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The Great Fall 2024 Book Preview
With the arrival of autumn comes a deluge of great books. Here you'll find a sampling of new and forthcoming titles that caught our eye here at The Millions, and that we think might catch yours, too. Some we’ve already perused in galley form; others we’re eager to devour based on their authors, plots, or subject matters. We hope your next fall read is among them.
—Sophia Stewart, editor
October
Season of the Swamp by Yuri Herrera, tr. Lisa Dillman [F]
What it is: An epic, speculative account of the 18 months that Benito Juárez spent in New Orleans in 1853-54, years before he became the first and only Indigenous president of Mexico.
Who it's for: Fans of speculative history; readers who appreciate the magic that swirls around any novel set in New Orleans. —Claire Kirch
The Black Utopians by Aaron Robertson [NF]
What it is: An exploration of Black Americans' pursuit and visions of utopia—both ideological and physical—that spans the Reconstruction era to the present day and combines history, memoir, and reportage.
Who it's for: Fans of Saidiya Hartman's Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments and Kristen R. Ghodsee's Everyday Utopia. —Sophia M. Stewart
The Third Realm by Karl Ove Knausgaard, tr. Martin Aitken [F]
What it is: The third installment in Knausgaard's Morning Star series, centered on the appearance of a mysterious new star in the skies above Norway.
Who it's for: Real Knausgaard heads only—The Wolves of Eternity and Morning Star are required reading for this one. —SMS
Brown Women Have Everything by Sayantani Dasgupta [NF]
What it is: Essays on the contradictions and complexities of life as an Indian woman in America, probing everything from hair to family to the joys of travel.
Who it's for: Readers of Durga Chew-Bose, Erika L. Sánchez, and Tajja Isen. —SMS
The Plot Against Native America by Bill Vaughn [F]
What it is: The first narrative history of Native American boarding schools— which aimed "civilize" Indigenous children by violently severing them from their culture— and their enduring, horrifying legacy.
Who it's for: Readers of Ned Blackhawk and Kathleen DuVal. —SMS
The Mighty Red by Louise Erdrich [F]
What it is: Erdrich's latest novel set in North Dakota's Red River Valley is a tale of the intertwined lives of ordinary people striving to survive and even thrive in their rural community, despite environmental upheavals, the 2008 financial crisis, and other obstacles.
Who it's for: Readers of cli-fi; fans of Linda LeGarde Grover and William Faulkner. —CK
The Position of Spoons by Deborah Levy [NF]
What it is: The second book from Levy in as many years, diverging from a recent streak of surrealist fiction with a collection of essays marked by exceptional observance and style.
Who it's for: Close lookers and the perennially curious. —John H. Maher
The Bog Wife by Kay Chronister [F]
What it's about: The Haddesley family has lived on the same West Virginia bog for centuries, making a supernatural bargain with the land—a generational blood sacrifice—in order to do so—until an uncovered secret changes everything.
Who it's for: Readers of Karen Russell and Jeff VanderMeer; anyone who has ever used the phrase "girl moss." —SMS
The Great When by Alan Moore [F]
What it's about: When an 18-year old book reseller comes across a copy of a book that shouldn’t exist, it threatens to upend not just an already post-war-torn London, but reality as we know it.
Who it's for: Anyone looking for a Sherlock Holmes-style mystery dipped in thaumaturgical psychedelia. —Daniella Fishman
The Message by Ta-Nehisi Coates [NF]
What it's about: One of our sharpest critical thinkers on social justice returns to nonfiction, nearly a decade after Between the World and Me, visiting Dakar, to contemplate enslavement and the Middle Passage; Columbia, S.C., as a backdrop for his thoughts on Jim Crow and book bans; and the Israeli-occupied West Bank, where he sees contemporary segregation in the treatment of Palestinians.
Who it’s for: Fans of James Baldwin, George Orwell, and Angela Y. Davis; readers of Nikole Hannah-Jones’s The 1619 Project and Isabel Wilkerson’s Caste, to name just a few engagements with national and racial identity. —Nathalie op de Beeck
Abortion by Jessica Valenti [NF]
What it is: Columnist and memoirist Valenti, who tracks pro-choice advocacy and attacks on the right to choose in her Substack, channels feminist rage into a guide for freedom of choice advocacy.
Who it’s for: Readers of Robin Marty’s The New Handbook for a Post-Roe America, #ShoutYourAbortion proponents, and followers of Jennifer Baumgartner’s [I Had an Abortion] project. —NodB
Gifted by Suzuki Suzumi, tr. Allison Markin Powell [F]
What it's about: A young sex worker in Tokyo's red-light district muses on her life and recounts her abusive mother's final days, in what is Suzuki's first novel to be translated into English.
Who it's for: Readers of Susan Boyt and Mieko Kanai; fans of moody, introspective fiction; anyone with a fraught relationship to their mother. —SMS
Childish Literature by Alejandro Zambra, tr. Megan McDowell [F]
What it is: A wide-ranging collection of stories, essays, and poems that explore childhood, fatherhood, and family.
