent ramblings from a drug-addled mind published in order to blur the boundary between art and obscenity that just don’t stand the test of time. 50+ years ago, this work was shocking, but now????? Notsamuch. Writing that was supposed to make me go mad or at the very least make me
only caused me to wonder why I continued wasting my time on this book instead of moving on to one of the other 17,000,000 on my to-read list.
In my opinion, if you want to read something from a – how should I put it – um, “medicinally inspired” author, then pick up some Hunter S. Thompson and close the door on Burroughs.