Zbawienie na Sand Mountain. Nabożeństwa z wężami w południowych Appalachach

by Dennis Covington, Bartosz Hlebowicz (Translator)

To jedna z najmniej znanych i tajemniczych twarzy południa Ameryki – kościoły wężowników. Członkowie tych zborów, założonych w latach 20. XX wieku, wierzą w namaszczenie przez Ducha Świętego i spotykają się w ustronnych miejscach, by w czasie nabożeństw brać do rąk śmiertelnie niebezpieczne węże: grzechotniki, żmije czy kobry. W swej niewzruszonej wierze piją również strychninę, mówią językami, wypędzają demony, głoszą proroctwa i uzdrawiają. A wszystko to przy ogłuszającej muzyce i spontanicznych pieśniach chwalących Pana.

Dennis Covington, reporter "New York Timesa", trafił przypadkiem na proces jednego z kapłanów "ludzi od węży" oskarżonego o zamordowanie swojej żony. Mężczyzna zmusił ją do tego, by włożyła rękę do klatki pełnej jadowitych węży. Pełen fascynacji i strachu Covington postanawia wkroczyć w hermetyczny świat wężowników, w którym ekstremalna wiara miesza się ze śmiercią, a cuda wydają się na wyciągnięcie ręki.

Genres: Nonfiction, Religion, Memoir, History, Southern, Southern Gothic, Christianity

200 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1995

Reviews

[Petra X · Rating 5 out of 5]

A journalist, himself from the South, is investigating a story where a cult snakehandler had attempted to kill his wife with rattlesnakes. The deeper he gets into the story, the more he becomes enamoured of snake-handling as a religious act. A believer now, the journalist joins the Church of Jesus With Signs Following and becomes a snake handler himself. Ultimately, the investigation left behind, his liberal political beliefs conflict with the traditional religious ones of the Church and, quite suddenly, the book ends. Cognitive dissonance without resolution?

It is a fantastic read, a first-hand account of exactly how to handle snakes and the almost orgasmic joy of what religious ecstasy feels like.

[Lawyer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Salvation on Sand Mountain: Dennis Covington's Adrenaline Rush



Mark 16:15-20
King James Version (KJV)
15 And he said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.

16 He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned.

17 And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues;

18 They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.

19 So then after the Lord had spoken unto them, he was received up into heaven, and sat on the right hand of God.

20 And they went forth, and preached every where, the Lord working with them, and confirming the word with signs following. Amen.

I had intended to read this book for some time, but had just not gotten to it. I picked it up after reading A Land More Kind Than Home by Wiley Cash. Cash's book dealt with a mean snake handling preacher. But being a work of fiction, the background on the practice of picking up serpents was lacking.



Mark 16:18 in action

There, now. That ought to have your attention. It certainly got Dennis Covington's. Covington will tell you that he has lived life on the edge and is an adrenaline junkie.

Born in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1948, Covington was raised in the almost middle class community of East Lake. Although drafted during the Vietnam War he was stationed state side in Louisiana. Following his hitch in the service, Covington obtained his BA in English from the University of Virginia in 1970. He obtained his MFA from the Iowa Writer's Workshop under the tutelage of Raymond Carver.

So far that sounds relatively tame. However, Covington wanted to go to a war. The only one available at the time was the Civil War in El Salvador. He and a photographer friend wrangled press credentials from the NY Times. Covington made a dozen trips to El Salvador in 1983, ending up in a number of situations that could have cut his bibliography rather short.

In 1991, Glenn Summerford, a serpent handling minister in Scottsboro, Alabama (yes, that Scottsboro, as in The Scottsboro Boys) was looking to change wives. However, his church doctrine dictated that divorce would prevent his continuing to preach. He decided to become a widower. After getting good and liquored up, Brother Glenn took his wife Darlene's sweet little hand and shoved it into a box of rattle snakes. She was bitten once. Glenn decided he needed to cover his tracks and forced Darlene to write a suicide note dictated by him as he held a gun to her head. When Darlene didn't die from the first bite, he forced her hand back into the box of snakes and she was bitten again. Glenn continued to drink, watching Darlene and waiting for her to die. Luckily, Glenn passed out. Darlene got to a phone, called her sister and told her to get an ambulance up the road with no lights or sirens. Darlene lived. Glenn Summerford was tried for attempted murder.

And that began Covington's journey, journalistic and personal. He was assigned to cover Summerford's trial. Summerford was convicted and sentenced to 99 years in the state penitentiary.


Darlene and Glenn Summerford on the cover of Serpent And The Spirit: Glenn Summerford'S Story by Thomas Burton

After covering the trial, Covington decided to continue his story, following members of the church without a preacher. Covington is accepted by members of the congregation and begins an odyssey from church to church from Alabama to Kentucky. In search of spiritual ecstasy, Covington crosses the line from journalist to convert.