Who it's for: Fans of dad lit (see: Lucas Mann's Attachments, Keith Gessen's Raising Raffi, Karl Ove Knausgaard's seasons quartet, et al). —SMS
Books Are Made Out of Books ed. Michael Lynn Crews [NF]
What it is: A mining of the archives of the late Cormac McCarthy with a focus on the famously tight-lipped author's literary influences.
Who it's for: Anyone whose commonplace book contains the words "arquebus," "cordillera," or "vinegaroon." —JHM
Slaveroad by John Edgar Wideman [F]
What it is: A blend of memoir, fiction, and history that charts the "slaveroad" that runs through American history, spanning the Atlantic slave trade to the criminal justice system, from the celebrated author of Brothers and Keepers.
Who it's for: Fans of Clint Smith and Ta-Nehisi Coates. —SMS
Linguaphile by Julie Sedivy [NF]
What it's about: Linguist Sedivy reflects on a life spent loving language—its beauty, its mystery, and the essential role it plays in human existence.
Who it's for: Amateur (or professional) linguists; fans of the podcast A Way with Words (me). —SMS
An Image of My Name Enters America by Lucy Ives [NF]
What it is: A collection of interrelated essays that connect moments from Ives's life to larger questions of history, identity, and national fantasy,
Who it's for: Fans of Ives, one of our weirdest and most wondrous living writers—duh; anyone with a passing interest in My Little Pony, Cold War–era musicals, or The Three Body Problem, all of which are mined here for great effect. —SMS
Women's Hotel by Daniel Lavery [F]
What it is: A novel set in 1960s New York City, about the adventures of the residents of a hotel providing housing for young women that is very much evocative of the real-life legendary Barbizon Hotel.
Who it's for: Readers of Mary McCarthy's The Group and Rona Jaffe's The Best of Everything. —CK
The World in Books by Kenneth C. Davis [NF]
What it is: A guide to 52 of the most influential works of nonfiction ever published, spanning works from Plato to Ida B. Wells, bell hooks to Barbara Ehrenreich, and Sun Tzu to Joan Didion.
Who it's for: Lovers of nonfiction looking to cover their canonical bases. —SMS
Blue Light Hours by Bruna Dantas Lobato [F]
What it's about: Through the emanating blue-glow of their computer screens, a mother and daughter, four-thousand miles apart, find solace and loneliness in their nightly Skype chats in this heartstring-pulling debut.
Who it's for: Someone who needs to be reminded to CALL YOUR MOTHER! —DF
Riding Like the Wind by Iris Jamahl Dunkle [NF]
What it is: The biography of Sanora Babb, a contemporary of John Steinbeck's whose field notes and interviews with Dust Bowl migrants Steinbeck relied upon to write The Grapes of Wrath.
Who it's for: Steinbeck fans and haters alike; readers of Kristin Hannah's The Four Winds and the New York Times Overlooked column; anyone interested in learning more about the Dust Bowl migrants who fled to California hoping for a better life. —CK
Innie Shadows by Olivia M. Coetzee [F]
What it is: a work of crime fiction set on the outskirts of Cape Town, where a community marred by violence seeks justice and connection; also the first novel to be translated from Kaaps, a dialect of Afrikaans that was until recently only a spoken language.
Who it's for: fans of sprawling, socioeconomically-attuned crime dramas a la The Wire. —SMS
Dorothy Parker in Hollywood by Gail Crowther [NF]
What it is: A history of the famous wit—and famous New Yorker—in her L.A. era, post–Algonquin Round Table and mid–Red Scare.
Who it's for: Owners of a stack of hopelessly dog-eared Joan Didion paperbacks. —JHM
The Myth of American Idealism by Noam Chomsky and Nathan J. Robinson [NF]
What it is: A potent critique of the ideology behind America's foreign interventions and its status as a global power, and an treatise on how the nation's hubristic pursuit of "spreading democracy" threatens not only the delicate balance of global peace, but the already-declining health of our planet.
Who it's for: Chomskyites; policy wonks and casual critics of American recklessness alike. —DF
Mysticism by Simon Critchley [NF]
What it is: A study of mysticism—defined as an experience, rather than religious practice—by the great British philosopher Critchley, who mines music, poetry, and literature along the way.
Who it's for: Readers of John Gray, Jorge Luis Borges, and Simone Weil. —SMS
Q&A by Adrian Tomine [NF]
What it is: The Japanese American creator of the Optic Nerve comic book series for D&Q, and of many a New Yorker cover, shares his personal history and his creative process in this illustrated unburdening.
Who it’s for: Readers of Tomine’s melancholic, sometimes cringey, and occasionally brutal collections of comics short stories including Summer Blonde, Shortcomings, and Killing and Dying. —NodB
Sonny Boy by Al Pacino [NF]
What it is: Al Pacino's memoir—end of description.
