It Can Happen Here a Case Against American Exceptionalism in U.S

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It Can Happen Here A Case against American Exceptionalism in U.S. Political Fiction

Masterarbeit

zur Erlangung des akademischen Grades Master of Arts (MA)

an der Karl-Franzens-Universität Graz

vorgelegt von Julian LAMPLMAYR, BA

am Institut für Amerikanistik Begutachter: Univ.-Prof. Dr. Stefan BRANDT, MA

Graz, 2020

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank: first and foremost, my girlfriend Alisa, for her unconditional love and support as well as her unshakable belief in me; my sister Laura, for her kind encouragements and useful tips on the process of writing a master’s thesis; my brother Alexander, for his interest in the topic and thought-provoking views on it; my parents, for their patience; my friends at university and the dormitory for their significant contribution to these formative years in both academic and personal terms, especially Heike and Alina as well as Martina and Gundi; and my supervisor, for his important feedback, drawn from his vast knowledge about American culture.

Table of Contents

Introduction ...... 3

1. Sinclair Lewis’s Dystopian Novel It Can’t Happen Here: Speculative Historical Fiction about a Fascist/Totalitarian U.S.A...... 8 1.1. Fascist Trends in U.S. History Challenging the Idea of American Exceptionalism . . . . 8 1.2. Fascist Preconditions Shown as Fulfilled during the Interwar Period in the U.S. . . . 12 1.3. The Satirical Portrayal of the Rising Fascist Movement ...... 18 1.4. The Satirical Representation of the Fascist/Totalitarian Regime ...... 25

2. Philip Roth’s Alternative History Novel The Plot against America: A Hypothetical Look back at a (Proto-)Fascist Regime in the U.S.A...... 31 2.1. “We Were a Happy Family in 1940”: The Portrayal of Jewish Life in the U.S. prior to Lindbergh’s Nomination and Election as U.S. President ...... 32 2.2. “The Nation’s Savior” versus “Hitler”: The Contrasting Representation of a Controversial U.S. Political Figure ...... 33 2.3. “They Live in a Dream, and We Live in a Nightmare”: The Contrasting Representation of a Controversial U.S. Presidency ...... 38 2.4. “The Plot against America”: Conspiracies and Plots as Narrative Devices ...... 48

3. Robert Penn Warren’s Historiographic Novel All the King’s Men: Antidemocratic Tendencies during the Interwar Period in the U.S.A...... 53 3.1. The Motif of the American Dream and Its Corruption ...... 54 3.2. The Satirical Description of the Personality Cult around an Antidemocratic Leader 55 3.3. Lost Illusions (of Idealism) in American Politics ...... 60 3.4. Corrupt Politics Corroding Democracy ...... 65 3.5. The Motif of a Hopeful Future in the Face of a Burdensome Past ...... 67

Conclusion ...... 71

Works Cited ...... 76

Introduction

It can’t happen here – or can it? The U.S. American author Sinclair Lewis addressed this question in his 1935 novel entitled It Can’t Happen Here. What can (or cannot) happen? Judging from the book’s historic context and subject, Lewis was referring to fascism, authoritarianism and totalitarianism.1 With the rise of these antidemocratic forms of government in parts of Europe and the Soviet Union during the 1920s and ‘30s, Lewis examined this topic in a U.S. American context, including the political system as it was at the time.

The background to Lewis’s novel was not only the rise of fascist/totalitarian regimes outside the U.S. but also increasingly antidemocratic and populist tendencies within the country during the 1930s. One upcoming politician who was notorious for his populist demagoguery and totalitarian ambitions was Huey Long, the governor, and later senator, of Louisiana during the late 1920s and early ‘30s. The question of whether fascism/totalitarianism could happen in the U.S. became therefore all the more pressing. But what could be the reason as to why the novel was entitled It Can’t Happen Here rather than Can It Happen Here? or It Can Happen Here (as Lewis goes on to show)? The rationale behind this is alluded to in the book itself, that is, because many people refused to believe that fascism/totalitarianism was possible in the United States. After all, the U.S. was (and still is) arguably the longest-standing democratic country in the world (Desjardins, Hauer). Furthermore, it was (and still is) widely regarded as exceptional concerning its democratic virtues and traditions.2 This widespread idea instilled (and still instills) a false belief in many Americans that fascism/totalitarianism could not spread on American soil.

The concept of American exceptionalism has been discussed by many scholars. Seymour Martin Lipset considers the U.S. political system exceptional (i.e. different from all other nations), yet double-edged (as the subtitle of his 1996 scholarly work already indicates). In his view, free democracy in the U.S. necessarily comes with a number of rather negative aspects including

1 In fact, the it is not unequivocally defined in the novel. When the issue of “[i]t can(’t) happen here” is discussed in the book by various characters, they are referring to slightly different things although they all go in the direction of the abovementioned concepts of fascism, etc. 2 The term exceptional in relation to the United States was first used by the historian and political scientist Alexis de Tocqueville in the 1830s. He asserted that “[t]he position of the Americans is therefore quite exceptional, and it may be believed that no democratic people will ever be placed in a similar one” (518). 4 income inequality and low voter turnouts (13). Nevertheless, Lipset emphasizes the high level of patriotism in the United States, which includes a feeling of superiority – in terms of its social system and as a society in general – vis-à-vis other countries (51, 287-288; see also Paul 14). Deborah L. Madsen connects the notion of American exceptionalism to the United States’ self- image as “a city upon a hill” presenting the country as exemplary and thus as a model to the world (1-2).3 Donald E. Pease contends that American exceptionalism is linked to the United States being “’exempt’ from the laws of historical progress” – put differently, America is not prone to the (negative) developments of other countries (9, my emphasis). Heike Paul views American exceptionalism as the principal paradigm in American studies under which can be found “[a]ll of the myths” connected to American history (13-14), which she goes on to debunk in her 2013 work. Paul ties U.S. patriotism to the purported “exceptionality of American democratic republicanism” (15).

As the abovementioned scholars argue, American exceptionalism denotes the widespread feeling of patriotism and superiority among Americans as well as the common belief that their country (including its political system) is not only exemplary but also immune to the (political and social) decline that befell other developed nations, especially during the 20th century. Up until today, one can argue that fascism/totalitarianism with a concomitant downfall of democracy has actually never happened in the U.S., so the latter theory still stands. Nonetheless, some political observers argue that this changed in 2016 with the election of Donald J. Trump as president of the United States (Sunstein).4 At any rate, during Trump’s rise to political power in 2016 and ‘17, there was a sharp increase in the sales of dystopian novels such as Sinclair Lewis’s It Can’t Happen Here, George Orwell’s 1984, Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World and Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 (Wheeler).5 This rise in the popularity of dystopian novels in the United States around the time of Trump’s election as U.S. president speaks to a concern among the American public about the country’s (political) future, including the fear of real-life scenarios as imagined in the abovementioned novels.