Salvation on Sand Mountain: Snake Handling and Redemption in Southern Appalachia is a harrowing read. Covington provides a history of the Holiness Church movement begun by George Went Hensley. Sources indicate Hensley began the practice of serpent handling between 1910 and 1913. The movement spread through coal mining towns throughout Appalachia and remains actively practiced today, although it is subject to prosecution in each state with the exception of West Virginia.

Salvation on Sand Mountain: Snake Handling and Redemption in Southern Appalachia was a National Book Award Finalist in 1995. The book was awarded the 1996 Boston Book Review's Anne Rea Jewell Non-Fiction Prize. Since 2003 Covington has taught creative writing at Texas Tech University in Lubbock, Texas. His most recent book is Redneck Riviera: Armadillos, Outlaws and the Demise of an American Dream. Covington is married to Alabama author Vicki Covington. He no longer picks up serpents.


Dennis Covington

Highly recommended.

Update 5/30/2013: Suggested as a possible group read for Pulp Fiction http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/5... under discussion of genre "Country Noir." I call it "Grit Lit," as a number of authors and other readers have dubbed it.

[Brian · Rating 5 out of 5]

"There are moments when you stand on the brink of a new experience and understand that you have no choice about it. Either you walk into the experience or you turn away from it, but you know that no matter what you choose, you will have altered your life in a permanent way. Either way, there will be consequences."

-Dennis Covington, "Salvation on Sand Mountain"

I'll admit to being hardwired to loving journalist non-fiction books - the ones where the author can't help but become part of the story they are trying to objectively write as an outsider. Thompson's "Hells Angels", Wade Davis's "The Serpent and the Rainbow", or even the surprisingly entrancing "Positively Fifth Street" by McManus are all fantastic books and representative of the genre. Similar to Covington (and the fantastic paragraph I've quoted above), the author / journalist recognizes that they are on the precipice of life changing events brought about by their subject matter. Anthony Loyd's "My War Gone By, I Miss It So" (one of my favorite non-fiction books of the past few years) parallels Covington's experience in the American South; Loyd's time covering the Balkan conflagration in the '90s as a journalist transformed him permanently. In all of these great books we get to walk in the shoes of these authors and experience what they do in a down-the-rabbit-hole, scene by scene telling of a tale that results in something better than fiction.

Covington's writing style and word choice is simple, compelling and perfectly matched to the rhythmic story line of an American sub-culture that reads like a discarded Hollywood script. He never pulls any punches, but neither does he take cheap shots. His subject matter is so real to him that its pull is overpowering, even tripping an atavistic response in his character so deep that it sends him on soul searching quest through his genealogy to understand more about why he is sucked into the story of snake handling backwoods Christians.

Please, read this book - take the ride, and enjoy Covington's journey. It is worth the trip.

And thanks to Petra X for a fabulous recommendation!!

"Knowing where you come from is one thing, but it's suicide to stay there." - Covington

[Brett C · Rating 5 out of 5]

"And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover!"

- Mark 16:17-18

This was an honest and effective memoir mixing religion, anthropology, and transformation told by the experiences in a snake handling Pentecostal church. Dennis Covington told his first-person story, the story of others, and the story of holiness preavhing, snake handling, & strychnine [poison] drinking. The narrative was genuine, not boring, engaging, and written with the effect to put you into his shoes.

Dennis Covington was a journalist with wartime journalism experience in El Salvador and Nicaragua during the 1980s. In 1992, he caught wind of a story of a preacher attempting to murder his wife with poisonous snakes. His editor approved for him to cover the story which led to his deep dive into the culture of holiness snake handling.

The author wrote with honesty: telling what he saw, how he felt, and the questions of faith and power. Eventually he moves deeper as he conducted his research, felt gifts of the Holy Spirit, and took up snakes during church services. He told why handlers hold snakes: the power of the Holy Spirit, victory in the loss of self, and giving oneself to Jesus, devoid of fear (pgs 169-70).

Dennis Covington did a fantastic job of explaining Southern Christian culture amongst the further distant Appalachian culture. He explained the roots of the Scots-Irish people of Appalachia and its religious roots

The chief tent of the Holiness movement was after "salvation" or "new birth," there occured a second act of grace, which believers called the "Baptism of the Holy Spirit." The result of this baptism, whether immediate or gradual, was moral purification. Later, the phrase also came to mean an imbuement of power from on high, as evidenced by spiritual gifts. Signs and wonders. Healing, prophecy, casting out devils, and ultimately speaking in tongues. pg 126

Ultimately I thoroughly appreciated and enjoyed reading this. My father is from the mountains of West Virginia and mentioned this phenomena once to my brother and me when we were kids. He said it was real and people do believe snake handling is the sign of faith. I would highly recommend this to anyone interested in a small & unique subculture found in the mountains of America. Thanks!!

[Tony · Rating 3 out of 5]

An oddly affecting book, more memoir than journalism. The snake handling was fascinating and the reason I wanted to read this. What I didn't expect was that the author would have such affection for the handlers, and they for him. Yet, he had a creepy quality (the author, not the handlers) where he would only give fragments of himself. And my cynical soul wondered why his professional photographer (who covered wars in El Salvador) could run out of film just when the author took up his first snake. Made me wonder if I was reading just another Augusten Burroughs or James Frey.

