4.5 “American Spirits” is a portrait America in the Age of Trump. All the main characters in the book voted for him. Most of them own a red MAGA hat. And guns. Even the very naming of the small rural New York town in which the action takes place conjures thoughts of Trump, or at least a Trump avatar. The town is, oddly, called Sam Dent. Dent, a veteran of the Revolutionary War, took land stolen from the Native people who originally lived there, then expanded it by cheating illiterate or careless White American landholders until the holding reached the size where he could found a town and name it after himself. “Dentville was not acceptable to him, nor was simply Dent. A man with an Olympian ego, he had insisted that it had to be her one and only Sam Dent.” Lest anyone miss the point, Banks tells us that Dent was “a real estate mogul and developer.”
Russell Banks passed away in January of 2023. He found the material for his books while drinking beer and watching football at local bars in Keene, NY, with townsfolk. Much of what he heard over the years made its way into the three interconnected stories that make up “American Spirits,” his final book. This is indeed a Trump town, but Banks gives us a far more nuanced and empathetic picture of Trump voters than we’re used to seeing.
The first story is called “Nowhere Man.” Its protagonist, Doug Lafleur, is a self-described “Dedicated Second Amendment man.” His family once owned much of the land in and around Sam Dent. As the fortunes of the town faded, however, he and his siblings had to sell more and more of the land, until he is left with only a small parcel at the base of a dead end road. The story opens with Doug waking from a “slurry, hungover” sleep to the sound of automatic gunfire coming from the nearby shooting range, property he and his siblings had sold to the Israeli-American owner of a New Jersey-based security firm.
A gentle man, a sometime-musician who earns his living maintaining the properties of summer residents, Doug’s life is shaped not by resentment but by a heavy feeling of loss. He wants to teach his son to hunt, as boys in his family have been taught by their dads over many generations, but he has to get permission from his new neighbor to enter land that he and his family once owned, that he knows every inch of and thinks of as an integral part of who he is as a person. “Without that ancient connection to the land,” he thinks, “who was Doug Lafleur, anyhow? No one. Nothing… A nowhere man, that’s what he’d become. Like the guy in the Beatles’ song.” Doug feels diminished, powerless. Worthless. “It felt of a piece with the many forms of oppression and discrimination that afflicted him and made him feel small, weak, and childlike, made him think of himself as dumb and ignorant.” His enemies are the bankers and realtors, the summer residents who "treated him like their lackey," and all the politicians (except for President Trump) who "were secretly conspiring together to impoverish and humiliate him and keep him from being the man he was meant to be." He dreams of waking up one day not to gunfire but to the respect and admiration of others, "a man who nods his head in silence like a sage instead of singing folk tunes and playing the banjo like a clever monkey."
The relationship between Doug and his neighbor will become increasingly fraught until it reaches its awful conclusion, and the reader can’t help but feel an emotional connection to Doug as a good, if flawed, man who is battered by forces beyond his control.
In the second, called “Homeschooling,” we meet Kenneth and Barbara (not Ken and Barbie!) Odell, new owners of one of the largest houses in town. The Odells aspire to “a cosmopolitan adult social life for themselves and neighborhood friends for their children, and they also wanted rural privacy.” The house provided all three, as well as proximity to the correctional facility where Kenneth works as an administrator. In time the Odells meet their neighbors, the Webers, a vegan lesbian couple and their four adopted Black children from Texas. The Webers, who homeschool their children, are quite reserved; they’re pleasant enough to the Odells but not warm or neighborly. In time, Kenneth grows distrustful of the two women, wondering whether they were “trying to prove something,” like “that a couple of married lesbians can make a real family. Or that a pair of nice White liberal ladies can rescue a batch of poor Black children abandoned by their crackhead mother.” The two families maintain a cordial if distant relationship… until the children start coming to the Odell’s door at night asking for help.
The final story, called “Kidnapped,” is about an older couple — Franklin and Elizabeth Dent — who have taken in their grandson Stevie after their son, the boy’s father, is killed in Iraq and the boy’s mother becomes involved with drugs. Frank and Elizabeth tend to a trail through the woods where the locals hike, maintaining it as it changes from season to season, over time — as it has since the time Frank’s ancestor Sam Dent owned it. In this, the woods serve as a stand-in for how the modern world feels to the Dents: “That was a forest, not a woods. But the forest was not replaced by itself. It was displaced and replaced by these woods, which was a different and lesser thing.”
The Dents are good people. Conservative about many things (they left their church after the minister officiated at the wedding of a lesbian couple), but good neighbors. They care deeply about their grandson. They thought him a genius when he was young. (Stevie’s kindergarten teacher believed otherwise. She thought Stevie might be “borderline mentally ill,” in some way; his classmates were afraid of him.) Stevie grows up. He stays close to his grandparents after he moves out. And then one night two men in masks break into Frank and Elizabeth’s house and kidnap them. When one of the kidnappers asks if there are any guns in the house, Frank says no. The kidnapper doesn’t buy it: “Don’t fucking lie to me, man. I know you got guns. You’re American. Look at that hat you got on. You’re a goddamn Donald Trump supporter. I’m not stupid. You got guns?” Yes, he does. Lots of them, in fact. When the man asks why there are so many guns, Frank says they’re for hunting. “And in case of a home invasion, I guess.” The man laughs: “What the fuck do you think this is?”
This is the “Age of Trump” as depicted in “American Spirits,” the Trump-land populated by the people Banks shared beers and smokes with. They are caring in many ways, distrustful and judgmental in others. They struggle to make ends meet, are troubled by or unhappy with some of the changes they see in society, they have difficulty mastering the TV remote, they take care of their families, feel sorrow for what they’ve lost, and see loved ones drawn to drugs. Ordinary people living ordinary lives, not a single flag-waving, Capitol assaulting person in sight. At a time when negative partisanship is the order of the day in our politics, and caricature is the default mode for our social interactions, it’s important to be reminded that there are real people on “the other side.” Banks may not have approved at all in what Trump is and what he’s done to the country, but he certainly cared about people and the problems they were wrestling with. His final book is a gift to a country in desperate need of one.