3 The phrase “a city upon a hill” was famously used by John Winthrop in his lecture “A Model of Christian Charity” in 1630 (Brogan 43). 4 This thesis is not primarily concerned with whether the U.S. has become fascist or authoritarian under Trump as this, first, requires expertise in political theory and, second, is a matter of interpretation and therefore contention. 5 According to Claeys, “[d]ystopian novels are imaginary … dire futures” (269-270). 5

For the purpose of this thesis, I will investigate the portrayal of fictional antidemocratic political systems in the United States in U.S. political writing. It is worth mentioning that they do not necessarily need to fall under the category of dystopian fiction as defined by Claeys and other literary scholars. For my study, I have selected texts that take a look at the subject of antidemocratic systems from different temporal perspectives (that is, looking into the future but also into the (recent) past). To wit, the texts are Sinclair Lewis’s It Can’t Happen Here (1935) in addition to Philip Roth’s The Plot against America (2004) and Robert Penn Warren’s All the King’s Men (1946).6 Using a text-centered approach, I will analyze which literary strategies and techniques (including motifs and themes) the authors employ in order to level criticism against the idea of American exceptionalism, especially the notion that the U.S. is exemplary in its social and political system as well as exempt from negative (i.e. antidemocratic) developments. I will argue that the selected novels demonstrate that antidemocratic forms of government are indeed possible in the United States by using points of reference and allusions to parts of American history and culture where antidemocratic tendencies already came to light. These are rather general concepts such as institutional racism and illegitimate use of violence but also more concrete references to, for example, the Ku Klux Klan and political figures such as Huey Long and Charles A. Lindbergh. In addition, by realistically evoking fascist/totalitarian patterns and phenomena in a U.S. context, the novels show that the American political system is not immune to the rise of antidemocratic leaders and that they may actually be legitimized by U.S. politicians and a large part of the American population. This stands in diametrical opposition not only to the notion of American exceptionalism but also to the United States’ founding documents, which emphasize a democratic system and individual liberty above all else.

One central technique which is used by each author of the selected novels is irony. Most notably, this is done in Lewis’s novel It Can’t Happen Here, whose title suggests the opposite of what its content makes evident (that is, that it can actually happen here). Concerning The Plot against America, the title makes the reader believe that an outside force conspired against the U.S. while the novel itself suggests that this plot may never have occurred (the question remains

6 I have chosen these specific novels also because they are all set primarily between 1920 and 1942, which is the historic period when fascism/totalitarianism spread and developed (including antidemocratic politicians and tendencies in the U.S. itself, as mentioned above). This allows for a better comparison between the works. 6 unanswered). As regards All the King’s Men, the irony is that fate was seemingly the cause of the rise of a demagogue, when it can be argued that it was the corrupt political system which occasioned it.

The three novels look at the subject of antidemocratic systems from different time angles and aesthetic viewpoints. It Can’t Happen Here, written and published in 1935, begins its story in 1936, that is, in the future (that is, in the very near future).7 It imagines the rise of fascism in the United States in the late ‘30s after the election of a demagogue into the White House. The Plot against America does the exact opposite: it looks backward. Published at the beginning of this century, it also imagines the rise of fascism/authoritarianism in the United States during approximately the same time period, but it does so from the standpoint of today, that is, knowing that it did not actually happen but supposing that it might have. In other words, the novel asks the question of “what if?”, which is typical of so-called alternative fiction (Singles 1).8 All the King’s Men, published shortly after World War Two, deals with the corruption of an initially idealistic politician after he becomes governor in a southern U.S. state. This story is technically neither dystopian nor alternative fiction: rather, it is based on real people, most notably on Huey Long, recounting his rise and eventual fall. Thus, All the King’s Men may be said to be a roman à clef, i.e. “a novel that represents historical events and characters under the guise of fiction” (“Roman à Clef”). For all their differences in time perspective, the three novels all cause the reader to call into the question the idea of American exceptionalism and therefore serve as exemplary texts for my study.

Contemplating a possible future, a possible past, or a ‘real’ past (based on actual happenings and people), irrespective of which angle one looks at it, these works thus demonstrate that it can happen (It Can’t Happen Here), that it could have happened (The Plot against America), or that it has all but happened already (All the King’s Men) in America. However, to return to one of our initial questions: what exactly is it? Since Trump’s rise to political power in 2015 and ’16,

7 Another futuristic political novel which looks into the (more or less) immediate future is Edward Mandell House’s Philip Dru: Administrator: A Story of Tomorrow, 1920-1935, published approximately two decades earlier. 8 Specifically, it asks what if the isolationist and racist Charles A. Lindbergh – and not Franklin D. Roosevelt – had been elected in the 1940 U.S. presidential election. Another notable novel that asks a related “what if?”-question is Philip K. Dick’s The Man in the High Castle, which imagines a post-WWII world in which the Axis powers – and not the Allied powers – had won the war. There is also a short story by Isaac Asimov entitled “What If–.” 7 political scholars and journalists have increasingly discussed this it, but, strictly speaking, they have referred to (slightly) different things. Cass R. Sunstein, editor of Can It Happen Here?: Authoritarianism in America, relates it mainly to “authoritarianism.” So does Malcolm Harris in an article for Salon. By contrast, Tyler Cowen, a professor of economics at George Mason University, political philosopher and contributor to Can It Happen Here primarily means “fascism.” The issue becomes even more complicated when taking a close look at It Can’t Happen Here, to which all these scholars and journalists allude: in the book, it refers to, among other things, tyranny, a (fascist) dictatorship and leadership by a ‘strong man’ (Lewis 16-18 et passim).

For the sake of simplicity and clarity in this thesis, I will study the selected novels with regard to the portrayal of any political tendencies in the U.S. that run counter to its founding documents including the Bill of Rights. Specifically, I will concentrate on the representation of fascism, authoritarianism and totalitarianism as well as anything that goes in the direction of these. As main points of reference, I will use standard works such as Hannah Arendt’s The Origins of Totalitarianism and Robert O. Paxton’s The Anatomy of Fascism as well as more recent publications such as How Democracies Die by Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, all of whom have extrapolated patterns and phenomena of (respectively) fascism, authoritarianism and totalitarianism from historical developments. I will also be referring to Michael Kazin’s The Populist Persuasion for discussions of populism, which is sometimes linked to the abovementioned phenomena. I will be referencing these antidemocratic patterns and phenomena to show that U.S. political fiction has convincingly imagined the country as an antidemocratic society. With the aid of approaches from philosophical and historiographic theory, I will demonstrate that the three selected novels create the plausible impression that it could, indeed, happen in the United States as well.

1. Sinclair Lewis’s Dystopian Novel It Can’t Happen Here: Speculative Historical Fiction about a Fascist/Totalitarian U.S.A.9

Written in 1935, Sinclair Lewis’s novel It Can’t Happen Here demonstrates that fascism/totalitarianism might develop and spread in the United States as they did in parts of Europe and the Soviet Union at the time. Lewis thus provides a dystopian outlook into America’s future, including the rise of a fascist/totalitarian regime and a concomitantly oppressed population killed in large numbers by its own government. What Lewis does in his novel is typical of dystopian literature as David W. Sisk defines it, that is, “’pessimistically extrapolating contemporary social trends into oppressive and terrifying societies” (2). In addition to looking at contemporary fascist trends in American society and politics, Lewis also examines America’s past with regard to antidemocratic phenomena, which he directly refers to in his novel. Most importantly, Lewis shows that, given a social, economic and political crisis, fascist trends may lead to the rise of a fascist regime. Finally, after describing the rise of this regime, the author illustrates its maintenance by its use of oppression and propaganda.

1.1. Fascist Trends in U.S. History Challenging the Idea of American Exceptionalism

It is the protagonist of It Can’t Happen Here, the journalist Doremus Jessup, who prophesies the rise of the fascist movement in the novel and who can thus be said to function as a prophet of doom. In a discussion with some of his friends at the beginning of the story, Jessup warns his fellow citizens of a fascist take-over in the United States. In doing so, the journalist references both America’s past and present to show that “a real Fascist dictatorship” is possible and not even unlikely: “Why, where in all history has there ever been a people so ripe for a dictatorship as ours!” (17). Tyrannical trends include “the fix of the Southern sharecroppers, the working conditions of the miners and garment-makers, and our keeping Mooney in prison so many

9 Speculative fiction denotes “a broad literary genre encompassing any fiction with supernatural, fantastical, or futuristic elements” (“Speculative Fiction”). Margaret Atwood defines the term more narrowly, that is, as a genre which deals with plausible plots, as opposed to science fiction, which is about impossible events (6). 9 years” (16).10 He also evokes censorship during WWI, the Red (i.e. Communist) and Catholic scares as well as the popularity of lynchings with “trainloads of people [going] to enjoy [them]” (17). Related to lynchings, he mentions the Ku Klux Klan and another group which used illegitimate measures, namely the Kentucky night riders (17).11 Finally, he mentions several politicians in U.S. history, namely the racist Congressman and Senator Tom Heflin, the white supremacist Tom Dixon, who wrote The Clansman (which was later adapted for the screen in The Birth of a Nation by D. W. Griffith) and the populist William Jennings Bryan, who was largely responsible for the prohibition of the teaching of evolution in several states (17).