I've driven through that country, a non-believer, alone on a Sunday morning, fooling with the radio dial. I came across a station where a mountain preacher was saying what was on his mind. His sermon was barely English, but it was very American. Or some slice of it. It was real, though. And while it certainly didn't change my mind, it did give me an odd peace. I liked the rhythm of it.

That rhythm is in this book.

[Kaye · Rating 2 out of 5]

This book started out well, but eventually became the self-absorbed journey of one journalist trying to fit in among the snake handlers, but not really. Ugh. It started out as one thing, but denigrated into another. I actually skimmed through his whole chapter on how he really belonged to the snake handling culture, because he used to catch water snakes as a boy...honestly.

[Eric_W · Rating 4 out of 5]

What was originally intended to be a meditation on the trial of a Holiness pastor, Glenn Summerford, who was convicted of using snakes to kill his wife morphed into a rather bizarre memoir that follows the spiritual development (?) or devolution of an erstwhile Methodist to snake-handling Holiness followers in Scottsboro (yes, *that* Scottsboro**) Alabama. He traces his ancestors back to earlier generations of snake-handlers assuming in a rather Lamarckian fantasy that their fascination with holy rolling is genetic. He's clearly fascinated by his (and his daughter's) intense physical reaction to the music. A risk-taker himself, having been a journalist in war-torn Central America, where he had been under fire several times, one cannot help but wonder if putting oneself in danger doesn't have an exceptional appeal to some people.

His original idea was to write a book about these people. The result of is a very interesting cultural essay filled with delightful little tidbits of irrationality:

"She explained what they were, bare trees in rural yards adorned with colored glass bottles. Then I remembered I’d seen them before. I thought they were only decorative. But my neighbor told me spirit trees had a purpose. If you happen to have evil spirits, you put bottles on the branches of a tree in your yard. The more colorful the glass, the better, I suppose. The evil spirits get trapped in the bottles and won’t do you any harm. This is what Southerners in the country do with evil. But this nonsense -- in the literal sense -- is no different from the recent Pope Benedict's resurrection of the Office of the Exorcist. (http://www.ibtimes.co.uk/articles/436...)

His discussion of the origins of snake handling reinforces what I have learned elsewhere, i.e. that it represents a rejection and fear of encroaching industrialization with its concomitant societal upheaval.

"Snake handling, for instance, didn’t originate back in the hills somewhere. [A debatable point, I believe.] It started when people came down from the hills to discover they were surrounded by a hostile and spiritually dead culture. All along their border with the modern world — in places like Newport, Tennessee, and Sand Mountain, Alabama — they recoiled. They threw up defenses. When their own resources failed, they called down the Holy Ghost. They put their hands through fire. They drank poison. They took up serpents. They still do. The South hasn’t disappeared. If anything, it’s become more Southern in a last-ditch effort to save itself....Enter the snake handlers, spiritual nomads from the high country that surrounded Scottsboro, from isolated pockets on Sand Mountain and the hollows along South Sauty Creek. They were refugees from a culture on the ropes. They spoke in tongues, anointed one another with oil in order to be healed, and when instructed by the Holy Ghost, drank poison, held fire, and took up poisonous snakes. For them, Scottsboro itself was the wicked, wider world, a place where one might be tempted to “back up on the Lord.” They’d taken the risk, though, out of economic desperation. They had been drawn to Scottsboro by the promise of jobs in the mills that made clothes, carpets, rugs, and tires. Some of them had found work. All of them had found prejudice."

The author finds himself drawn to the emotional excess of the handler "services" and his description of becoming part of the experience, handling a huge timber rattler, is, for him, quite exotic and unsettling. But his rational side also admits to being drawn to danger. He describes the experience this way: "It occurred to me then that seeing a handler in the ecstasy of an anointing is not like seeing religious ecstasy at all. The expression seems to have more to do with Eros than with God, in the same way that sex often seems to have more to do with death than with pleasure. The similarity is more than coincidence, I thought. In both sexual and religious ecstasy, the first thing that goes is self. The entrance into ecstasy is surrender. Handlers talk about receiving the Holy Ghost. But when the Holy Ghost is fully come upon someone like Gracie McAllister, the expression on her face reads exactly the opposite — as though someone, or something, were being violently taken away from her. The paradox of Christianity, one of many of which Jesus speaks, is that only in losing ourselves do we find ourselves, and perhaps that’s why photos of the handlers so often seem to be portraits of loss."

One is tempted to look for a rational reason why the snakes don't bite more often, but the fact remains they bite all the time and deaths from snakebite are disproportionately large compared to those in the general population. Handling is clearly stressful for the snakes who rarely live out a season whereas they can survive for several decades in the wild. Often the snakes will die while being handled. They are certainly untameable and contrary to popular opinion one does not attain a certain immunity to snake venom after multiple bites. To the contrary, one is more likely to develop an allergic sensitivity.

