The Undertow: Scenes from a Slow Civil War

The Undertow goes deep and wide into an America I would really like to understand.Sharlet’s journey to the root of the January 6 insurrection, to rallies, revivals, streets, and back country homes waving flags and armed for war is a pilgrimage I am personally unwilling to take. But I appreciate it. I appreciate the search, inquiry, engagement, witness. He offers a non-editorialized portrait, often painful to slog through, saving his opinion for punctuation, for moments of insight and the barest grace and wit.“It wasn’t so much the fists and flagpoles that did the breaking on January 6 as it was the myths that propel them. The insurrectionists call such stories ‘research,’ and believe each soul must Google their own.”Many storylines are woven throughout—some I knew nothing about, like the riots in Peekskill, Henry Belafonte’s relationship with MLK, the attempts at blacklisting The Weavers (not sure where I’ve been). One theme in The Undertow is part homage to his teacher Michael Lesy’s Wisconsin Death Trip, originally published as a pamphlet chronicling 1885-1900 in words and pictures, and according to Wikipedia, “emphasizes the harsh aspects of Midwestern rural life under the pressures of crime, pestilence, mental illness, and urbanization.” But the cognitive dissonance between the Victorian dead baby pics in Wisconsin Death Trip, which, while creepy, grow on you as tender gestures, and the technicolor aborted fetuses paraded in front of unsuspecting passersby, is stark, irreconcilable. The passion, resignation, assuredness, and commitment of groups and individuals he surveys and portrays remains, for me, a bitter pill and counter to a belief in a humanity that is more or less concerned with the well-being of fellow humans. (I’m basically Pollyanna on the MSCEIT. Sorry not sorry.)In his earlier This Brilliant Darkness, Sharlet envelops the central narrative of the death of Charley Keunang in a range of portraits—in words and pictures—of individuals he meets in the margins and night travels in cultural underbellies. The terrible beauty of the duality of “brilliant” and “darkness” make it easier to get out of bed each day. The Undertow is harder, it is a rip tide. But as swimmers know (I learned the hard way), you just have to swim parallel to the coast for a bit before heading back to shore.I don’t know if the color pictures and pleasing paper stock in This Brilliant Darkness make it easier. I’m left wondering how purposeful the small black and white images in The Undertow are—if they are presented murkily for a reason, physically hard to see (the magazine excerpts are in color, and certainly provide a markedly different reading experience). The subject matter is clearly darker. But he does offer some light—his father’s last words (“It’s. Been. Wonderful.” Spoken slowly, in 3 separate breaths), the boldness of Wisconsin teens, his astute observations, places where many souls’ reason shines through the research’s proverbial crack.