Second, in order to demonstrate the immediacy of the fascist threat, Jessup discusses two contemporary controversial but nonetheless influential figures during the 1930s: Huey Long and Charles Coughlin. The Louisiana governor and later senator Long is likened to the novel’s fictional fascist political leader Berzelius Windrip, while the Roman Catholic priest Coughlin is presented as the precursor and model for the fictional fascist radio host Bishop Prang (16-17). In a sense, It Can’t Happen Here is thus a roman à clef (as defined in the introduction) similar to All the King’s Men, whose fictional character Willie Stark is likewise modeled on Huey Long. However, the difference between Lewis’s and Warren’s novel is that the real figures of Long and Coughlin are part of It Can’t Happen Here, mentioned alongside their fictional counterparts Windrip and Prang, whereas Long is never mentioned in All the King’s Men (thus appearing only indirectly in the figure of Stark).

In Lewis’s novel, according to Jessup, the late Huey Long “became absolute monarch over Louisiana” with Windrip showing a similar kind of leadership in his state (the latter not being specified; 16-17). The two of them also vied with one another for being “the most bouncing and feverish man in the Senate” (27). Similar to Long, Windrip equally runs on a redistributive platform, guaranteeing “several thousand dollars a year” to the poor without impoverishing the rich (27-28). Windrip’s platform is recognizably modeled on Long’s “Share Our Wealth”

10 Thomas Mooney, an American political activist and labor leader, was convicted in 1916 of a crime which he likely did not commit. Nevertheless, he was sentenced to death (subsequently commuted to life imprisonment), and was thus still in prison in 1935, when the novel was published (Mooney was pardoned a few years later, however). 11 The Kentucky night riders were an initially lawful organization which set out to break the monopoly of the American Tobacco Company in the tobacco business at the beginning of the 20th century. However, it developed into an outlaw group which destroyed the plant beds and tobacco barns of those farmers who were unwilling to join them (Day). 10 program, which is equally based on downward redistribution, promising “every American a federal guaranteed income of $200 a month” (Critchlow 99). In Windrip’s policy plans, set forth in his proclamation “The Fifteen Points of Victory for the Forgotten Men,” the then presidential candidate explicitly praises Long’s program and envisages implementing its “best features,” along with those of similar plans (63). In his final campaign speech just prior to the U.S. presidential election, Windrip imagines “a Paradise of democracy in which, with the old political machines destroyed, every humblest worker would be king and ruler” (98-99). This is an allusion to Long’s motto “Every Man a King,” which was associated with his political program.

This evoking of “a Paradise of democracy” ties back to the concept of dystopia, or rather, antiutopia. By the early 1900s, the latter concept had come to mean “’all fictions that turn utopian dreams into nightmares’” (Claeys 283). It Can’t Happen Here, in taking up Long’s policy program and imagining its possible realization thus does exactly that, that is, it turns a utopian dream of “every humblest worker a king and ruler” into a nightmare, in which the workers are brutally oppressed and exploited. Lewis’s novel may therefore be read as a cautionary tale in the sense of “be careful what you wish for” (cf. Irvin Howe’s 1963 study “The Fiction of Antiutopia,” qtd. in Claeys 276). In The Shape of Utopia, Robert C. Elliott refers to the same concept of “utopian dream turned into dystopian nightmare,” calling it negative utopia (89).12

In It Can’t Happen Here, in addition to Windrip, the other fascist threat to America is the Reverend Paul Peter Prang, arguably an even more drastic version of Father Coughlin, a radical politician and fascist sympathizer known for his popular radio addresses during the 1930s (Kazin 130). More precisely, “to the pioneer Father Coughlin, Bishop Paul Peter Prang was as the Ford V-8 to the Model A” (Lewis 31). Prang is, for example, louder and more direct in his attacks on enemies. Additionally, he has an even larger radio audience than Coughlin and also more political power than the priest. Thus, tens of thousands of his auditors blindly follow Prang when he tells them to call and write to Congress to vote on a bill. Prang’s organization “The

12 For the sake of simplicity and clarity in this thesis, I will continue to use the more generic and established term dystopia. 11

League of Forgotten Men,” with millions of members, is led autocratically by him.13 Furthermore, Prang sees himself not only as a Reverend but as a “Priest-King,” who wants all Americans to live their lives according to him, which, according to Jessup, “makes Brother Prang a worse tyrant than Caligula – a worse Fascist than Napoleon” (31-33).

Indeed, Lewis is not the only one to see fascist occurrences in the U.S. The American political scientist and historian Robert O. Paxton, a specialist on fascism, argues that the Ku Klux Klan may actually have been the first phenomenon functionally related to fascism in the world. As “an alternate civic authority,” the Klan operated – in uniforms – through intimidation and violence to ‘defend’ their group’s professedly legitimate interests. For Paxton, the KKK constitutes a precursor to fascist movements in interwar Europe (Anatomy 49). Like Lewis, Paxton also refers to Father Coughlin, referencing “his anticommunist, anti-Wall Street … and – after 1938 – anti-Semitic message,” as well as “[t]he plutocrat-baiting governor Huey Long,” who, in the historian’s view, is more of a share-the-wealth demagogue than a fascist (201).

As Levitsky and Ziblatt point out in their politological study How Democracies Die, Coughlin and Long (as well as later Joseph McCarthy and George Wallace) enjoyed great popularity in the U.S. – up to 40 percent in contemporary polls (43). This shows that America is not immune to fascist/authoritarian appeals, but is prone to them like other countries – a strong argument against the notion of American exceptionalism. In fact, Levitsky and Ziblatt contend that the reason that fascism/authoritarianism has not occurred in the U.S. (at least before Trump) is not society’s resistance to these forms of regime but the U.S. political system preventing them. More precisely, they refer to the political parties, which since the early 19th century have functioned as the so-called gatekeepers by preventing politicians who are a threat to democracy from attaining power – simply by not nominating them as presidential candidates (48-49).14 Levitsky and Ziblatt argue that the party insiders (responsible for the nomination) were too strong of a bulwark against fascist candidates such as Huey Long and Charles A. Lindbergh (55-

13 Ironically, Franklin D. Roosevelt himself used the phrase “the forgotten man” (Kazin 112; note also the name of Windrip’s political platform “The Fifteen Points of Victory for the Forgotten Men,” mentioned above). Populist phrases like this one were thus also used by politicians not generally considered populist such as FDR. 14 With the presidential primaries becoming binding in the 1970s, the parties’ gatekeeping function has been undermined. Since then a candidate can circumvent the party establishment and get nominated simply through the presidential primaries (Levitsky and Ziblatt 60-61). This has been achieved by Donald J. Trump in 2015/’16. 12

57). Sinclair Lewis and Philip Roth view this differently, however, illustrating how their fascist leaders (Windrip and Lindbergh, respectively) secured the nomination of their parties (the Democrats and the Republicans, respectively) in order to later win the presidency. Which political, economic and social circumstances were necessary for this to happen will be the subject of the following subchapter.