My rational side recoils from the unfathomable need of these people to lose themselves in what is clearly something very precious and moving. Having read three different accounts of snake handling (not to mention strychnine-drinking), I remain baffled but fascinated.


**http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scottsbo...

[Matt Glaviano · Rating 4 out of 5]

Convington’s book is an affective memoir about his experiences with snake handling churches in the Appalachians. A journalist by trade, he is sent to cover the trial of a preacher accused of killing his wife with rattlesnakes. In the process, he becomes enthralled by the handlers and their faith, leading him, eventually, to become one himself.
I found a couple of things about this text interesting. One way I viewed this book was as a break down of objective journalism, in which the journalist becomes as a much of the story as his subject. Convington readily acknowledges this, saying at one point that he is appalled with himself for his deep personal involvement. It raises the narrative of his book, though, to a different level. I liked that he was unable to stay objective where his faith was involved; it strikes me as more honest work that staying outside of the world he entered would have been and, honestly, it makes for a better read.
The author’s discovery of something about himself and the world around him that he had never before imagined also appealed to me. Convington’s mixture of doubt and faith – and that both his faith AND his doubt increase as the book progresses – struck me as true. I guess I related to wanting desperately to believe in a faith, but having another kind of training of the mind that makes it difficult to wholly lose yourself in the moment.
I liked this book. Covington writes with the clarity of a journalist, the detailed eye of a fiction writer, and the honesty of a person in the process of discovering themselves. Oh, and did I mention I hate snakes? They scare the shit out of me. Perhaps part of my response comes from that; that nothing is more anathema to me than snakes, that picking one up as a sign of faith and devotion strikes me as the ultimate form of some sort of an expression of faith that is completely beyond my comprehension.

[Darwin8u · Rating 4 out of 5]

An amazing narrative of faith, redemption, fundamentalism and the search for God and family in the Appalachian South. Oh and snakes, did I mention there is lots and lots of snakes? Covington approaches his subject (Holiness, snake-handling mountain churches) with a love and empathy that makes the differences between ALL the families of belief seem at once dangerous and large while simultaneously delicate and beautiful.

[Holly · Rating 5 out of 5]

A re-read. This book first appealed to me when I was a recent college graduate with a double-major in religious studies and anthropology. The subject is theologically interesting: the Holiness churches as offshoots of Pentecostal movement; the Church of Jesus with Signs Following as a Jesus Name church; "Jesus Onlys" in contrast to the Trinitarian "three-God people." This is all totally heretical, of course (and they don't care one whit). This is not memoir, not journalism, not a straightforward study. Covington tells the reader at the outset -- and repeatedly throughout the book -- that he is a person responsive to religious power and to danger. He is susceptible, and he very much wants to be carried off. I was fascinated by the illustration of participant-observation: an anthropologist who gets involved in his subject of study. Of course it's not objective. It isn't meant to be. He reminds the reader he is not doing journalism: When she was really living right, she drank poison. What a peculiar idea, the journalist in me thought. But who was I to judge? (page 50). The structure of the book is itself serpentine: non-linear, spiraling, accretive. The prologue and first half of first chapter explain the author's POV, his susceptibility to religion, his biases . . . then he takes us into the church to hear the voices of the participants. There is little or no analysis at this point. He lets the people speak for themselves: the book is filled with direct quotes; he allows the participants' own words to reveal who and what they are, and lets them explain what the signs are (page 17). Then he jumps into the past to give background on the trial of Summerford, thereby allowing the author to explain his involvement in the story. He describes his journalism career - to set it as a counterpoint to the writing he is doing here. Then, a historical side-trip to explain who the Scotch-Irish are, what the Brush-Arbors are, a page about the Cane Ridge revivals (p67-68). Then back to Covington, where he discusses his genealogical roots. Next a chapter on snakes. While this is unfolding we spiral back and forth and see the author with his two photographers attend several more services, then the attendance of his wife and daughters, then his fraught relationships with the handlers. He's building up this account carefully, setting up the chess pieces, without telling everything at once. But again, he's constantly reiterating his love of danger, and he admits his obsession with the snake handlers. (page 79-80 Aline!) The sentences have appropriate rhythm and variety: The simple sentences are intentional: I became a journalist in El Salvador. And something else happened to me down there. Then longer sentences during the services. I was able to clearly imagine the heat, noise, frenzy of the snake-handling services, despite the fact that that I found all the men and women disturbing, their risks shocking, their beliefs outrageous. And that final scene, in which Covington takes the microphone and preaches his way right out of the church (on behalf of women's dignity, no less) . . . Wow.

[Josh · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is certainly a one of a kind book. It started as an research piece for the author's spot in The New York Times centered on the trial of a back-sliden, snake handling preacher who tried to murder his wife with the tools of his trade. This quickly evolves (or devolves depending on your vantage) into a book focused on the hidden but still rip-roaring practice involving poisonous serpents and the connection those believers feel to God only through the use of taking up rattlers, the drinking of strychnine, and handling propane fueled fire. Next, it delves into a very personal exploration for the author into his own beliefs, his background.

