#Binge Reviewing my previous Reads # World Politics & International Relations
Farrell and Newman’s *Underground Empire* is not a book about warships or coups or flags being raised over conquered capitals; it is a book about the silent, humming architecture of the world economy and how, without a grand plan but with increasing deliberation, the United States has turned that architecture into a system of power. Reading it feels like following a pair of political archaeologists as they descend into tunnels beneath the official city of geopolitics and show you the cables, servers, compliance offices, and legal choke points that actually determine who can move money, communicate, trade, or innovate.
The title’s metaphor works: this is an empire that is not visible at parades but embedded in the subterranean plumbing of globalization. Farrell and Newman build their story around the concept of “Weaponized interdependence,” the idea that the very networks designed to link the world together can, because they pass through certain nodal points, be used coercively by the state that controls those nodes. The book traces how the U.S. came to sit at the centre of many of these networks—financial clearing systems like SWIFT, dollar-denominated trade, undersea cables, global intellectual property regimes—and how, especially since 9/11, Washington has begun to see those nodes not simply as utilities but as weapons.
The authors do not write like technocrats. Their prose has a patient, unmasking rhythm, mixing case studies of Huawei, Iranian sanctions, and global export-controls with sketches of the individuals inside Treasury or Justice who figured out how to translate abstract dominance into practical leverage. They show how sanctions went from a blunt instrument to a precision tool, how export controls on semiconductors can now strangle an entire supply chain, how surveillance built for counter-terrorism can also map corporate or scientific flows. In this sense, the book sits alongside works like Anne Applebaum’s *Autocracy, Inc.* but with a crucial difference: Applebaum’s villains are a club of dictators copying each other’s tactics, whereas Farrell and Newman’s protagonist is a democracy that has become, almost inadvertently, imperial in its infrastructural reach. The effect is less moralistic than diagnostic. They do not pretend that the U.S. invented global interdependence for sinister ends; instead they show how commercial, legal, and technological evolution produced choke points and how security logics rushed in to occupy them.
What makes the book feel contemporary and not just another entry in the declinist-or-triumphalist debate about American power is its post-Cold War sensibility. Farrell and Newman refuse old binaries of free world versus closed world. Power is not a clash of blocs but a system of rhizomes and hubs, and the U.S., sitting at many of the hubs, can reroute flows, exclude adversaries, or compel cooperation. A Russian bank transacts in dollars and can therefore be frozen; a Chinese firm depends on U.S. software or semiconductor designs and can therefore be cut off. This is empire as platform, not palace. It echoes Foucault’s vision of power as network rather than pyramid, Deleuze’s sense of control societies rather than disciplinary enclosures. The authors do not cite those theorists, but their narrative performs the same move: what matters is not territory but leverage points within flows.
This framing gives the reader a new way to interpret familiar headlines. When the U.S. pressured allies to drop Huawei from their 5G networks, that was not just a trade dispute but a battle over who controls the future’s choke points. When sanctions cascade across Iran or Russia, it is not simply an expression of moral disapproval but an exploitation of infrastructural dominance. Even the drama over TikTok in the U.S. can be read through this lens: a contest over data pathways, compliance regimes, and the possibility of weaponization. The book leaves you seeing these patterns everywhere, as if the wallpaper of globalisation has suddenly turned inside out to reveal the wiring.
Yet *Underground Empire* is not an uncritical celebration of U.S. power. Farrell and Newman worry, repeatedly, about overuse. An empire built of networks is subtler than one built of bases, but it may also be more fragile. Every time Washington squeezes a rival through financial sanctions or export bans, it gives that rival an incentive to build alternative networks. China’s push for cross-border payment systems, Russia’s experiments with bypassing SWIFT, Europe’s hesitant steps toward “strategic autonomy,” the rising talk of digital sovereignty and data localisation—all of these can be seen as attempts to tunnel out of the underground empire. The authors suggest that if the U.S. treats its infrastructural dominance as a limitless resource, it risks accelerating a world of splintered internets, balkanised finance, and reduced leverage.
This tension—the effectiveness of the tools versus the danger of backlash—runs throughout the book. Sometimes Farrell and Newman seem almost awed by how much can be done without firing a shot: how a dollar-clearing regulation in New York can freeze a transaction in Dubai, how an export-control list can derail a Chinese tech champion. Other times they sound anxious, aware that coercion without legitimacy erodes alliances and norms. They are also attuned to the moral and political ironies. For decades, the U.S. championed a liberal, rules-based order. Now it is the primary practitioner of targeted, extra-territorial, compliance-based power. The line between upholding security and pursuing narrow interests blurs. This ambiguity is one of the book’s strengths; it invites the reader to grapple with the dilemmas rather than offering easy prescriptions.