1.2. Fascist Preconditions Shown as Fulfilled during the Interwar Period in the U.S.

While the previous subchapter was focused on fascist phenomena in (contemporary) U.S. history, many of which Lewis references in It Can’t Happen Here, this one discusses those political, economic, and social circumstances depicted in the novel that serve as the necessary preconditions for fascist phenomena to take hold and develop into a full-fledged system and regime. The discussion in this subchapter will primarily be based on Paxton’s seminal work The Anatomy of Fascism, in which he discusses the various circumstances under which a fascist movement may legitimately come to power.

The aspect of legitimation is crucial in It Can’t Happen Here. Lewis problematizes fascism/totalitarianism not as something that is imposed upon the public against its will ‘from above’ (typically through a coup d’état). Rather, he illustrates the political, economic and social conditions that subliminally lead to the rise of a fascist/totalitarian leader by the consent of a large part of the population. The fascist leader Windrip is first nominated by his party and then democratically elected in the 1936 U.S. presidential election, and this despite the fact that his antidemocratic tendencies have already become apparent in his political career, including his presidential campaign.15 Lewis’s novel highlights the fact that even in the face of outrageous antidemocratic trends, a large portion of the population may not display any concern as they are either ignorant of the danger or accept it for their personal gain. At any rate, the author thus levels an even sharper criticism against the idea of American exceptionalism by showing that

15 Like Hitler and Mussolini, Lewis’s fictional fascist leader thus comes to power not by a coup d’état but legitimately (cf. Paxton, Anatomy 96). After his inauguration, however, Windrip does perform a “stroke of state” in order to seize total control of the U.S. government (Lewis 136). 13 fascism/totalitarianism may not only happen in the U.S. but that it may actually be legitimized by the political system and the general population.

Regarding fascism, Paxton extrapolated related phenomena and patterns in world history (most importantly Mussolini Italy and Hitler Germany) and presents these in his work. He includes a useful list of “‘mobilizing passions’ … which set fascism’s foundations.” They are: “a sense of overwhelming crisis …,” “the primacy of the group …,” “the belief that one’s group is a victim …,” “dread of the group’s decline …,” “the need for closer integration of a purer community …,” “the need for authority by natural leaders …,” “the superiority of the leader’s instincts …,” “the beauty of violence and the efficacy of will …,” and “the right of the chosen people to dominate others …” (Anatomy 41). Many of these “mobilizing passions” will be referred to throughout this subchapter.

Before discussing the various circumstances under which fascism thrived, a word of caution is in order: I am not arguing (nor is Lewis) that merely because the preconditions for the establishment of fascism are fulfilled in a certain context, a fascist regime will automatically ensue. Paxton calls this “falling into a determinist trap” (Anatomy 86). Lewis’s aim was not to demonstrate that, given the circumstances in the U.S. during the 1930s, fascism had to happen but merely that it could happen.16 In addition to not being inevitable, a fascist regime is also not irreversible, as Levitsky and Ziblatt point out (12). Likewise, Lewis indicates this by a positive outlook at the end of the novel, leaving hope for the defeat of the fascist/totalitarian regime and a concomitant restoration of a democratic system.

Concerning politics, the first precondition is mass politics (Paxton, Anatomy 42). This has already begun with the advent of political parties in the early 1800s, so this was not a new phenomenon in the 1930s. Mass politics allows a fascist leader to be democratically elected by the general population and thus legitimately come to power (without a coup d’état). A second precondition

16 Unlike Lewis, the German historian and philosopher Oswald Spengler did follow a determinist approach. In his magnum opus The Decline of the West, published in 1918 and 1922, Spengler sets out on “the venture of predetermining history” (3). In this work, Spengler prophesies the downfall of the West-European-American culture (see also Heuermann 270-271; see also Paxton, Anatomy 35-36). The Decline of the West is mentioned twice in It Can’t Happen Here, its first volume being packed by Jessup’s for his first (failed) flight attempt to Canada and for his move back to the U.S. to work for the resistance movement against the regime at the end of the story, respectively (227, 371). 14 is the failure of previous socialist policies, which pushes workers and intellectuals to fascist parties. Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal may have included such policies, some of which did not immediately relieve the dire situation among the general population. A third precondition is the emergence of a figure that Paxton describes as a “gatherer,” that is, someone who is capable of mobilizing the dissatisfied (non-socialist) masses, who have become disillusioned with politics and do not feel represented anymore (Anatomy 83). In It Can’t Happen Here, this “gatherer” is Berzelius Windrip, but he is greatly helped by Bishop Prang, who endorses him and tells the members of his organization “The League of Forgotten Men” to vote for him.17

A fourth precondition, being the most important among the ones mentioned here, is the crisis of the political system, typically in the form of a “deadlock of democratic government” (Paxton, Anatomy 106). In Lewis’s novel, this crisis manifests itself in the presidential nomination where Windrip’s party (the Democrats) cannot decide on a candidate: “… the night passed as the convention balloted, furiously, unavailingly …” (56). This brings us back to the role which political parties in the U.S. played before binding presidential primaries. Levitsky and Ziblatt point to the balancing act which the parties at the time had to perform, that is, between choosing the party’s most representative candidate and someone who did not threaten democracy. In other words, the parties had to fulfill both a democratic and a “filtration” role (Levitsky and Ziblatt do not see any solution to this problem, pointing out that every political system has trade-offs, 49). In the end, despite his fascist leanings, the Democrats nominate Windrip, thus prioritizing his apparently superior chances of winning the election over his threat to democracy. In the face of “the nation’s hysteria … a ringmaster-revolutionist like Senator Windrip” was simply a more promising candidate for the presidential election than Mr. Roosevelt and Miss Perkins who “were far too lacking in circus tinsel and general clownishness” (50).

It is worth mentioning at this point that even though Lewis imagines one main fascist leader in It Can’t Happen Here (namely Windrip), he suggests that this does not have to be a specific person but only a specific kind of person. There are several hints which corroborate this. First, he

17 Paradoxically, Windrip, who openly condemns socialism, proposes policies which may arguably be considered socialist, for instance his plan to guarantee every worker in the U.S. an unconditional basic income of several thousand dollars per year (see above). 15 describes how the U.S. population craved for “a ringmaster-revolutionist like Senator Windrip” (50, my emphasis). Second, Jessup asserts at the beginning of the story that U.S. democracy “may be menaced now by Windrip – all the Windrips!” (16, my emphasis). Third, after a discussion with his family and friends, Jessup muses that “if it hadn’t been one Windrip, it’d been another” (67, my emphasis). Besides, the fact that both Windrip and Long appear in the novel indicates that there are multiple fascist persons who contend for power and who may attain it given the appropriate circumstances.18

With the political preconditions already elaborated upon, the question of how Windrip rises to the highest political office in the United States leads us to the discussion of the social and economic preconditions for fascism in America during the 1930s. In It Can’t Happen Here the portrayal of contemporary U.S. society and its attitude towards the rising movement reveals several reasons as to Windrip’s subsequent election. Two strata of society are highlighted in the novel: the bourgeoisie (upper class) and the proletariat (lower class). The journalist Jessup is part of the bourgeoisie. So are the characters Francis Tasbrough (an industrialist), R. C. Crowley (a rich banker), Emil Staubmeyer (a superintendent of schools) and the Rev. Mr. Falck (an episcopal minister). Discussing the rise of Windrip at the beginning of the novel, a heated debate ensues. When Jessup warns of the possibility of “a real Fascist dictatorship” in the U.S., citing relevant historical phenomena to corroborate his argument (see above), Tasbrough responds: “That couldn’t happen here in America, not possibly! We’re a country of freemen” (16). “It can’t happen here” (or a variant thereof) is a theme that permeates a large portion of the novel, illustrating the incredulity many Americans exhibit in the wake of a rising fascist movement. Jessup’s son-in-law later affirms that “America’s the only free nation on earth … [so it] [c]ouldn’t happen here!” (43). Later, with the fascist regime already firmly in place, even Jessup himself doubts its durability, maintaining that “[i]t can’t happen here” (142).