It's a true crime novel bred to a non-fiction expose crossed then to a memoir and coming of age self-help book. I loved the book. I especially enjoyed the fact that the author allowed himself (and unbelievably was allowed by the others) to blend into the scene.....not just once or twice- he became a multi-state regular at these backwoods, highly charged services.

There were times I thought a little more focus should have been on the subject at hand and a little less of the personal background, but it all goes together in really unique ways. I walked away certainly still in question as to how anyone could come to this place religiously, but I probably would admit that they seem a little less "crazy" to me now. For a fictional piece centered on the topic, I can highly recommend A Land More Kind Than Home by Wiley Cash which I now kinda think probably ripped a little more from this book than from his own imagination.

[Jeff Jackson · Rating 4 out of 5]

A believer's account of being drawn into the ecstasies of serpent handling and strychnine drinking. Written in prose that's by turns luminous, lyrical, raw-edged, and droll. Although this is non-fiction, it's the closest modern writing I've read to Flannery O'Connor. It shares her bloody vision of faith and redemption as dangerous and disruptive forces to those who seek them.
4.5 stars.

[Tom · Rating 5 out of 5]

"My uncle's death confirmed a suspicion of mine that madness and religion were a hair's breadth away. My belief about the nature of God and man have changed over the hears, but that one never has. And Christianity without passion, danger, and mystery may not really be Christianity at all." (177)

“Mystery, I’d read somewhere, is not the absence of meaning, but the presence of more meaning than we can comprehend.”

Throughout this account of snake-handlers, Covington, who doesn't just observe but ends up immersing himself in the practice, explores the tension between mystery and madness in faith, never judging or attempting to draw easy conclusions. That is the strength of this powerful work. I'm sure I'll be rereading this one.

[Craig Pittman · Rating 5 out of 5]

What an astonishing book -- like nothing I've ever read. Dennis Covington, a freelance writer, is used to the danger of covering war-torn areas in Central and South America. But when he goes to cover an attempted murder case in the South, he winds up discovering a fresh kind of danger -- one that totally draws him in.

The trial is of a snake-handling preacher. He's accused of holding a gun on his wife and forcing her to stick her arm into a box full of rattlesnakes until she's bitten, then refusing to take her for medical treatment. She manages to get away and make a recovery, then testify against him. While covering the trial, Covington becomes fascinated by the other members of the preacher's church who are devoted to snake-handling, insisting it's biblically approved.

Covington begins going to church services, getting to know the church people, even going to a national gathering. And the deeper he gets into the story, the deeper it sinks its hooks in him. He begins singing and shaking a tambourine to the music, socializing with the church members after services, eventually even taking up a serpent himself. And then he goes a step too far...

Along the way Covington confronts his attraction to danger, his reponsibilities as a husband and father, his faith and his history with collecting reptiles as a boy. But as he points out, every story has an ending, and this one has a doozy.

Highly recommended.

[Sarah · Rating 1 out of 5]

I was really disappointed in this book. I wanted to read it to learn more about the crazy people who handle snakes, but the author is just as crazy as they are. He barely delved in to the psychological reasons why these people might be drawn to such an extreme form of worship, but seems to take everything at face value (I.E "it's the spirit!") They were horrible people, and I question the judgement of a man (journalist or not) who would take his wife and children to see religious fanatics pass around poisonous snakes. A complete waste of time to read and only frustrating.

[Elisabeth · Rating 5 out of 5]

In Salvation on Sand Mountain: Snake Handling and Redemption in Southern Appalachia, Dennis Covington takes a firsthand look at the mysterious and mystical practice of handling poisonous snakes in religious worship.

In American literature - and perhaps beyond - there is no more common caricature than the religious zealot. And among these, the Southern snake-handler reigns supreme. For those not from the South, the idea of snake handling falls into one of two extremes. As a folktale, something akin to Irish leprechauns. Or, something so common that on any given Southern Sunday, a hyperactive toddler rattling his mother's bulletin might be mistaken for the warning of a twitching tail within a stealthily placed wooden box.

For those of us from the South, we understand that the truth falls squarely in the middle. We're pretty sure we're only one or two degrees separated from a practicing handler, but we've never actually seen one in the wild.

Maybe this is why Covington’s book is so intriguing.

Dennis Covington begins his research as a journalist-observer of Appalachian snake handling after the trial and conviction of one of its preachers, Glenn Summerford. Summerford was sentenced to 99 years for the attempted murder of his wife. At gun point, he forced her to stick her hand in a box of agitated rattlesnakes. As a preacher, divorce was out of the question - this seemed like a more reasonable way out. She was bitten twice, but survived to tell the tale.

Covington's coverage of the story seemed to only whet his appetite.

What starts as investigative reporting for Salvation on Sand Mountain escalates into complete immersion. He quickly makes friends with many of the leaders and head handlers. It is obvious that he truly cares for the people he is writing about, and that from the beginning, he is intentional to not exploit. They embrace his role as a journalist because as one of the men put it, "It'll be like you're spreading the gospel."