Who it's for: Cinephiles; anyone curious how he's gonna spin fumbling Diane Keaton. —SMS
Seeing Baya by Alice Kaplan [NF]
What it is: The first biography of the enigmatic and largely-forgotten Algerian artist Baya Mahieddine, who first enchanted midcentury Paris as a teenager.
Who it's for: Admirers of Leonora Carrington, Hilma af Klint, Frida Kahlo, and other belatedly-celebrated women painters. —SMS
Absolution by Jeff VanderMeer [F]
What it is: A surprise return to the Area X, the stretch of unforbidding and uncanny coastline in the hit Southern Reach trilogy.
Who it's for: Anyone who's heard this song and got the reference without Googling it. —JHM
The Four Horsemen by Nick Curtola [NF]
What it is: The much-anticipated cookbook from the team behind Brooklyn's hottest restaurant (which also happens to be co-owned by James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem).
Who it's for: Oenophiles; thirty-somethings who live in north Williamsburg (derogatory). —SMS
Seeing Further by Esther Kinsky, tr. Caroline Schmidt [F]
What it's about: An unnamed German woman embarks on the colossal task of reviving a cinema in a small Hungarian village.
Who it's for: Fans of Jenny Erpenbeck; anyone charmed by Cinema Paradiso (not derogatory!). —SMS
Ripcord by Nate Lippens [NF]
What it's about: A novel of class, sex, friendship, and queer intimacy, written in delicious prose and narrated by a gay man adrift in Milwaukee.
Who it's for: Fans of Brontez Purnell, Garth Greenwell, Alexander Chee, and Wayne Koestenbaum. —SMS
The Use of Photography by Annie Ernaux and Marc Marie, tr. Alison L. Strayer [NF]
What it's about: Ernaux's love affair with Marie, a journalist, while she was undergoing treatment for cancer, and their joint project to document their romance.
Who it's for: The Ernaux hive, obviously; readers of Sontag's On Photography and Janet Malcolm's Still Pictures. —SMS
Nora Ephron at the Movies by Ilana Kaplan [NF]
What it is: Kaplan revisits Nora Ephron's cinematic watersheds—Silkwood, Heartburn, When Harry Met Sally, You've Got Mail, and Sleepless in Seattle—in this illustrated book. Have these iconic stories, and Ephron’s humor, weathered more than 40 years?
Who it’s for: Film history buffs who don’t mind a heteronormative HEA; listeners of the Hot and Bothered podcast; your coastal grandma. —NodB
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The Philosophy of Translation by Damion Searls [NF]
What it is: A meditation on the act and art of translation by one of today's most acclaimed practitioners, best known for his translations of Fosse, Proust, et al.
Who it's for: Regular readers of Words Without Borders and Asymptote; professional and amateur literary translators alike. —SMS
Salvage by Dionne Brand
What it is: A penetrating reevaluation of the British literary canon and the tropes once shaped Brand's reading life and sense of self—and Brand’s first major work of nonfiction since her landmark A Map to the Door of No Return.
Who it's for: Readers of Christina Sharpe's Ordinary Notes and Elizabeth Hardwick's Seduction and Betrayal. —SMS
Masquerade by Mike Fu [F]
What it's about: Housesitting for an artist friend in present-day New York, Meadow Liu stumbles on a novel whose author shares his name—the first of many strange, haunting happenings that lead up to the mysterious disappearance of Meadow's friend.
Who it's for: fans of Ed Park and Alexander Chee. —SMS
November
The Beggar Student by Osamu Dazai, tr. Sam Bett [F]
What it is: A novella in the moody vein of Dazai’s acclaimed No Longer Human, following the 30-something “fictional” Dazai into another misadventure spawned from a hubristic spat with a high schooler.
Who it's for: Longtime readers of Dazai, or new fans who discovered the midcentury Japanese novelist via TikTok and the Bungo Stray Dogs anime. —DF
In Thrall by Jane DeLynn [F]
What it is: A landmark lesbian bildungsroman about 16-year-old Lynn's love affair with her English teacher, originally published in 1982.
Who it's for: Fans of Joanna Russ's On Strike Against God and Edmund White's A Boy's Own Story —SMS
Washita Love Child by Douglas Kent Miller [NF]
What it is: The story of Jesse Ed Davis, the Indigenous musician who became on of the most sought after guitarists of the late '60s and '70s, playing alongside B.B. King, Bob Dylan, John Lennon, and more.
Who it's for: readers of music history and/or Indigenous history; fans of Joy Harjo, who wrote the foreword. —SMS
Set My Heart on Fire by Izumi Suzuki, tr. Helen O'Horan [F]
What it is: Gritty, sexy, and wholly rock ’n’ roll, Suzuki’s first novel translated into English (following her story collection, Hit Parade of Tears) follows 20-year-old Izumi navigating life, love, and music in the underground scene in '70s Japan.
Who it's for: Fans of Meiko Kawakami, Ursula K. Le Guin, and Marlowe Granados's Happy Hour. —DF
Didion & Babitz by Lili Anolik [NF]
What it is: A dual portrait of Joan Didion and Eve Babitz, who are so often compared to—and pitted against—each other on the basis of their mutual Los Angeles milieu.
