100 Books Like Leaving Las Vegas

I found this book in college, and at the time, I thought it was the most unique book I had ever read.

Thompson’s “Gonzo Journalism” was fresh, funny, and thought-provoking, with a subtext of modern poetry, political activism, and a sense of humor I have never seen replicated.

This was another true story of someone who suffered a terrible addiction and was able to overcome it. I liked it because Jim was a regular guy and not a celebrity sharing his life story as so many of these book are. It was one of the first books that gave me inspiration to write a book. It also became a movie where Leonardo DeCaprio played Jim Carrol.

Reding’s book on the methamphetamine epidemic in small-town Ohio is distressing but essential. He is exceptional in showing rather than telling how meth is in so many ways the Great American Drug. It makes you work even more maniacally, for one. And the hollowing out of Middle America makes the drug’s proactive nature even more attractive in these forgotten towns and cities. It is painful that the meth scourge might have eased but, as is so often the case, other destructive substances have quickly replaced it. 

Hubert Selby Jr. delivers another dark indictment of life along the outer shores of South Brooklyn, in the form of both this 1978 novel and the grim 2000 film Darren Aronofsky film adaptation (co-written with Selby, with a cameo as prison guard).

The characters of this disturbing drama are as marginalized as the bleak 1970s backdrop they infect. Selby’s prose holds us by the back of the neck as his characters descend down awful spirals of addiction: Sara Goldfarb with her diet pills, and her son Harry, his girlfriend Marion, and his best friend Tyrone, all heroin addicts. Electroconvulsive therapy, reluctant prostitution, and amputation abound, harrowing hallmarks you’d expect from Selby.

For this trip to Coney Island, think more Warriors, less Woody Allen, and buckle up. It’s going to be a spectacularly gruesome ride.

Locations of interest: Coney Island Clam Bar; Brighton Beach Boardwalk; Surf Avenue Second-hand Shops; 3152 Brighton… show more.

Told with unflinching honesty, this dark Japanese classic is often considered a kind of suicide note by its author, who killed himself shortly before its publication.

Whilst I cannot say that I’ve necessarily gone through some of the extreme experiences of its protagonist, I can nevertheless say that I’ve experienced a very similar sense of alienation, which has at times made me feel less than human, making this one of the most relatable books that I have ever read.

Considering its contents, I should probably not tell that to my psychiatrist. I'm just kidding; I don’t have one. However, considering the book’s classic status, it seems that I am far from the only one who relates to its author’s struggles.

It takes courage to name your book that. Especially in the 90s before self-publishing became a thing. Which did not stop its renegade author from selling xeroxed copies of it in the streets.

Its titular protagonist, who is jobless and homeless after his girlfriend kicks him out, is based on the author himself. He struggles with feelings of inadequacy and a sense of purposelessness. He works odd jobs, writes an occasional poem, meets eccentric strangers, engages in substance abuse, and gets into sticky situations on account of his bad decisions.

While I don’t know about you, I can strongly relate to the character. The book's dark humor is also enough to make it one of my favorites.

This book is about a heroin addict. However, you don’t need to be a heroin addict to sympathize with its protagonist’s existential weariness—or ennui, as the French call it. I know I do. After exiting a rehabilitation clinic, he wanders around listlessly, visiting friends and acquaintances, trying to find a reason to go on, yet finding none.

The story may be better known for the excellent film adaptation by Louis Malle—which switches heroin for alcohol—yet the terse and evocative writing of the original novel nevertheless packs a punch. The fact that the protagonist was closely inspired by the author’s friend lends an element of authenticity to it, making his suffering all the more relevant.

The novel’s protagonist is initially successful. Then something or other drives him towards drink, and soon he cannot get enough. His downward spiral is quick. He abandons his morals and starts associating with shady characters, lying, and stealing.

The book’s author, a successful writer in his time, was also a troubled man suffering from morphine addiction and alcoholism. The latter is intimately portrayed in this largely autobiographical novel, which was written in a nazi insane asylum and published posthumously.

Yet despite all the trouble that the novel’s self-destructive protagonist inflicts upon himself, I cannot help but feel sorry for him. He is clearly driven on by some demon he can neither resist nor understand. And some of us, including me, have felt the same.

In my quest to learn about the inner lives of 19th-century prostitutes, I found three memoirs, all gold mines. Demi-mondaines always used a stage name and that’s what the eponymous Madeleine chose. Even though she wasn’t a writer by trade, her story as a young “public woman” in the 1890s is riveting, and heartbreaking. When Madeleine’s autobiography was first published by Harper & Brothers in 1919, it caused a scandal and led to a lawsuit against the publisher. Harper eventually successfully defended itself but still ended up withdrawing the book from circulation. It wouldn’t be available to the public again for nearly 70 years. 

Published by Oxford University Press, Common Women is an academic rather than a popular history of medieval English prostitution, and its author is an expert in medieval sexuality.

I adore the wealth of historical detail founded on original research that Karras presents. It’s a goldmine of inspiration for those of us who write fiction set in medieval England. Where else can you learn about the cross-dressing prostitute John Rykener, the Bishop of Winchester’s brothel empire in Southwark, or discover names like Clarice Clatterballock?