Eventually, Covington takes up snakes in worship, too.

Covington’s firsthand account of living and worshipping among this unique breed is authentic, balanced and is the closest to what I think an accurate portrayal could be. And it isn't just the subject matter that makes Salvation on Sand Mountain worthwhile. This memoir is well-written and gives readers an honest peak (very literally, as it includes photos) inside a culture many have heard of but few will ever experience.

Salvation on Sand Mountain has an important place on the shelf of the Southern cannon.

More reviews on www.literatureandleisure.com.

[Riley · Rating 3 out of 5]

The novelty of this book carries it a long way. Snake-handling preachers, reflections on the old South, murders and marriage are definitely intriguing and amazing. Ultimately, though, I feel like there are two "best versions" of this book, and this isn't it.

My gripe, mainly, is with the author—not as a person, but as a writer. There's no firm thesis for this book. It's kind of about snake handling churches, it's kind of about his brush with God, it's kind of about his discovery of his family history, but it isn't wholly about any of it. It feels like he leads with the most attention-grabbing aspects of the story, then when he runs out of things to say, refocuses the topic entirely.

Not to mention, a lot of his prose just feels hokey to me. From the "empty Coke cup (that) skitters across the rotted porch of the town's abandoned hotel," to his dream sequence near the end, Covington is trying too hard to sell something that would sell itself. There's something too convenient about the way some of the events unfold.

One better version of this book is if Covington removes himself from it as much as possible. Throughout the book, the parts I was most captivated by were the passage in which the author was least present. Another better version of this book is if it was *more* about himself, if it embraced and indulged its aspect of self discovery even more.

I see why people love this book. It had it's moments, for sure, but at the end, it left me kind of unconvinced.

[Dave Marsland · Rating 2 out of 5]

Didn't make it past the prologue 2nd time round...

[Jakub Horbów]

Postanowiłem nie oceniać tej książki, bo jest ona chyba czymś najdziwniejszym, co do tej pory przeczytałem, a mam wrażenie, że moje niezrozumienie intencji autora wynika z uprzedzeń. Napiszę jedynie, że warto skonfrontować się samemu z tą dziwaczną historią.

[Kevin · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book touched me in a personal way, a way in which I can not rationally expect it to touch you since you are not me and have not shared my upbringing and experiences. I can gladly recommend it as a tourism book, a way for an outsider to view some hidden parts of Southern culture, but so much of my own delight in this story is the simple descriptions that ring so true for me because I grew up in Appalachia, I spent the majority of my life there, I've known those people well. Covington's style is not necessarily spare but it may not be enough to give you-the-outsider the feeling of intimacy that I got.

Doing photography has made me aware of our ability to marginalize our surroundings thanks to their familiarity. I see New Orleans every day and as a result almost never photograph it because, you know, that's just what's outside. That's the familiar. When I see a snapshot from some suburban hills in southern California I'm struck by just how different it all looks even though the photographer there was probably tired of the same old same old, saying to him- or herself "that's just what's outside." I'm sure there's a far more succinct way of stating that daily exposure to something dulls our sense of wonder and our ability to recognize it as something with which other people are not familiar.

All of this is leading up to me saying that while I grew up in Appalachia I never really saw it for what it was until I moved. Now that I'm no longer installed at the edge of of the mountains I feel able to view it with love, something I couldn't do while growing up as I was tired of being surrounded by rednecks and cow pastures. Back then I never really explored anything about it but just accepted it as the default. Now at times I'm subject to fascination with it; the fascination comes and goes in waves and right now thanks to this book I'm on a crest.

Covington steps in to this microcosm of the South with arms wide open, seeking information on the intense passion with which these snake handlers give themselves up to God. Going with him on his journey dovetails nicely with my experiences with the movie Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus (which is itself a non-Southerner's wide-eyed exploration of the culture that produced Jim White's first album The Mysterious Tale of How I Shouted Wrong-Eyed Jesus!, most definitely worth a listen) in that it is a display of something that is simultaneously familiar to me and yet just far enough from my experiences to gain that sense of Other-ness. It is my life through a strange lens: I know those people; I don't know what they're doing. It is so very close to "there but for the grace of God go I" and yet is it God's grace that keeps me from there? Isn't that the very argument of the taking up of serpents: that I am not close enough to God to be able to do it?

Even though I recognize that Covington did not choose his personal religious beliefs before embarking on this tour I am glad of them. Because he is a churchgoing Southerner he is able to say without condescension, "While this is not the norm for me, it is familiar. I want to explore the part that makes this Other." I feel he did it well. He did not adopt an aloof tone as if to say "This is passionless science. I do not judge, merely observe." He wrote from inside and from feeling. This is a story about him as much as them, his religion, his experience, his ecstasy within their services.

I enjoyed every page. It makes me want to go back to the mountains, to re-live my childhood, to force myself to pay attention, to take some risks and dig into parts of the South that I just let slip by. I can't expect this book to move you the same way, but for me it deserves all five stars.