The assertion that “[i]t can’t happen here” ties in with the concept of American exceptionalism. It suggests that America is exceptional in that fascism and other antidemocratic forms of

18 Similarly, as the rise of fascism is not dependent on a specific person, neither is resistance to it. This is suggested by the novel’s last sentence: “… for a Doremus Jessup can never die” (376, my emphasis). The use of the indefinite article here indicates that resistance does not come from one person specifically, but from a type of person. Generally, the sentence implies that as long as there is an oppressive regime, there will be resistance to it (allegorized by Jessup in Lewis’s novel). 16 government are not possible in the United States. Lewis highlights this arrogant attitude of many Americans by using the phrase (or a variant thereof) not only as the novel’s main motif but also as the book’s title. The author thus condemns the conceit of many contemporary Americans who maintained that their country was immune to the rise of antidemocratic political systems. In The Anatomy of Fascism, Paxton criticizes the notion that there is a predisposition of certain peoples to fascism or that the latter is caused by a defective history of a country (9). Indeed, Paxton goes even further, suggesting that this approach of investigating the people’s character or penchants is all but equivalent to reverse racism (81-82).

Some of Paxton’s “mobilizing passions” can already be found in the abovementioned debate, which sheds light on the contemporary economic and social times. First, there is a “sense of overwhelming crisis.” The industrialist Tasbrough speaks of “serious times [with] maybe twenty- eight million on relief, and beginning to get ugly – thinking they’ve got a vested right now to be supported” (15). The banker Crowley refers to “all the lazy bums we got panhandling relief nowadays, and living on my income tax and yours” (18). Lewis thus illustrates not only the economic and social crisis prevalent in the U.S. during the 1930s, but also the contempt of the upper classes vis-à-vis the lower classes. Tasbrough and Crowley suggest that, due to the social programs already in place at the time (probably about to be expanded due to the crisis), the poorer people (increasingly) live at the expense of the richer people. The use of the verb “panhandle,” which usually refers to beggars and is negatively connoted, highlights Crowley’s disdain. More generally speaking, Lewis illuminates the upper classes’ contemporary antisocialist stance. A further example of this is Staubmeyer’s remark that “Hitler save[d] Germany from the Red Plague of Marxism” (18). Here, the antisocialist/anticommunist attitude is highly evident, with socialism/communism being likened to an infectious, epidemic disease.19

As an antidote to socialism and communism, Crowley praises the virtue of “a real Strong Man, like Hitler or Mussolini … [who can] really run the country and make it efficient and prosperous again” (18). Through the character of Crowley, Lewis draws an analogy between the relationship of a doctor and his patient and that of a leader and ‘his’ country: “… have a doctor who won’t

19 Later in the novel, it is Windrip’s fascist regime which is likened to the plague (218). In his eponymous novel, published in 1947, Albert Camus uses a very similar metaphor. According to the author himself, the novel may be read as a story of resistance to Nazi fascism (i.e. “the plague,” qtd. in Sibourg 32). 17 take any back-chat, but really boss the patient and make him get well whether he likes it or not!” Crowley thus implies that the social and economic crisis in American society cannot heal by itself, but takes “a real Strong Man” who has the right cure and uses it even against society’s will.20 In other words, there is “the need for authority by natural leaders” (cf. Paxton), i.e. a fascist, authoritarian or even totalitarian dictator.21

In addition to the antisocialist and anticommunist stance, another attitude of the upper class comes to light in this debate in It Can’t Happen Here, namely anti-Semitism. Tasbrough asserts that “[t]he Jew Communists and the Jew financiers [are] plotting together to control the country” (15). What the novel does here is allude to the prevalent belief in a possible (and probable) conspiracy among Jews to gain political and economic power. However, Tasbrough’s claim is actually a lighter version of the story of a Jewish world conspiracy, which was initially based on the interrelationship and interdependence of Jews across various countries (particularly in the financial sector). This theory developed after the Dreyfus Affair and later constituted the central part of Nazi propaganda (Arendt, Origins 463).22 Even Jessup’s own son apparently believes in a Jewish conspiracy against the United States, maintaining that “Windrip is the fellow to balk the dirty sneaking Jew spies that pose as American Liberals” (Lewis 37).23

In juxtaposition to the bourgeoisie, represented by Jessup and his discussion partners mentioned above, It Can’t Happen Here features several representatives of the proletariat, i.e. the other side of the economic spectrum. While Jessup and his class members debate theoretical issues such as whether a fascist dictatorship can arise in the U.S., members of the proletariat in the novel think in more practical terms, that is, how they can make a living. In this context, Lewis emphasizes the self-interest of the working class, which is first and foremost

20 Interestingly, a completely different character in the novel, namely Karl Prokop (a Communist), similarly uses the metaphor of sickness to describe the country’s economic/social situation which needs to be ameliorated (108-109). 21 At the Republican National Convention in 2016, then presidential candidate Donald J. Trump said that he was the only one who would be able to fix the system, thus presenting himself as the authorized, natural leader of the U.S. (Trump, “Donald Trump’s Entire Republican Convention Speech”). 22 In 1894, the Jewish officer Alfred Dreyfus was wrongly accused and convicted of espionage for Germany, constituting a political scandal and fueling in France a fierce debate about anti-Semitism, which would occupy the nation for years to come (Arendt, Origins 115-156 et passim). 23 The notion of Jewish conspiracies is still present in contemporary U.S. politics, evoked, for instance, by Michael Flynn (who later became national security advisor under President Trump) in 2015 in response to a claim that Russia was responsible for the hacking of Democratic activists’ emails (Snyder 240). 18 focused on its own economic progress. Many workers support Windrip for his promise of higher taxes of the rich and an unconditional income (see above), in addition to his condemnation of blacks, which gives them a feeling of superiority “since nothing so elevates a dispossessed farmer or a factory worker on relief as to have some race, any race, on which he can look down” (85-86). Indeed, it is the fierce subjugation of blacks (and another group, namely Jews) later that will lead to the absurd ‘fulfilment’ of Windrip’s slogan (adopted from Long) of “every man a king” (provided that he is white), that is, “every man is a king as long as he has someone to look down on” (156).24

The main representative of the proletariat is Doremus Jessup’s hired man Oscar Ledue, an uncivilized good-for-nothing (21-22). His reluctance to be stuck at the lower end of the social and economic spectrum and his longing for a professional rise make the hired man highly susceptible to Windrip’s rhetoric of “every humblest worker a king and ruler.” Unsurprisingly, therefore, he becomes the most active “crusader” for the rising fascist movement in his town, speaking publically in favor of him while deriding other presidential candidates. Besides, he tells his fellow class members to look out for, first and foremost, themselves and to “vote for the man that’s willing to give [them] something” (87-88). Ledue, who later comes to work for Windrip’s regime (pursuing his aspirations of a social and professional rise) thus appeals to his fellow workers’ self-interest (individually and as a group) as opposed to the interests of the “swell folks,” i.e. the bourgeoisie (88).25 Ledue’s reference to the upper class is evidently ironic, adding to the novel’s satirical tone.