Who it's for: Fans or haters of either writer (the book is fairly pro-Babitz, often at Didion's expense); anyone who has the Lit Hub Didion tote bag. —SMS
The Endless Refrain by David Rowell [NF]
What it's about: How the rise of music streaming, demonitizing of artist revenue, and industry tendency toward nostalgia have laid waste to the musical landscape, and the future of music culture.
Who it's for: Fans of Kyle Chayka, Spence Kornhaber, and Lindsay Zoladz. —SMS
Every Arc Bends Its Radian by Sergio De La Pava [F]
What it is: A mind- and genre-bending detective story set in Cali, Colombia, that blends high-stakes suspense with rigorous philosophy.
Who it's for: Readers of Raymond Chandler, Thomas Pynchon, and Jules Verne. —SMS
Something Close to Nothing by Tom Pyun [F]
What it’s about: At the airport with his white husband Jared, awaiting a flight to Cambodia to meet the surrogate mother carrying their adoptive child-to-be, Korean American Wynn decides parenthood isn't for him, and bad behavior ensues.
Who it’s for: Pyun’s debut is calculated to cut through saccharine depictions of queer parenthood—could pair well with Torrey Peters’s Detransition, Baby. —NodB
Rosenfeld by Maya Kessler [F]
What it is: Kessler's debut—rated R for Rosenfeld—follows one Noa Simmons through the tumultuous and ultimately profound power play that is courting (and having a lot of sex with) the titular older man who soon becomes her boss.
Who it's for: Fans of Sex and the City, Raven Leilani’s Luster, and Coco Mellor’s Cleopatra and Frankenstein. —DF
Lazarus Man by Richard Price [F]
What it is: The former The Wire writer offers yet another astute chronicle of urban life, this time of an ever-changing Harlem.
Who it's for: Fans of Colson Whitehead's Crook Manifesto and Paul Murray's The Bee Sting—and, of course, The Wire. —SMS
Stranger Than Fiction by Edwin Frank [NF]
What it is: An astute curveball of a read on the development and many manifestations of the novel throughout the tumultuous 20th century.
Who it's for: Readers who look at a book's colophon before its title. —JHM
Letters to His Neighbor by Marcel Proust, tr. Lydia Davis
What it is: A collection of Proust’s tormented—and frequently hilarious—letters to his noisy neighbor which, in a diligent translation from Davis, stand the test of time.
Who it's for: Proust lovers; people who live below heavy-steppers. —DF
Context Collapse by Ryan Ruby [NF]
What it is: A self-proclaimed "poem containing a history of poetry," from ancient Greece to the Iowa Workshop, from your favorite literary critic's favorite literary critic.
Who it's for: Anyone who read and admired Ruby's titanic 2022 essay on The Waste Land; lovers of poetry looking for a challenge. —SMS
How Sondheim Can Change Your Life by Richard Schoch [NF]
What it's about: Drama professor Schoch's tribute to Stephen Sondheim and the life lessons to be gleaned from his music.
Who it's for: Sondheim heads, former theater kids, end of list. —SMS
The Serviceberry by Robin Wall Kimmerer [NF]
What it is: 2022 MacArthur fellow and botanist Kimmerer, an enrolled member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, (re)introduces audiences to a flowering, fruiting native plant beloved of foragers and gardeners.
Who it’s for: The restoration ecologist in your life, along with anyone who loved Braiding Sweetgrass and needs a nature-themed holiday gift. —NodB
My Heart Belongs in an Empty Big Mac Container Buried Beneath the Ocean Floor by Homeless [F]
What it is: A pseudonymous, tenderly comic novel of blue whales and Golden Arches, mental illness and recovery.
Who it's for: Anyone who finds Thomas Pynchon a bit too staid. —JHM
Yoke and Feather by Jessie van Eerden [NF]
What it's about: Van Eerden's braided essays explore the "everyday sacred" to tease out connections between ancient myth and contemporary life.
Who it's for: Readers of Courtney Zoffness's Spilt Milk and Jeanna Kadlec's Heretic. —SMS
Camp Jeff by Tova Reich [F]
What it's about: A "reeducation" center for sex pests in the Catskills, founded by one Jeffery Epstein (no, not that one), where the dual phenomena of #MeToo and therapyspeak collide.
Who it's for: Fans of Philip Roth and Nathan Englander; cancel culture skeptics. —SMS
Selected Amazon Reviews by Kevin Killian [NF]
What it is: A collection of 16 years of Killian’s funniest, wittiest, and most poetic Amazon reviews, the sheer number of which helped him earn the rarefied “Top 100” and “Hall of Fame” status on the site.
Who it's for: Fans of Wayne Koestenbaum and Dodie Bellamy, who wrote introduction and afterword, respectively; people who actually leave Amazon reviews. —DF
Cher by Cher [NF]
What it is: The first in a two-volume memoir, telling the story of Cher's early life and ascendent career as only she can tell it.