[Aj Sterkel · Rating 3 out of 5]

Likes: I don't know much about Christianity, but I think if God wanted us to touch rattlesnakes, he wouldn’t have put rattles on them. That sound means not to touch them.

Anyway, the author is a journalist who spent two years as a member of a snake-handling church in southern Appalachia. His interest in snake handling starts with a work assignment and curiosity about his family heritage. It quickly develops into an obsession that kind of freaks him out. He isn’t afraid to examine his own life. Holding rattlesnakes and drinking poison are odd activities to want to do. In this book, the author delves into the history of snake handling and looks at his own thrill-seeking behavior to discover why people take up serpents.

I appreciate the author’s honesty. He shows how difficult it can be for a journalist to write about personal subjects in an objective way. He goes to the church as a journalist in search of a good story, but the service speaks to him as a danger-loving Christian. For me, the most fascinating part of the book is watching the author struggle between being an observer and wanting to participate. I like that he admits to being a bad journalist. Good journalists don’t become personally involved with their subjects. Once he starts snake handling, it takes over his life. It becomes way more than just a story for a newspaper.

“There are moments when you stand on the brink of a new experience and understand that you have no choice about it. Either you walk into the experience or you turn away from it, but you know that no matter what you choose, you will have altered your life in a permanent way. Either way, there will be consequences.” – Salvation on Sand Mountain

Dislikes: This is a short book, but it feels long. There are quite a few scenes of men preaching while holding snakes. I appreciate knowing the religious reasons behind the snake obsession, but it gets repetitive quickly. I don’t think the author had enough material to fill a whole book. I was often tempted to skim the snake-handling scenes. I feel like I got the point after the first one.

Originally, the author attended this particular snake-handling church because one of the members had been arrested for attempted murder. He forced a snake to bite his wife (twice). The author planned to write about the attempted murder trial. That plan mostly gets derailed when the author joins the church. I wish more of the book had been about the crime and the people involved. That would have been more interesting than the repetitive snake/preaching scenes.



The bottom line: An informative look at Appalachian history and how journalists struggle to stay objective. I occasionally got bored.



Do you like opinions, giveaways, and bookish nonsense? I have a blog for that.

[Katy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Salvation on Sand Mountain is loaded with characters that fit every stereotype you've ever heard of backwood Southern Appalachian mountain folk, so extreme you have to check the book cover several times to make sure this isn't fiction. Covington gracefully side steps the predictable exhibitionist freak show and instead expounds on the history, humanity and passionate belief of people most America have called trash for a very long time.

Are you a believer? a non-believer? So is Dennis Covington. Covington's willingness to explore the actual spiritual experiences in his investigation, not just the obvious spiritual hedonism of snake handling but the soul searching and desperate God-searching makes this book a MUST READ. Covington is smart enough to cut off the obvious dismissals - the snakes are tame, the people are insane, it's all a show - with fairly thorough explanations so the pure mystery of mystical American religion, long dead in our present culture, can be savored.

The book traces the history of the Scotch-Irish migration into America. A short introduction to the old world, borderland practices of clan and ancient ritual are placed as a backdrop to the new world poor white culture. I would have liked a more thorough history of the traditions and transition but I think that's just personal preference. The real story of the book is spiritual exploration.

[Cooper Cooper · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a book about the snake-handling cults of the American southeast. The first one started in 1910 as an offshoot of the Holiness church, in turn an offshoot of the Pentecostal church. The snake handlers from many states know each other and many are inter-related by marriage, but there is no overarching organization: each local church is separate and autonomous and interprets the Bible in its own way. But all believe fiercely in the Holy Spirit, and strive mightily to attain the altered state of consciousness that comes with possession by the Spirit and with the handling of snakes and fire and the drinking of poison. In varying degrees, the believers feel that the Spirit protects them from danger while handling snakes. However, at least 71 of them have died from snakebite and the current handlers all seem to have lost close relatives to the copperheads and cottonmouth moccasins and—especially—the timber rattlers which they handle with reckless abandon when possessed, sometimes taking up as many as half-a-dozen at a time. One reason so many have died is that they refuse medical treatment—they don’t believe in doctors and count on the Spirit to save them. If they handle when not properly “in the Spirit” they may get bitten—to some this indicates that their time has come and they’re being called home to God.
Dennis Covington, novelist and teacher of creative writing, got involved with the handlers while covering a murder trial. It seems that one of the snake preachers had tried to get rid of his wife by way of rattlesnake bite. The preacher got 99 years and Covington got hooked on handling. Initially he merely witnessed the ritual and then, after a long buildup in which he felt more and more kinship with these people who shared his ancestry, he himself started “handling” (and witnessing, and—ultimately—preaching). His motives seemed mixed: he mentions a possible genetic proclivity, a love of danger, the out-of-self ecstasy of the actual handling, perhaps a tinge of self-destructive madness; and there may well be another motive he neglected to mention—exhibitionism. And perhaps still another: the desire to spice up his book.
Who are these snake handlers? For the most part, lower class Southern whites of Scotch-Irish ancestry, whose people came originally from the highland border between England and Scotland (“border people”), home of fiercely independent clans who fought against each other and all authority. Those who emigrated to this country did so not to escape religious persecution but to improve their standard of living; too rude and crude for the cities of the East coast, however, they soon headed inland and ended up in the mountains, poor, independent, ill-educated and irascible, and very slow to migrate into the growing inland cities with their regimented employment and straitjacket lifestyles. Many called (and still call) these mountain people poor white trash or hillbillies.
Why do these folks handle snakes? Their justification comes from Mark 16:17-18: “And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover!” So the handlers are merely following the Word. That’s the cover story, anyway. It’s apparent that handling also serves many psychological needs; it’s a way of: getting an incredible high; feeling powerful and spiritually superior (most of the handlers are still working-class and ill-educated, low on the socioeconomic ladder); showing off and parading male macho; belonging to an exclusive (though outcast) group; and simply socializing, with many exciting things to talk about, like who drank strychnine or got snakebit last week. Covington seems to think there’s also a suicidal impulse at work.
This is a very well-written book (as one would expect from a novelist) about an unusual and interesting subject that doesn’t get much coverage. Here’s the author’s description of how it felt to handle a rattlesnake for the first time:

