My favorite books with a gritty psychedelic worldview

I grew up in rural Ireland, so not exactly the gritty urban Scotland of Welsh’s novel, but the first thing that struck me about the book was its savage, semi-feral, intensely real Scottish dialect. I’d never seen anything quite like it in print.

The prose feels almost illegal, a ne’er-do-well that has simply decided to break into the publishing house and force its way onto the page without anyone’s permission. I didn’t consciously plan to steal this technique for my own novel, but how could I not endorse it?

Welsh has written more explicitly psychedelic works, but this book remains for me his masterwork, underscoring how, in many ways, his protagonist Renton’s life is at its weirdest when he tries to get sober.  

Many could argue that picking the most mind-bending Philip K. Dick book is an impossible task. His imagination spawned some of the best science fiction books of his era, which inspired several groundbreaking films (Bladerunner, Total Recall, Minority Report, etc.) I agree: it’s impossible to pick one.

But I love this book because it explores an intriguing idea from drug-induced psychosis—that of cross-chatter, or the notion that the brain’s two hemispheres can keep secrets from each other. The story follows the hapless Bob Arctor, an undercover narcotics agent trying to spy on himself and his junkie friends who are addicted to the mysterious Substance D. 

Dick conjures a mesmeric psychedelic tale, at turns hilarious, unnerving, and a poignant farewell to real-life addict friends who died too soon.  

Thompson’s work is synonymous with the term “gonzo journalism,” and so technically, this isn’t exactly a novel. It’s not really journalism in the normal sense, either. It lives in a weird bardo state between psychedelic delusion and incisive political critique.

What I most appreciate about Thompson’s prose is how, no matter his state of mind during his reportage, he never lets up on his intense commitment to capture every observation—no matter how lurid, terrifying, or dismaying it may be. In this regard, he’s the ideal journalist: rigorously honest with the reader, even when he’s meticulously charting his own downward spiral into chaos.   

As a young man, Ken Kesey worked as an orderly in a psychiatric ward and participated in CIA-funded hallucinogen studies conducted in the hospital. Looking out at the patients and nurses, he wondered what separated them.

What emerged from those experiences is the mesmeric narrator of his first book: the giant, Chief, sees the world through a terrifying poetic lens. Observant and cunning, he perceives all the forces of authority and conformity as a single machine he calls “The Combine.”

Kesey’s novel is a fable about the power of the individual to oppose any coercive larger force, even if victory isn’t certain. It’s dark, unflinching, and profoundly on the side of the freaks.    

This title is the anomaly on my list. For one, it’s a collection of short stories rather than a standalone work. Also, there’s no overt psychedelia in it.

Nevertheless, I wanted to include it because many of the best stories in this collection have a gritty realism in them that gives way suddenly to moments of intense grace and spiritual insight. That insight may come in the form of brain damage after a boxing fight gone wrong, treatment for terminal cancer, or some other seemingly unfortunate turn.

But Jones has a gift for crafting vibrant, larger-than-life characters who know how to squeeze every drop out of vivid, absurd existence.