The rhetoric of Civil War was definitely present on January 6th, 2021, when a contingent of Americans tried to reverse an unfavorable election. But journalist Jeff Sharlet believes such rhetoric percolated long before and after that day. Sharlet believes Americans have long harbored a strange bipartisan longing for a violent purgation of our body politic. Maybe, he implies, it’s already begun; we just haven’t noticed yet.So Sharlet seeks the front lines of that elusive conflict. He seeks them in history and art, including a rare sit-down interview with Harry Belafonte, focusing not on his epoch-making music, but on his political activism. He seeks the front lines in politics, embedding himself in Trump rallies in 2016, when Trump was new and exciting, and in 2020, when even his followers didn’t bother denying his racism.But most importantly, from a journalist most famous for award-winning investigations into the dangerous intersections of religion and power, he seeks America’s front lines in places of faith. This usually means churches, especially White Evangelical Christian churches, many of which have entrusted their message to American power. But it also means anything Americans treat religiously, not only believing its truth, but speaking its liturgy.Sharlet sees religion in places one wouldn’t necessarily consider sacred. He’s hardly the first observer to notice that Donald Trump’s campaign rhetoric resembles Prosperity Gospel preachers like Joel Osteen. But Sharlet parses Trump’s verbal cadences to find their tent-revival origins. Trump’s speeches baffle outsiders while leaving True Believers energized because, Sharlet insists, that’s what they’re designed to do. Like a snake-handling preacher, Trumpian language separates insiders from The World.He also sees irreligion in places ordinarily associated with belief. He finds churches unwelcoming places, dominated by Trump apologia and calls for uprising. An armed security guard threatens Sharlet outside an Omaha storefront congregation. (Here, Sharlet’s choices shine through. Though he assertively notes the Omaha congregation is integrated, students of religious history will notice the thread unifying the churches Sharlet targets for scrutiny: not Christianity, but Whiteness.)Religious language and religious analysis come naturally to Sharlet. Though culturally Jewish, and having no particular personal faith, he’s immersed himself in American religious discourse for twenty years or more. He sees the tacit patterns within language and action which, to outsiders, appear like meaningless word salad. He shows readers how the moments that appear disconnected are actually part of a whole. And what he shows is pretty disconcerting.If he were louder and more frenetic, like Tom Wolfe or Hunter S. Thompson, we might easily mistake Sharlet for a Gonzo journalist. Like those famous personalities, he inserts himself bodily into the unfolding narrative. He also doesn’t flinch from candidly taking sides. While observing Occupy Wall Street, he sleeps in a Zuccotti Park encampment. When investigating Pastor Rich Wilkerson’s made-for-TV ministry, he meanders from a boring service.This book’s centerpiece is a 120-page travelogue that combines journalism with memoir. Sharlet starts at a memorial rally for Ashli Babbitt, the January 6th casualty whom critics call a domestic terrorist, and True Believers call a martyr. Then he drives back across America, stopping at various churches, monuments, and sites of conservative pilgrimage, including Representative Lauren Boebert’s now-defunct open carry restaurant. He interviews anybody willing to talk to a journalist.Partway through the travelogue, though, Sharlet admits he has ulterior motives for this journey. In his glove compartment, he has his own sacred talisman: his stepmother’s ashes, which he wants to distribute at various key locations. For Sharlet, this journey is a contrast between the America which his stepmother (and tacitly, he himself) loved, and wanted to be part of after her death, and another, uglier America, pugnacious and vulgar.That duality permeates Sharlet’s book. There’s an America of great natural beauty and community solidarity, an America where youth eagerly organize to defend their rights following the Dobbs decision, even at great personal cost, simply because it’s right. Then there’s a counter-America, which mounts counter-protests against the organized youth, because their entire identity revolves around identifying enemies who need to be beaten. Even when those “enemies” are their neighbors.Sharlet’s narrative seems disconnected at first. Some incidents he relates are almost a decade old and tangential to his themes. But ultimately, he brings it together, mostly. His narrative contains both national importance and personal struggle—as, indeed, does everybody’s anymore. His closing chapters leave some loose ends unresolved, in a most un-journalistic way that leaves me itchy. But overall, he brings us through an America with a freighted future.

Sharlet’s eloquent writing, thoughtful commentary and enlightening digressions combine for an engaging if disturbing read. I appreciate that he goes where I cannot, and is at least willing to try talking to folks who often seem as if they have left reality behind.This book is many things: photo-essays, travelogue, political dispatches, as well as personal meditations on family, life, and loss. It’s one of the best chronicles of our current political and cultural condition I’ve read in the last few years, helped greatly by Sharlet’s ability to combine reportage and self-insight with the practiced tools of a creative writer. I highly recommend it and look forward to seeing what Sharlet comes up with next.

excellent book re content and style in excellent, near-new condition. i'm keeping it. however, it seems to have been read previously, 4 or 5 passages lightly underlined in pencil so far by page 90. i recall it was described as new when ordered.

Good product.

I was hoping for more insight into the influences that turned so many Americans into Trumpists. Instead the author gives us snapshots of crackpots. Lots of them. Sharlet meets his subjects at right wing mega church services, political rallies and on the road, but he doesn’t take us deep enough into the lives of the people he encounters. An hour at a church service, a couple of hours at a Trump rally, a quick stop to take a few photos with characters who have Trump flags and signs oh their front lawns. Why not slow down a bit, spend the time and effort to really get to know these odd people? His journey is like a road rally to tick off boxes before a rush to the next destination. This book should have been better.

This book shows the intersectionality of the fascist movement emerging out of US Christian Nationalism in a way that adds humanity to the stereotype.Being from Scotland it was fascinating to have my own prejudices about the US far right challenged, and at the same time have some of my fears about US fascism reinforced.Thoroughly enjoyed reading this book, highly recommended.Chris, Glasgow.