Who it's for: Anyone looking to fill the My Name Is Barbra–sized hole in their heart, or looking for something to tide them over until the Liza memoir drops. —SMS
The City and Its Uncertain Walls by Haruki Murakami, tr. Philip Gabriel [F]
What it is: Murakami’s first novel in over six years returns to the high-walled city from his 1985 story "Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World" with one man's search for his lost love—and, simultaneously, an ode to libraries and literature itself.
Who it's for: Murakami fans who have long awaited his return to fiction. —DF
American Bulk by Emily Mester [NF]
What it's about: Reflecting on what it means to "live life to the fullest," Mester explores the cultural and personal impacts of America’s culture of overconsumption, from Costco hauls to hoarding to diet culture—oh my!
Who it's for: Lovers of sustainability; haters of excess; skeptics of the title essay of Becca Rothfeld's All Things Are Too Small. —DF
The Icon and the Idealist by Stephanie Gorton [NF]
What it is: A compelling look at the rivalry between Margaret Sanger, of Planned Parenthood fame, and Mary Ware Dennett, who each held radically different visions for the future of birth control.
Who it's for: Readers of Amy Sohn's The Man Who Hated Women and Katherine Turk's The Women of NOW; anyone interested in the history of reproductive rights. —SMS
December
Rental House by Weike Wang [F]
What it's about: Married college sweethearts invite their drastically different families on a Cape Code vacation, raising questions about marriage, intimacy, and kinship.
Who it's for: Fans of Wang's trademark wit and sly humor (see: Joan Is Okay and Chemistry); anyone with an in-law problem.
Woo Woo by Ella Baxter [F]
What it's about: A neurotic conceptual artist loses her shit in the months leading up to an exhibition that she hopes will be her big breakout, poking fun at the tropes of the "art monster" and the "woman of the verge" in one fell, stylish swoop.
Who it's for: Readers of Sheena Patel's I'm a Fan and Chris Kraus's I Love Dick; any woman who is grateful to but now also sort of begrudges Jenny Offil for introducing "art monster" into the lexicon (me). —SMS
Berlin Atomized by Julia Kornberg, tr. Jack Rockwell and Julia Kornberg [F]
What it's about: Spanning 2001 to 2034, three Jewish and downwardly mobile siblings come of age in various corners of the world against the backdrop of global crisis.
Who it's for: Fans of Catherine Lacey's Biography of X and Joshua Cohen's The Netanyahus. —SMS
Sand-Catcher by Omar Khalifah, tr. Barbara Romaine [F]
What it is: A suspenseful, dark satire of memory and nation, in which four young Palestinian journalists at a Jordanian newspaper are assigned to interview an elderly witness to the Nakba, the violent 1948 expulsion of native Palestinians from Israel—but to their surprise, the survivor doesn’t want to rehash his trauma for the media.
Who it’s for: Anyone looking insight—tinged with grim humor—into the years leading up to the present political crisis in the Middle East and the decades-long goal of Palestinian autonomy. —NodB
The Shutouts by Gabrielle Korn [F]
What it's about: In the dystopian future, mysteriously connected women fight to survive on the margins of society amid worsening climate collapse.
Who it's for: Fans of Korn's Yours for the Taking, which takes place in the same universe; readers of Becky Chambers and queer-inflected sci-fi. —SMS
What in Me Is Dark by Orlando Reade [NF]
What it's about: The enduring, evolving influence of Milton's Paradise Lost on political history—and particularly on the work of 12 revolutionary readers, including Malcom X and Hannah Arendt.
Who it's for: English majors and fans of Ryan Ruby and Sarah Bakewell—but I repeat myself. —SMS
The Afterlife Is Letting Go by Brandon Shimoda [NF]
What it's about: Shimoda researches the mass incarceration of Japanese Americans during WWII, and speaks with descendants of those imprisoned, for this essay collection about the “afterlife” of cruelty and xenophobia in the U.S.
Who it’s for: Anyone to ever visit a monument, museum, or designated site of hallowed ground where traumatic events have taken place. —NodB
No Place to Bury the Dead by Karina Sainz Borgo, tr. Elizabeth Bryer [F]
What it's about: When Angustias Romero loses both her children while fleeing a mysterious disease in her unnamed Latin American country, she finds herself in a surreal, purgatorial borderland where she's soon caught in a power struggle.
Who it's for: Fans of Maríana Enriquez and Mohsin Hamid. —SMS
The Rest Is Silence by Augusto Monterroso, tr. Aaron Kerner [F]
What it is: The author of some of the shortest, and tightest, stories in Latin American literature goes long with a metafictional skewering of literary criticism in his only novel.
Who it's for: Anyone who prefers the term "palm-of-the-hand stories" to "flash fiction." —JHM
Tali Girls by Siamak Herawi, tr. Sara Khalili [F]
What it is: An intimate, harrowing, and vital look at the lives of girls and women in an Afghan mountain village under Taliban rule, based on true stories.
