Last hunting season I was determined to read more books than I shot deer. Since I saw as many bucks in the woods as I did elephants or hippopotamuses, this bar was easy to clear. But I was nervous. Both books that I brought to camp featured the word “demon” in the title. My religiosity runs thin, but I don’t make a habit of inviting the devil to dinner.
The first was a novel called “Demon Copperhead” by Barbara Kingsolver, a bestseller and Pulitzer Prize winner. This clever yet heartbreaking echo of “David Copperfield” by Charles Dickens follows an Appalachian boy who becomes orphaned, abused, shunted through foster care. He falls into the maw of America’s drug crisis, but ultimately finds redemption.
The second was “The Demon of Unrest,” by Erik Larson, a nonfiction account of the run-up to the U.S. Civil War. The story juxtaposes the workmanlike preparations and dread of the people inside Fort Sumter with the jubilation of rebel assailants massing outside. We also learn the pensive but myopic views of Abraham Lincoln, Jefferson Davis and other key figures before the awfulness of the war became historical fact.
Other than that one demonic word in their titles, I figured these books would have little in common. But I read them during the aftermath of the 2024 election and the uncertainty of another Trump Administration. Between chapters, I talked to friends, family and co-workers, all wondering how the promises of an ugly campaign might manifest in reality. Of course, we don’t fully know yet. We only see the potential: chaos and pain for some, sunshine utopia for others.
By reading these tomes under such light, the modern scourge of poverty and drugs resemble the historic factors that once split this country in two. These issues reveal the unintended consequences of human nature. Ignorance, pride and self-preservation inspire our worst decisions. We would do well to reduce their influence.
In “Demon Copperhead,” young Damon Fields — his real name, rarely used — grows up the son of a single mother addicted to drugs, his father a mystery whose absence casts a long shadow. A cruel stepfather and an overdose later, “Demon” is an orphan, shuffled through a series of exploitive foster care settings.
“The wonder is that you could start life with nothing, end with nothing, and lose so much in between,” says Demon. This whole story can be summed up with the old Russian history joke, “And then things got worse.”
But they don’t end up so bad. In fact, hope prevails, though not without loss. Along the way, Kingsolver’s deeply authentic prose gives clear explanations of the failures that preserve poverty, and how people ensnared in that poverty are left with few good options for self-determination. This isn’t some new age observation; Dickins said as much almost two decades before the U.S. Civil War.
Meantime, in “The Demon of Unrest,” we travel to the 19th century and Charleston, South Carolina. Then, as now, paternalistic tradition governs a society hell bent to prove its righteousness. And because that tradition in 1861 included slavery, that system of buying, selling and controlling people was heralded alongside values like chivalry, decency and order.
Larson’s approach to the topic is brilliant. He makes no mention of modern times, of Trump or Biden, of racial equality or contemporary issues. He is wholly focused on the precise words and context of people in their own time and understanding. And yet, anyone capable of critical thought can see the hubris then expressed now when people casually discard half the country as stupid or evil, or when people are degraded as subhuman.
Scared and prideful people seek control. If they are taught violence, like we are in America, they will use it. Sometimes the weapons are guns, but more often they are economic shackles, locked firmly on people told they could win the race if they only tried harder.
This legacy of violence and domination is purified into tales of traditional values and earned privilege by those who operate under ever-changing names. This poison pours down through the generations, easily mistaken for holy water.
But this toxin does not cleanse our souls or bodies. It does not sustain life. Rather, it fills our lungs with something other than oxygen and leaves us gasping for air.
It is carbon monoxide. A false god. Or, if you prefer, a drug. In the throes of addiction, quitting such things can seem impossible. Only by acknowledging the problem can the urgent hope of recovery take hold.
Those who have been through such a crucible might have an idea. If they could, those who survived the War Between the States would warn against casual backsliding into civil strife. Today, those who read might try these titles — together, if you dare — and imagine a better America somewhere on the horizon.
Aaron J. Brown is an author and college instructor from northern Minnesota’s Iron Range. He writes the blog MinnesotaBrown.com and co-hosts the podcast “Power in the Wilderness” on Northern Community Radio. This piece first appeared in the Saturday, Feb. 8, 2025 edition of the Mesabi Tribune.
Demon Copperhead is an absolutely astounding book. I was blown away.
Interesting idea to think about it in the context of the run-up to the Civil War.
Imma noodle on that a bit.