The simplistic cover of Paradise Burning tells you all you need to know. There, amidst the typewriter-looking Courier font that spells out the names of the author and the book, is a five-inch joint. Rolled and twisted to perfection, the lighted spliff gives off intoxicating, signal-like smoke. This is a drug book, plain and simple, from the cultivation editor of High Times, and spread across its 175 pages are caustic, episodic memoirs of Chris Simunek's lows and, uh, highs with the venerable weed magazine.

And, unlike High Times, whose editorial stance is on the fence with anything rougher than marijuana, Simunek will try just about any drug offered him, from acid and whippets to crank and coke. His only patent refusal in Paradise Burning comes when a charlatan shaman invites him to smoke crystallized toad sweat with a select group of followers. It doesn't exactly take a sixth sense to stay away from that junk.

The drug use, though omnipresent and the casue for both this compilation and Simunek's career, is merely a McGuffin. It's the bottom-line catalyst for interactions with low-lifes and Rasafarian leaders alike, for episodes of abuse with Harley enthusiasts at Sturgis and coeds on spring break, for recounted dialogue and narrative both hilarious and disturbing.

This is, like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a "savage journey to the heart of the American dream," and no matter the mind state, Simunek manages to recount the minutae of the moment, to immerse us in modern drug culture. He's a worthy successor to Hunter S. Thompson's brand of gonzo journalism, just as willing to go into the trenches but twice as accessible, more an everyman than a psychotic.

Simunek sets the mood in his 12-page prologue, which recounts the "dark days" before he was paid to travel the world, get baked and pick Bongs of the Month. His original profession? High-school teacher in New York, where he dealt with miscreants who would bang their desks and chant, "We want blunts!" ("You and me both," he replies, and you realize the bond of pot-smoking isn't quite as universal as you might have thought.) His "in" with the High Times editors turns out to be less than romantic -- Simunek played in a band with the assistant art director -- but it's all the connection he needs to take the opportunity and bolt with it.

Then come the episodic chapters, which all more or less tell the "stories behind the stories" of his early High Times pieces. They're arranged in chronological order and, as such, give you a window into Simunek's life and progression of drug use. And, while the subjects range in terms of personal interest (i.e. you may not share his desire to "find the real Bob Marley" or attend a Sex Pistols reunion concert), Simunek's narrative never lags. Some of the chapters I was tempted to skip over on my first reading of the book (in 1998) have since become favorites.

I recommend Paradise Burning to anyone with a strong sense of humor, with a fascination for American culture and with an odd obsession for contemporary autobiography. As I've said in most of my recent book reviews, this is the type of writing I'm most passionate about, and it's the kind I enjoy reading most.

Simunek's tome isn't strictly autobiographical, but like me, he believes true journalism means living first, interacting with your subjects and faithfully writing about it later. You'll get the better story if you interview through human conversation and not like an @sshole with a reporter's notebook in one hand and a fedora with a "press" card in the brim. If that means smoking up with the "dirt farmer" and infiltrating a corporate heavy-metal comeback seminar, so be it.

You don't have to be a pothead or junkie of any kind to fully enjoy Paradise Burning, but if you've been there and done that (i.e. inhaled -- say, right before cracking open the book), it sure wouldn't hurt.



Recommended: Yes