Who it's for: Readers of Nadia Hashimi, Akwaeke Emezi, and Maria Stepanova. —SMS
Sun City by Tove Jansson, tr. Thomas Teal [F]
What it's about: During her travels through the U.S. in the 1970s, Jansson became interested in the retirement home as a peculiarly American institution—here, she imagines the tightly knit community within one of them.
Who it's for: Fans of Jansson's other fiction for adults, much of which explores the lives of elderly folks; anyone who watched that documentary about The Villages in Florida. —SMS
Editor's note: We're always looking to make our seasonal book previews more useful to the readers, writers, and critics they're meant to serve. Got an idea for how we can improve our coverage? Tell me about it at sophia@themillions.com.
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Outsiders, Outcasts, Hustlers: A Year Reporting on the Modern-Day Frontier
The drive north into the oilfield at night showed the faint slopes of buttes ringed in sepia and burnt orange, then a drapery of glittering lights, civilization rising. Semi-trucks blared past the traffic cones and half-built apartments and hotels. I passed a roadside bust of Theodore Roosevelt, a man camp that the feds would soon discover was part of a worldwide Ponzi scheme, and the Wild Bison truck stop. It was fall 2014; I was traveling up North Dakota’s Highway 85 after several months away. I had arranged through a friend's colleague to stay in a spare room at the Dakotaland trailer park, but now I could not find it on a map, nor by my friend’s vague directions to go north of the truck stop and turn right on an unmarked road.
What road? The sky was black, the lights of new buildings long past me. Where was the tobacco shop and the post office, the Hi Way Lounge and Hard Ride Saloon and the Ragged Butte Inn? I knew I had gone too far when I hit Route 200, near the first drilling rig I had visited over the summer, and I turned around. Still the old landmarks did not materialize. I imagined that I was hallucinating, driving back and forth into the void, and finally spied a vague turnoff onto a dirt road. An 18-wheeler followed, lights blaring, and the road kicked up dust so thick that it briefly blinded me; ahead, finally, was Dakotaland.
In the trailer was a foul-mouthed roughneck from Tuscaloosa who showed me to my room, which had been vacated by a rig worker who was carried out on a stretcher. In the clearness of morning, I saw that they’d built a massive bypass around the highway I used to know, in order to stop oil trucks from barreling through Watford City, population 1,700 before the oil rush. So the old route was gone—I always remembered this when considering how fast the oilfield changed, that one could be gone for less than four months and still lose her way on a road she’d traveled dozens of times before.
People often compared the boom here to the California Gold Rush. In the 1840s, New York Tribune editor Horace Greeley sent 24-year-old Bayard Taylor to cover it, prompting him to sail through the Isthmus of Panama to the West Coast and visit a series of mining towns for his book Eldorado: or, Adventures in the Path of Empire. Taylor could have been me observing North Dakota when he grasped the drastic changes that could happen in short order: “When I landed there, a little more than four months before, I found a scattering town of tents and canvas houses … Now, on my last visit, I saw around me an actual metropolis, displaying street after street of well-built edifices, filled with an active and enterprising people, and exhibiting every mark of commercial prosperity.”
More than a century and a half later, the largest oil rush in modern U.S. history had transformed western North Dakota’s faded frontier into a crucible of breakneck capitalism. To chronicle such a rush one had to wed journalism and literature and history—to be a lone adventurer traveling to a remote outpost and capturing the greed, struggles and whimsies of the pioneers with nuance, depth and sporadic humor. It was a strange aspiration, perhaps, in the 21st century, where too much journalism is done in a coastal city in front of a computer. My idols, like Taylor, were mostly from bygone eras.
Another inspiration was Joe McGinniss. He’d been struggling to match the success of his bestselling debut The Selling of the President in 1968 when the massive discovery of oil in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, set off a pipeline boom that drew hordes of laborers, industrialists and hustlers to the northern frontier. The young writer had followed his hit expose of the Nixon presidential campaign with a novel about a sportswriter and a memoir, both poorly received, and was looking for his next project. He boarded a ferry from Seattle to Alaska in late fall, making friends with a hard-drinking character named Eddie the Basque, and set out to try another genre.
McGinniss spun tales of pioneers, gadflies, rangers, and indigenous people in Going to Extremes, writing with decidedly more of an offbeat, absurdist voice than John McPhee did in his own Alaskan account Coming into the Country. The Philadelphia Inquirer hailed McGinniss’s reporting as a grittier, harder-edged take on the topic than the denser, more measured McPhee’s—a portrait of the “‘real’ Alaska.” McGinniss was interested in writing an adventurous frontier story that explored the psychology and culture around the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, ignoring the geopolitics of oil in the seventies.