1.3. The Satirical Portrayal of the Rising Fascist Movement

Against this backdrop of a political, economic and social crisis during the 1930s, Lewis’s novel describes the rise of a fascist movement. It is worth emphasizing here that the interdependent crises are not caused by the fascist movement but are merely politically exploited by it.26 First, the deadlock during the Democratic convention enables an unlikely candidate such as Windrip

24 Likewise, in The Road to Unfreedom Timothy Snyder argues that as long as a particular section of the population believes that other (social) groups fare still worse, the former can be convinced to live inferior lives (273). 25 The “swell folks” may also be interpreted as a reference to ‘the elite,’ thus being linked to populism, which will be discussed at length in the third chapter of this thesis. 26 Similarly, Paxton notes that fascism takes advantage of a failed liberal state without having caused it, at least not solely (Anatomy 117). 19 to be nominated. Second, the poverty among the lower classes and the resentment of the higher classes against leftist forms of government allow the rising movement to find broad support among the population through the use of clever propaganda and campaigning. Indeed, Windrip’s propaganda turns out to be so effective that people seem to take notice of only those proposed policies that favor them while disregarding the others. For example, the banker Crowley takes Senator Windrip’s criticism of the banks not seriously, believing that the presidential candidate “[will] give the banks their proper influence in the administration and take our expert financial advice” (17). Among other wealthy citizens, Crowley and Tasbrough support Windrip despite the candidate’s proposal of higher income taxes, suggesting that he is a “‘… sounder fellow’ than people [know],” thus obviously thinking that Windrip would serve their interests when in office (87).27 On the other side of the economic spectrum, in the event of Windrip’s presidency, the truck-driver Alfred Tizra is convinced that, “he would have enough money to start a chain of roadhouses in all the dry communities in Vermont,” while the dairy farmer Aras Dilley is sure that farmers like him “are going to fix our own prices on our crops, and not [the] smart city fellows!” (86-87). Thus, in addition to the arrogance of the bourgeoisie, who erroneously thinks that fascism cannot happen in the U.S., Lewis highlights the public’s self- interest, prevalent in both the higher and the lower ends of the economic spectrum.

Windrip’s appeal in the novel is indeed exceptionally broad. It comes from the majority of mortgaged farmers, long-term unemployed white-collar workers, people on relief rolls, rather poor suburbanites as well as many preachers, lawyers and millionaires (77-78). Lewis illustrates Windrip’s popular appeal to various social groups through the candidate’s simultaneous self- representation as a common man and as a natural leader (cf. “the need for authority by natural leaders”). To appeal to the proletariat, Windrip presents himself as a man of the people, being called by his nickname Buzz (26). As U.S. senator, he is open to talk individually to all kinds of people irrespective of their social (or political) position, calling them “Buddy” and “Pal” (73-74). Besides, in order to establish himself in politics, he pretends to be non-ideological and very tolerant in religious terms, “[drinking] Coca-Cola with the Methodists, beer with the Lutherans, [and] California white wine with the Jewish village merchants” (26-27). During his presidential

27 Windrip suggests as much not through his socialist rhetoric (see above) but more subtly, that is, “with a hint, a grin, a wink, a handshake …” (75). 20 campaign, Windrip has himself pictured with Southerners and Northerners eating typical Southern and Northern meals, respectively (68). In this manner, the candidate portrays himself not only as a man of the people but as representing equally the north and the south of the country. Finally, Windrip’s appeal to the lower economic classes can be explained by his “anticapitalist, antibourgeois animus,” which for Paxton constitutes another crucial aspect of fascism (Anatomy 10).28 After going through Windrip’s political program, Jessup explains to his wife that Windrip only makes people believe that “he’s on the side of the plain people” while actually preparing to establish a dystopian regime (Lewis 66).

Let us turn to how the presidential race including Windrip is described in It Can’t Happen Here. The expression “ringmaster-revolutionist” (i.e. Windrip, see above) is already very telling in this regard. So are “circus tinsel” and “clownishness” (50). The election campaign is thus represented as a kind of entertainment show with Windrip (as the ringmaster) being in charge. Additionally, the politician is not only directing the performance but (as a clown) is part of it himself. Regarding the Democratic convention, Jessup finds that neither P.T. Barnum nor Flo Ziegfeld performed a better show (55).29 In this way, Lewis criticizes that for a successful presidential campaign, what counts are superficial performance and cheap appearance rather than informational substance.

The analogy of Windrip’s presidential campaign to an entertainment show is a prime example of a literary strategy that Lewis employs throughout the novel, namely satire. The author thereby effectively draws attention to what is depicted in the novel as a grievance in American politics. As Gilbert Highet puts it, a satirist (in this case Lewis) “wishes to make [people] see the truth” (19). Lewis’s use of satire conveys his criticism much more successfully than if he had uttered it in a serious, non-satirical manner as the former attracts more attention. In addition, the extended metaphor of a circus, including a clown and tinsel, is highly memorable and therefore stuck (and continues to stick) in many readers’ minds.

28 Paxton points out that once in power, fascist regimes do not realize their threats against capitalism whereas they do carry out, violently and thoroughly, those against socialism such as by outlawing strikes, eliminating labor unions and decreasing the purchasing power of wage earners (Anatomy 10). 29 Jessup’s comparison of Windrip and Barnum is fitting inasmuch as the latter was both a professional politician and showman. Florenz Ziegfeld Jr. was a producer and Broadway impresario, known for the Ziegfeld Follies, a series of elaborate and lavish revues. 21

One concrete instance of the novel’s satirizing the campaign process is the description of the Democratic convention, including Windrip’s procession therein. It is led by “little old” Civil War veterans, “leaning on one another and glancing timidly about in the hope that no one would laugh at them” (51). Nevertheless, the veterans are met with tremendous applause, which moves Windrip to tears, which, in turn, makes the audience “sob with him” (51). The description here is overly sentimental and rather absurd than touching. Also part of the procession are relief victims who are barely strong enough to keep up a placard, on which is written, among other things: “We Want to Become Human Beings Again” (51-52). The irony here is that rather than lifting people like these out of poverty, Windrip is later going to push many other people into it. Finally, at the end of the procession comes “the apostle of the Forgotten Men,” the aforementioned Bishop Prang, whereupon “the convention cheered Buzz Windrip for four unbroken hours” (52). The vivid portrayal of the absurdity of this event is typical of satire (cf. Highet 18-19).

Further indications of Windrip’s clownishness become apparent when taking a look at his stage performances during his campaign. They are so effective “that under the spell you thought Windrip was Plato, but on the way home you could not remember anything he had said” (Lewis 70). Being the most overwhelming actor of all fields (including theater and film), the “prairie Demosthenes” Windrip is described “whirl[ing] arms, bang[ing] tables, glar[ing] from mad eyes, vomit[ing] Bible wrath from a gaping mouth; … coo[ing] like a nursing mother, beseech[ing] like an aching lover, and … jab[bing] his crowd with figures and facts,” the latter frequently being inaccurate (70).30 The aspiring politician is thus represented not as authentic but as someone performing a show, taking on various roles to enchant the audience rather than seriously presenting his political views.31 The graphic – and sometimes even vulgar (cf. “vomit”) – manner in which Windrip is portrayed during his campaign encapsulates Lewis’s criticism of the American election process, in which show takes priority over serious presentation.

While Lewis uses extended metaphors of a circus and a stage show to draw an analogy between the election campaign and a spectacle, he employs a set of metaphors related to natural

30 Hannah Arendt speaks of “totalitarian contempt for facts and reality” (Origins xxxviii). 31 Father Coughlin entertained his audience in a similar fashion, through surprise and amusement (Kazin 115). 22 phenomena to draw an analogy between its negative outcome and bad/dark weather. The day of the Democratic convention, the journalist Jessup is awakened to “thunder … clouds … unnatural darkness … and lightning” (49). Later, immediately after Windrip’s demonstration at the convention, “[t]he thunderstorm, which had mercifully lulled, burst again in wrathful menace” (55). Through the use of these metaphors of dark and violent natural phenomena, Lewis highlights the gravity of the moment within the story and foreshadows what is to happen, i.e. Windrip’s nomination. The fascist’s gradual rise to power is thus likened to something sinister and potentially destructive. Windrip’s regime does demolish American democracy later, which leaves the country in figurative darkness. Just before Doremus is arrested for his resistance activities against the regime, “the sun [goes] out as in a mammoth catastrophe; and instantly the world [is] in unholy darkness, which pours into the room” (295). Nevertheless, however fierce a thunderstorm or sinister darkness may be, they are generally temporary, which suggests that however grave the political crisis in the U.S. is, there is a light at the end of the tunnel leading again to figuratively calmer weather and sunshine.