The comparison with Applebaum’s *Autocracy, Inc.* throws this into sharper relief. Applebaum describes how authoritarians launder each other’s methods—propaganda, surveillance, elite capture—across borders. Farrell and Newman show how a democracy can, through control of infrastructure, become an empire of enforcement. One book is about the circulation of illiberal practices; the other is about the centrality of liberal networks. Together they tell a more complete story: the global order is not a chessboard of regimes but an overlapping set of systems—financial, technological, informational—whose nodes can be captured or manipulated by very different actors. Reading them in tandem underscores how fragile the idea of a neutral, open global system really is.
For all its clarity, *Underground Empire* also provokes questions it does not fully answer. How durable is U.S. dominance at these nodes? What happens when domestic politics in the U.S. itself become more polarised or populist? Can a country wield such tools without undermining the very openness and predictability that made others trust its networks? The authors sketch some possibilities—multilateral rules, greater transparency, self-restraint—but their tone is more warning than roadmap. In this sense the book shares the mood of much contemporary IR writing: the sense that we are entering a phase of fragmented power, new contestations, and the erosion of once-taken-for-granted infrastructures.
As a piece of writing, the book succeeds by making the abstract concrete. Farrell and Newman’s case studies are vivid, their explanations lucid. They are at home in both the technical details of export controls and the big-picture questions of global order. There are moments when the prose verges on the journalistic, moments when it feels like a seminar. But the overall effect is a patient unfolding of a paradigm shift: from thinking about power in terms of “hard” versus “soft” to thinking about power in terms of “structural” versus “networked.” For students, policy-makers, or citizens trying to make sense of headlines about sanctions, supply chains, or data sovereignty, the book offers a vocabulary and a map.
It also has a subterranean ethical charge. By turning the hidden levers of globalisation into weapons, the U.S. risks normalising a form of power that others—less constrained by democratic norms—can imitate. Already China is building its own standards regimes, Belt and Road digital infrastructure, and surveillance exports. Already Russia experiments with disinformation and financial disruption. In such a world, the difference between liberal and illiberal powers may blur further. The empire of networks may become an empire of everyone against everyone, a Hobbesian tangle of cables and contracts. Farrell and Newman hint at this dystopia without dwelling on it, but it lingers behind their analysis.
If there is a weakness in the book, it is not that it exaggerates U.S. power—though some critics argue that—but that it sometimes underplays the agency of others. Sanctions can be evaded. Parallel networks can be built. Compliance regimes can be gamed. The empire’s subterranean nature may make it effective but also brittle. Yet even these criticisms confirm the book’s importance: it sets the terms of debate. Whether one agrees with every claim, it is now hard to discuss global political economy without thinking about weaponized interdependence.
What emerges from *Underground Empire* is not a neat story of good or evil but a picture of a world where power is embedded in the mundane: in who writes the standards for 5G, who hosts the clearinghouses for dollars, who can subpoena a bank’s records, who owns the switches at an undersea cable landing. This is the true terrain of twenty-first-century geopolitics. Farrell and Newman have given us a way to see it. The book is long enough and detailed enough to change how you read the news, yet written in an accessible style that keeps you turning the pages.
By the time you finish, you understand why they chose the word “empire.” Not because the U.S. has colonies in the old sense, but because it has the power to shape the choices of others without occupying them, to impose costs and confer benefits through systems everyone depends on. And you understand why they chose “underground.” Because like the pipes under a city, these systems are invisible until they break or until someone points to the blueprints. Farrell and Newman have drawn those blueprints, and in doing so have illuminated a form of power that will shape the coming decades.
In a literary sense, this is also a book about revelation. It takes something we assumed was neutral—the infrastructure of globalisation—and reveals it as a terrain of struggle. In that way, it resonates with the best of postmodern social analysis: showing that what appears natural or inevitable is in fact constructed and therefore contestable. It is not quite Foucault at Langley, but it carries the same intellectual jolt. You close the book with a sense of disorientation and urgency, aware that the ground under your feet is not solid but a lattice of pipes owned by someone else.
For readers of Applebaum, of Joseph Nye, of Thomas Piketty, of Mariana Mazzucato, of John Mearsheimer, *Underground Empire* will feel like a missing piece of the puzzle. It bridges international relations and political economy, security studies and tech policy, normative questions and empirical detail. Its style is not bombastic but confident, its argument not ideological but structural. It does not tell you what to think about every sanction or export control, but it gives you the frame to think. And that is the mark of a book that will last.
Ultimately, Farrell and Newman have written a guide to the hidden levers of the contemporary order. It is both a warning and a map. It shows how America’s quiet infrastructural power can shape the world, and how that power, if overused or left unexamined, can undermine the very order it sustains. It does not offer comfort, but it does offer clarity, and in a time of fragmented narratives that clarity is itself a form of power.
Give it a go. Most recommended.