The Bakken shale was the largest oil discovery since Prudhoe Bay, and I wanted to write a book about this brilliant new microcosm of American greed and striving. (During the year of this essay’s beginning, McGinness passed away from prostate cancer at age 71.) Unlike him and Taylor, I would not embark on a grand journey by sea—instead, I’d drive from my apartment in Minneapolis, stopping for gas near Fargo off Interstate 94, where there would invariably be some shifty-eyed man at the next pump over—probably just out on parole—and know, without saying a word, that he was bound for the oilfield six hours across the state. That look. Freedom, desperation, adventure, meth, money … Then I’d carry on, driving into long and green hollows of feral quiet that ran hundreds of miles. Get out in some smudge of a town like Harvey to fill the tank again—shiver in the eyes of stillness that beamed over that endless expanse—retreat to the car as if to escape forces that would pull a human interloper into the fissures of the earth. Remember this upon arriving at the western flank of the state, where trucks and rigs and men ran roughshod and nature was the trespasser.
I was astonished, upon my first trip to the oil hub of Williston, when several people mentioned offhand that they had seen men drag a passed-out woman from the bushes into a van. “What did the police say?” I asked, and they shrugged. It hadn’t occurred to them to call the cops. A Scottish author’s observation of the fortune-seekers in San Francisco during the 1850s could very well have applied to those of the North Dakota oil rush. “The community was composed of isolated individuals, each quite regardless of the good opinion of his neighbors; and, the outside pressure of society being removed, men assumed their natural shape …” wrote J.D. Borthwick in Three Years in California. Then Taylor wrote—as was true in 2014, with oil topping $100 a barrel—that the cost of land, rents, and goods had steadily increased and “there would be before long a crash of speculation. Things, it appeared then, had reached the crisis, and it was pronounced impossible that they could remain stationary.”
Some of the great frontier writers were just as interested in striking it rich as the workaday miners around them. Mark Twain grew “smitten with silver fever” in Nevada, but his efforts amounted to little. He and a friend lost their legal claim to a silver mine by not acting in time; then he lost money in mining stock investments. College dropout Jack London departed California for Alaska during the Klondike Gold Rush, braving the White Horse Rapids and 40-below temperatures and roughing it in a cabin on the Stewart River. “I brought nothing back from the Klondike but my scurvy,” he lamented afterwards, with $4.50 worth of gold in his pocket. Being a woman without the brawn for a real oil job, I cashiered at the Wild Bison truck stop for a month at $14 an hour—double the minimum wage at the time but certainly not big oil money, just enough to pay my way reporting a magazine story—and set about documenting the people who came in.
I met a Wild Bison customer who wore a low-hanging shirt that exposed an enormous tattoo across his chest that said murder. Another was a bounty hunter from south Texas. A regular was selling waste disposal services from rig to rig after his banking scandal drew the scrutiny of the Securities and Exchange Commission and New York Times. A twitchy hitchhiker with only $30 to his name washed in from Maine.
Outsiders, outcasts, hustlers, Americans in extremis. Who else, after all, would be drawn to the frontier? McGinniss described white (and therefore, new) residents in one Alaska town thus: “They were unusual people, the whites of Barrow. They had to be: else why would they have been there? They had come seeking adventure, or high wages, or more frequently, escaping from problems outside. Recently divorced, in many cases. Needing a fresh start, someplace distant … to survive as a white in Barrow, you needed an unusual degree of psychological stability. But to have come to Barrow as a white, in the first place, you already had displayed an extraordinary absence of the same.”
I spent about a year total in the oilfield, covering the transformation from raw frontier to civilization. I favored a more investigative approach than the travelogue popular with my predecessors, but above all was wary of the newspaper conventions that had locked me in for the past decade—fine for most stories, but a limitation on the expansive writing needed to capture the story at hand. Frontier writing also had to be written from the first person, though going gonzo was optional. The Southern writer Harry Crews went to cover the Alaskan pipeline boom for Playboy and woke up after a bender to discover a tattoo of a hinge on his arm, but no bounty of liquor or promise of literary infamy could have coaxed me into the tattoo parlor Skinful Pleasure in downtown Williston.
Gonzo or not, I had to cultivate many sources during their own benders, as oilfield types were disproportionately heavy drinkers who would not suspend their habits to participate in my book. When I turned my back on one oilfield entrepreneur for a few minutes at a bar, he began insulting the bartender in a drunken rampage and was kicked out. He called me the next day to say he woke up with $600 missing, possibly at the strip club he went to afterwards.
But frontier reporting had vastly changed in some respects. For one, the speculative nature of the old gold and oil rushes no longer existed—there was no mass starvation, and few impoverished, penniless miners. Oil companies knew where and how to extract crude with almost total precision. The technological advances of our modern fracking boom meant that an aspiring worker could get an oil job as long as he could pass a drug test, and if he could not, those were easy enough to fake. A Houston roughneck who lived next door to me in Dakotaland once got away with pouring Mountain Dew into a urine test cup to hide his penchant for marijuana.
Also, newspapers—print overall, really—no longer played the role they did in hyping past gold and oil booms. Consider how in 1897, an extra edition of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer trumpeted the arrival of a steamer from Alaska loaded with more than a ton of solid gold:
GOLD! GOLD! GOLD! GOLD!