Another metaphor which is used in the context of political crisis and which is equally related to natural phenomena is the moon. Towards the beginning of the story, there is “mist beneath the moon” (14). At Windrip’s campaign finale in New York, the night is “moonless” (91). The (partial) absence (in a figurative sense) of the moon thus foreshadows a negative event (i.e. Windrip’s election) or development (i.e. the U.S. becoming fascist). The moon is thus depicted as a (figurative) source of light and guidance in the darkness of politics. If this light source is covered or completely absent, terror may ensue. There are other political novels which employ the moon as metaphor. One example is John Steinbeck’s The Moon is Down, which deals with an unspecified country that has been conquered by a foreign power. The title of Steinbeck’s short novel, a borrowing from a phrase by Shakespeare, indicates the complete darkness that the conquered find themselves in. Another example is Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, which, like It Can’t Happen Here, describes a dystopian future (albeit farther off, being set around the year 2000). Here, the metaphor of the moon is used to emphasize the protagonist’s feeling of emptiness and sadness. His bedroom is likened to a “cold marbled room of a mausoleum after the moon has set” (9). In war, “the moon go[es] up in red fire” (88). By contrast, when things change for the positive again, “the moon [rises] in the sky” (89). 23

Through the use of metaphors, Lewis already foreshadows, early in his novel, the later rise of fascism and the concomitant downfall of democracy in America. How does the author, however, negotiate this democratic decline and fascist rise in a manner that does not seem too far- fetched? How does he realistically portray the election of a fascist into the White House by the American population? During his campaign, Windrip is rather clear in his intention to strengthen the executive to the point of making it the sole power in the U.S. government, rendering the other powers (i.e. the legislature and the judiciary) obsolete – his political program “The Fifteen Points of Victory for the Forgotten Men” is unambiguous about this (64). As the only official who is elected nationwide, the American president is reliant on broad support within the country and could thus easily be prevented from being elected through firm resistance among the public. After all, from a historic point of view, Americans should be cautious of executive powers as wielded by the King of England before the country’s independence (Jones 2).

While presenting himself as a common and liberal man, Windrip becomes “as absolute a ruler of his state as ever a sultan was of Turkey” with a heavily financed state militia which is ready to serve as his “private army,” using violent means against political opponents (Lewis 27). Nevertheless, during his presidential campaign, he is able to convey his image as a common man. This gets satirized to the point of him becoming “a Professional Common Man.” Indeed, Windrip is so common and so convincing in appearing so that other common people find him “towering among them,” which leads them to “[raise their] hands to him in worship” (71). This exaggeration of Windrip’s commonness as well as his being simultaneously above the other “Commoners” (71) is another prime example of Lewis’s use of satire. The author thus draws attention to a paradox in politics: on the one hand, common people want a politician who is like them and can therefore better understand and represent them, while on the other hand, they want a leader who knows what to do and acts resolutely. In It Can’t Happen Here, the representation of such a charismatic populist is taken to the point of ridicule, parodying political leaders of the time such as Hitler and Mussolini.

As Paxton argues in The Anatomy of Fascism, rather than an election or a conquest, the legitimacy of the fascist leader is based on, first, charisma, constituting “a mysterious direct communication” with the public, and, second, “a claim to a unique and mystical status as the 24 incarnation of the people’s will and the bearer of the people’s destiny” (126).32 In It Can’t Happen Here, although satirically, the fictional leader is characterized as a model of this charismatic savior figure. Windrip is described as a preacher of the gospel of wealth redistribution, who published a book that serves as his followers’ Bible (27-29). In this book, he admits to not be very educated (cf. common man), but that he has read the (real) Bible numerous times, thus highlighting his religiousness and faith (60). During his presidential campaign, many religious periodicals portray Windrip – quite literally – as a godsend (79).

A godsend is tightly connected to the notion of a political savior figure, whose benefit It Can’t Happen Here problematizes.33 In this regard, the novel may be seen as an anti-utopia or negative utopia (as defined above) in that the figure of a savior turns into that of a despot. Ironically, during his inaugural address, Windrip asserts that, “we’re all going to enjoy the manifold liberties to which our history entitles us” (134), and a few days later, when appealing to the Minute Men, he asks them to help him “to make America a proud, rich land again” (135).34 Windrip’s claim of American entitlement to various freedoms is another indirect reference to American exceptionalism, representing Americans as a chosen people (which goes along with his self-portrayal as savior). However, whether entitled to it or not, very few Americans will enjoy any liberties under Windrip’s fascist/totalitarian regime and America will become poor instead of rich. Lewis thus criticizes not only savior figures in politics, but also the ideas of American exceptionalism and an idyllic American past. Before analyzing the novel’s representation of American dystopia, I will mention one more aspect to round off the discussion of its coming about.

Windrip’s evocation of a utopian future during his campaign (and during a significant part of his administration) appeals to emotion rather than reason. Given that many U.S. citizens apparently disregard Windrip’s citation of incorrect facts and figures and rather pay attention to his

32 Kazin notes that “‘the people’ … is among the most potent and fuzziest terms in the political lexicon” (xii). The term is tightly linked to populism, which is a major point of discussion in the third chapter of this thesis. 33 The character Jessup explicitly does so in one of his philosophical musings, contemplating whether “plain men with the humble trait of minding their own business will rank higher in the heavenly hierarchy than all the plumed souls who have shoved their way in among the masses and insisted on saving them?” (116). 34 The Minute Men, or M.M. for short, are a clear parody of the S.S. in Nazi Germany. In the novel, the M.M. are initially marching-clubs (purportedly used only for the duration of Windrip’s campaign), but after Windrip’s inauguration they swiftly become the official (albeit unpaid) auxiliary of the Regular Army, a kind of paramilitary force for the fascist/totalitarian regime. 25 promise of utopian bliss (linked to sentimentalism), this seems to indicate the supremacy of emotion over reason in voter behavior. This is in line with one of Paxton’s “mobilizing passions” for fascism, namely “the superiority of the leader’s instincts over abstract and universal reason,” considering that instincts are rather emotional than rational. Thus, in times of (rising) fascism, the public appears to put more trust in what the (aspiring) leader purportedly feels as true and right than what common sense says. In The Road to Unfreedom, Timothy Snyder provides another, slightly different, explanation for the coming about of an antidemocratic political system (authoritarianism in this case). He argues that this happens because people are no longer able to tell facts from desires, what is true from what is appealing (249, 278). According to this argumentation, the American population simply does not realize any more that there is a disconnect between fascist propaganda and objective reality.

Along the same lines, Daniel J. Boorstin contends that, over time, democratic societies “become more concerned with credibility than with truth” (29). It Can’t Happen Here illustrates that the supremacy of credibility over truth in society may become a problem, that is, when the utopian promises of a fascist movement become more convincing to the public than the rather unexciting promises of the political opposition. Similarly, Plato argues that persuasion originates not from truth but from opinions (qtd. in Arendt, Origins 11). Therefore, people will base their decision for whom to vote not on objective facts and figures, but on what they think and believe. At the end of the day, what people vote for (however rationalized, if at all) is what counts in a democracy. The fictional fascist aspiring leader Windrip seems to understand this, “coaxing in” people ever since he was a child (Lewis 75). When mobilizing against Windrip during the presidential campaign, Jessup realizes “that mere figures are defenseless against a dream” (86), another indication that emotion trumps reason in political voter behavior.