And it was exactly as the handlers had told me. I felt no fear. The snake seemed to be an extension of myself. And suddenly there seemed to be nothing in the room but me and the snake. Everything else had disappeared. Carl, the congregation, Jim—all gone, all faded to white. And I could not hear the earsplitting music. The air was silent and still and filled with that strong, even light. And I realized that I, too, was fading into the white. I was losing myself by degrees, like the incredible shrinking man. The snake would be the last to go, and all I could see was the way its scales shimmered one last time in the light, and the way its head moved from side to side, searching for a way out. I knew then why the handlers took up serpents. There is power in the act of disappearing; there is victory in the loss of self. It must be close to our conception of paradise, what it’s like before you’re born or after you die.

[Allison · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wild.

[Gonzalo Diaz · Rating 4 out of 5]

Diferente, crudo, interesante. Y muy sureño.

[Jackie · Rating 2 out of 5]

I'll admit off the bat that my view of the author -- who deeply interjects himself into the narrative -- was initially colored by my own biases. Specifically, there are few things I hate worse than a Southern apologist operating under the guise of a guardian of Southern culture. So when, in an apparent attempt to debunk Southern stereotypes, the author notes that the Scottsboro Boys and their accusers were out-of-towners I had to pause for just a moment and take a breath. Um, Mr. Covington, it was a mob of Scottsboro townfolk that nearly lynched the teens, an all white Scottsboro jury that convicted them, and a Scottsboro judge who sentenced them to death. Noting where they or their accusers were from, to belabor the obvious, is to miss the point.

I picked up this book hoping for some insight into the sect, a dignified portrayal of its flawed practitioners, a non-fiction version of Flannery O'Connor's South. Instead, I found batshit crazy -- and I don't mean charming batshit crazy. I mean dangerously batshit crazy. Something that apparently was lost on the author, whom we find by the middle of the book testifying and handling snakes himself in the throes of religious fervor. Did I mention that the author is a New York Times reporter? And despite what I've just told you, there's not an ounce of irony to be found here?

[Phoenix Ocean · Rating 5 out of 5]

Absolutely stunning mix of journalistic observations and poetically visual prose. Some of the religious experiences described in here were quite compelling, even for a non-religious reader.

2025 reread: This is just as compelling on the second read, filled up with images both fragile and sharp and figures that both enforce and defy stereotypes. I truly would recommend this to anyone who wants a humanizing glimpse into Southern spirituality.

[Ken Saunders · Rating 5 out of 5]

Literally hysterical and powerfully beautiful, it's the rare book that exceeds all the praise and leaves you wanting to write the author a personal thank you note. This book shouldn't work - it's too funny to be so respectful, too absurd to be so intimate, and too confident to be so profound. Maybe it only works because the contradictions it embodies capture the living South so vividly. I loved every amazing page.

[Akiva · Rating 4 out of 5]

A very interesting and informative account of an obscure religious practice within the United States. Dennis Covington writes clearly and uses his experience to pull the reader into the book itself. I recommend this book to anyone with any interest in religious studies. My only dislike was the abrupt ending and the lack of background information on the actual religious practices and scripture of the snake handlers.

[Sarah Coleman · Rating 3 out of 5]

“My uncle‘s death confirmed a suspicion of mine that madness and religion were a hair’s breadth away.… Feeling after God is dangerous business. And Christianity without passion, danger, and mystery may not really be Christianity at all.”

I didn’t even know that snake handling was a thing. So crazy. The book was a bit dull and repetitive for me though. I think if it was written now instead of 1993 it might be more entertaining.

Lol at how when I got this book from the library it was on the 10th grade required reading shelf🥲