By Tony Horwitz
When prize-winning struggle correspondent Tony Horwitz leaves the battlefields of Bosnia and the center East for a relaxed nook of the Blue Ridge Mountains, he thinks he is positioned struggle zones in the back of him. yet woke up one morning by means of the crackle of musket fireplace, Horwitz begins submitting front-line dispatches back this time from a conflict just about domestic, and to his personal heart.
Propelled via his boyhood ardour for the Civil battle, Horwitz embarks on a look for areas and folks nonetheless held in thrall by means of America's maximum clash. the result's an event into the soul of the unvanquished South, the place the ghosts of the misplaced reason are resurrected via ritual and remembrance.
In Virginia, Horwitz joins a band of 'hardcore' reenactors who crash-diet to accomplish the hollow-eyed glance of starved Confederates; in Kentucky, he witnesses Klan rallies and demands race struggle sparked by means of the killing of a white guy who brandishes a insurgent flag; at Andersonville, he reveals that the prison's commander, performed as a warfare legal, is now exalted as a martyr and hero; and within the book's climax, Horwitz takes a marathon trek from Antietam to Gettysburg to Appomattox within the corporation of Robert Lee Hodge, an eccentric pilgrim who dubs their odyssey the 'Civil Wargasm.'
Written with Horwitz's signature combination of humor, heritage, and hard-nosed journalism, Confederates within the Attic brings alive outdated battlefields and new ones 'classrooms, courts, kingdom bars' the place the earlier and the current collide, frequently in explosive methods. Poignant and picaresque, haunting and hilarious, it speaks to somebody who has ever felt interested in the mythic South and to the darkish romance of the Civil struggle.
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Additional info for Confederates in the Attic: Dispatches from the Unfinished Civil War
The song at Redbone’s blared too loudly for dialog. So I sipped my Budweiser and studied the partitions. Amidst the standard biker-bar decor—pictures of half-naked ladies splayed throughout bikes, a pistol fastened beside the phrases “We Don’t hassle Calling 911”—I spotted a curious anthology of hand-scrawled verse. The poems mingled biker and accomplice topics, evoking nihilistic scenes of the ruined South as considered from the again of a Harley. It was once 1865, houses burnt to the floor, every thing misplaced, I took my stand. driving throughout the fog, insurgent flag in hand, scuffling with for my freedom, struggling with for my land. underneath the poetry seemed a cryptic insignia: “F. T. W” among songs at the jukebox, I grew to become to a guy at the subsequent stool and requested what F. T. W stood for. “Who’s asking? ” he responded. “F-B-I? ” This provoked howls from the bar. “I’m a author, now not a cop,” I stated, inanely flashing a spiral pad with “Reporter’s pc” stenciled at the conceal. the guy checked out me dubiously, yet muttered, “F. T. W Fuck the area. ” one other guy, bulging from a Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt, lurched over and bellowed, “Write this on your damned laptop. We acquired a couple of humans status up for white rights. the remaining are pussies who enable niggers trample all over the place them. Like these boys who shot Westerman did t’other day. ” He reeled for a second. “You’ve obtained your KKK and your BBB—that’s Badass Black Brothers. aspects of an analogous coin. in the event that they wish conflict, come on. Let’s get it on. ” He sat down with a thud and gazed blankly at a television in the back of the bar. Male ice skaters in tights glided around the monitor. As I scribbled down his phrases, I sensed an individual looming at the back of me. Then a scorching, beery breath whispered in my ear: “That shorthand or fowl scratches? ” I appeared as much as face a leather-clad significant with bloodshot eyes and lengthy, straggly hair. “Shorthand,” I lied, hoping he couldn’t decipher my notes approximately swastikas and lynchings. He bent down, tore a number of pages from my pc, and fixed the wadded paper in his mouth. “You know,” he stated, chewing loudly, “I shit out a turd this morning that was once larger than you. ” uncertain as to the proper reaction, i peeked round the bar for aid. the opposite drinkers had vanished right into a cloud of cigarette smoke via the pool desk. basically Redbone remained, eyeing us warily from at the back of the bar. “The query is,” my inquisitor resumed, “should I beat the shit out of you the following and now, or allow it slide this time? ” The veins in his neck begun throbbing. one among his palms curled right into a fist. I weighed even if to take off my glasses, so shards wouldn’t inn behind my head, or maintain them on within the faint desire that spectacles could reason the large to enable it slide this time. A take hold of of poetry swam at the wall in the back of his head. just like the Rebels of previous, nonetheless Bursting With satisfaction, Don’t Take no Shit, On Harleys We trip. I eased slowly off my stool, nodded towards the door and acknowledged, “Maybe I should still just—” the fellow grabbed my coat and ripped it cleanly from armpit to wrist. Redbone lunged around the bar and seized the man’s arm, shouting “Cool it!