Sixty-Eight Rich Men on the Steamer Portland.
STACKS OF YELLOW METAL!
The article celebrated the steamer’s cargo worth $700,000. Thousands rushed to see the boat dock. Newspapers around the country printed stories, spurring a stampede to Alaska by way of Seattle. In the 1970s, a New York Daily News article about the pipeline boom resulted in 6,576 letters and 1,370 phone calls to the pipeline company in one month, according to the Alaskan journalist Dermot Cole.
But starting in 2011, it was the screen that propelled people all over America to the North Dakota oilfield. One viewer in Olympia, Washington, saw a news feature on the oil boom during a blur of Jersey Shore episodes. He struggled to find work after being laid off as a graphic artist and had been melting for weeks into a tattered couch in front of the TV, spending his unemployment checks on booze, pizza and ice cream. Gregg Thompson soon packed his belongings and rode the Amtrak 1,100 miles east, eventually finding a job at an oilfield Walmart.
He also found a side hustle in filming YouTube videos about life in the oil patch, casting himself as a quirky citizen reporter expounding on everything from slumlords to tumbleweeds. Gregg had the edge because chronicles from out of state journalists were either sensational or generic—the reporters usually spent only a few days on the ground. It is amusing to contemplate how we would have imagined the Klondike Gold Rush or Trans-Alaska Pipeline construction had YouTube been around at the time—the medium is particularly suited to the individualist, unfiltered nature of a boomtown. What if Twain had been roaming Virginia City, Nevada, in the 1860s making online videos, instead of penning tall tales as a reporter for the Territorial Enterprise newspaper? With my notebook and pen, even a laptop perched on the bar, I was too old-school—everybody wanted to be on camera.
Even more strikingly, the persona of the swashbuckling male writer had faded. I’d look around the truck stops and bars and oil sites and wonder who the male successors to Taylor, Twain and McGinniss were, but female journalists like me now dominated immersive writing out there. Blaire Briody moved into an RV park one summer to report a book called The New Wild West, even going undercover as a day laborer. Laura Gottesdiener went undercover to work as a waitress at a strip club for a magazine piece; on her first night, one patron beat another to death with a pipe. Sierra Crane Murdoch filed thoughtful, longform dispatches about the oil boom’s effects on the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation.
I waited for the article about a male author going undercover as a roustabout, or the book deal of a male adventurer’s oilfield bar-hopping, but it never came. (Men did documentaries instead.) And in reading the writing of my predecessors, I found no guidance for the annoyances I would face as a woman, such as being turned down by several landlords for a room because a woman was considered a liability in a patriarchal, gender-segregated society. I eventually spent the majority of my oilfield tenure living in a house of all women near Walmart.
The speculative bubble that Taylor observed was just as true in North Dakota, and I was on the ground for the long, torturous spiraling of the Bakken’s fortunes as oil prices crashed and OPEC put the squeeze on the U.S. shale industry—the exodus of migrants, the misery, the homelessness, the dreams betrayed. Twain’s exaggerated musings on the California gold rush towns echoed in a later century. “And where are they now?” Twain asked of the old fortune-seekers. “Scattered to the ends of the earth—or prematurely aged and decrepit—or shot or stabbed in street affrays—or dead of disappointed hopes and broken hearts—all gone, or nearly all— victims devoted upon the altar of the golden calf—the noblest holocaust that ever wafted its sacrificial incense heavenward.” I read those words again and again while I was in North Dakota—they were my favorite lines in his book Roughing It—as he talked of this “most splendid population” that had converged on California and then dispersed. Many of the people who industrialized the North Dakota oilfield left for new adventures when the money dried up, bold and noble participants in one of the most fascinating capitalistic experiments of the American 21st century.
As oil hit $27 a barrel in January 2016, a 13-year low, it was a wise time to flee the oilfield. When I mention life on the frontier nowadays, having moved to the Washington, D.C., area, some look at me oddly. North Dakota? What’s there? Several colleagues are baffled at why I went out at all; one called it a hellscape. An editor for a major publishing house said several years back that he liked everything about my book proposal but the topic, that I was “intrepid in the extreme in moving … to the shithole (sorry) that North Dakota has become as a result of that shale oil boom,” but it was too dispiriting to read about.
Yet after finally publishing my own frontier book this spring, I am sure that the oilfield is where I found myself as a writer, a journalist, an adventurer, just as London concluded that he had found himself in the Klondike. (“You get your true perspective,” he said.) Something about a rush and a collapse, giddy hopes and despair, muddy boots and gritty prairies, has forged my path as a writer more than any of my news reporting jobs over the years. Twain was a failure as a silver miner, and Roughing It is not considered among his best-known books. But he published his books on Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn over the next decade. Taylor established himself as a world traveling writer and diplomat. McGinniss went on to write some of his best-known work, including true-crime book Fatal Vision. The frontier is often just the beginning.
Image: Flickr/Tim Evanson