1.4. The Satirical Representation of the Fascist/Totalitarian Regime

As typical of a fascist movement, and as already indicated in their election platform, Windrip and his peers attempt, once in office, to empower the executive branch and leave the other branches (i.e. the legislature and the judiciary) powerless (cf. Paxton, Anatomy 11). Congress does not pass the corresponding bill, however, which leads Windrip to declare martial law due to the “present crisis” and to have numerous Congressmen arrested and some of them 26 imprisoned. This causes instant riots “all over America.” In addition, a mob builds and marches to the district jail, where the “recalcitrant” Congressmen are being confined (Lewis 134-135). The ensuing scene perfectly illustrates the author’s use of satire in deriding the fictional fascist leader’s manipulative rhetoric, the simplemindedness and susceptibility of his troops and the looming cruelty of the regime, which makes it eminently suitable for a close reading. The passage takes place outside the district jail, which is surrounded, among other police and military forces, by the Minute Men, who are confronted by the mob. At first, the M.M. are ridiculed as “Minnie Mouses” and other invectives, then pelted with all kinds of material and even shot at. The M.M. are dumbfounded, not knowing what to do, until Windrip rouses their fury through loudspeakers in the jail, whereupon his men start massacring the fugitives.

The passage portraying the confrontation between the Minute Men and the mob features satire in several regards (cf. Highet 18-21). First, there is a vivid description of Windrip’s troops as dumb and lacking in self-initiative, which parodies the paramilitary forces of other fascist regimes like Hitler’s (which were rather feared and admired; Paxton, Anatomy 67). The M.M. are described as a horde glancing uneasily at the other security forces. When attacked by the mob, they are petrified and some even sneak into it. It takes Windrip’s manipulative rhetoric to rouse their patriotism (cf. “make America a proud, rich land again”) and their hatred of the upper classes: “You have been scorned. They thought you were the ‘lower classes.’ … They said you were no good, because you were poor” (Lewis 135). Second, the scene is shocking in that it employs repellent imagery, that is, when the M.M. follow their leader’s commands. After listening to Windrip “reverently” (cf. Windrip as savior figure), a machine-gunner M.M. starts shooting, whereupon the M.M. infantry stab the fleeing crowd – “[s]uch a juicy squash it made, and the fugitives looked so amazed, so funny, as they tumbled in grotesque heaps” (136). This demonstrates the cruelty of Windrip’s troops and foreshadows their lack of empathy in their subsequent atrocities against average U.S. citizens (cf. “the beauty of violence and the efficacy of will”). The repulsiveness of the imagery lies in the use of language that dehumanizes the crowd, with their blood being referred to as “juicy squash” and their bodies forming “grotesque heaps.” Third, the whole passage evokes “a blend of amusement and contempt” (Highet) in the reader. It elicits amusement in its description of the M.M.’s stupidity and their complete lack of 27 self-initiative and it causes contempt later by the portrayal of the sheer brutality and recklessness of Windrip’s men.

The scene between the M.M. and the mob is indicative of the manner in which Windrip’s regime will rule the country, that is, through fierce oppression of any opposition. Even Bishop Prang, critical of Windrip’s forceful takeover of the whole government, becomes a target (Lewis 136-137). Windrip minimizes the crisis by claiming that it would be only temporary and by referring to Lincoln and his secretary of war Stanton as well as their “military dictatorship” during the U.S. Civil War (139). He thus suggests that the crisis is necessary for America’s utopian future just as Lincoln’s “military dictatorship” was needed to preserve the United States. Jessup muses over the question as to what sacrifices were crucial for the preservation of the U.S. earlier in the story, doubting that the war was required (113).35 In The Origins of Totalitarianism, Arendt points out that the Nazis justified violence (in the prepower stage) “for the ultimate good of the movement” (488). It seems that the fictional fascist leader Windrip uses it ‘for the ultimate good of America.’ It Can’t Happen Here shows that fascist regimes in the United States may justify their use of violence by comparing the contemporary circumstances to historical events where violence was, according to them, vital for the common good.

In his dystopian novel, Lewis portrays how, once in power, a fascist/totalitarian regime oppresses its people. This is either done by violently squashing protests or by imprisoning people. At first, oppression is targeted against opponents of the regime such as critical journalists, a phenomenon that is typical of fascist movements and regimes (cf. Paxton, Anatomy 84). Later, however, the regime accuses people of being “enemies” (such as Communists) even when they are not, which leads to a “nameless and omnipresent” fear among the public (Lewis 217-218).36 As opposed to being targeted, terror becomes more and more arbitrary, making the regime fully-fledged totalitarian (cf. Arendt, Origins 421). A further indication of the regime’s development into totalitarianism is the regime’s setting up of and increasing reliance on concentration camps, which, according to Arendt, make up “the true

35 This ties in with what in All the King’s Men is referred to as “the theory of historical costs,” which deals with the costs (such as human suffering) which are needed for certain benefits (such as economic prosperity) in history. This will be discussed more thoroughly in the third chapter of this thesis. 36 Fear of the regime – especially among Jews – plays an even more significant role in The Plot against America, constituting a leitmotif of Roth’s novel. 28 central institution of totalitarian organizational power” (along with extermination camps, 574). These camps are vividly described towards the end of the novel, indicating that systematic torture and mistreatment are possible anywhere in the world, including the U.S.

There is another passage in the novel which describes the formation of a mob, this time turning not against the regime, however, but against opponents to it. After the publication of an article critical of the regime, the journalist Jessup is confronted with the malevolence of people who gradually gather outside of his newspaper office building (181). In accordance with Gustave Le Bon’s discussion of crowd psychology, the scene perfectly illustrates the disappearance of the individual’s conscious personality in the formation of a crowd, whose feelings and ideas, different from those of the individuals composing the crowd, point in the same direction, thus having a “collective soul” (17-19). The passage also draws attention to the potential for violence among the public, which is acted on in mobs: “Probably many of them … had only the unprejudiced, impersonal pleasure in violence natural to most people” (Lewis 181). That people become violent in a mob has to do with the fact that in a crowd an individual feels empowered and is more likely to surrender to their instincts, delegating responsibility to the crowd instead of assuming it personally (Le Bon 21). Additionally, the passage shows the dehumanizing effect which mobs have on individuals: “Their mutter became louder, less human, more like the snap of burning rafters” (Lewis 181). Furthermore, the scene points to the dehumanizing effect which the fascist/totalitarian regime has on individuals, who act on their violent instincts without regard for peaceful problem-solving or concern for human decency.

A further example of satire in It Can’t Happen Here is the representation of the fascist/totalitarian regime in terms of its symbols. Paxton points out that fascists employ suitable symbols “from within the national cultural repertories” (Anatomy 39). In this way, American fascism would look different from European fascisms, using Stars and Stripes instead of swastikas (202). Indeed, in Lewis’s novel, the M.M. employ the emblem of a five-pointed star (such as the one on the American flag) on their uniforms until they realize that the Soviets have the same kind of star (they initially thought that theirs was six-pointed like the shield of David), whereupon they frantically search for a new, unique kind of emblem. They decide on a ship’s steering wheel, which symbolizes, among other things, “the wheels of American industry” (153). 29

High Marshal Sarason is not afraid to establish a (rather confusing) connection between this new emblem and the swastika as well as the three Ks of the Ku Klux Klan (153). The novel’s description of this is satirical in that it highlights the paradox of the regime’s obsession with finding a unique symbol and its willingness to pay homage to their precursors, both domestic and abroad.

The mentioning of the swastika in It Can’t Happen Here is not the only explicit reference to (European) fascist models in the novel. In the discussion among some of the bourgeois characters at the beginning of the story about whether fascism can arise in America, Hitler and Mussolini are explicitly cited. Later, Windrip’s title as “the Chief” is likened to those of the two infamous fascist leaders in Europe of the time, i.e. Führer and Duce (152). In addition, the one- party Corporate State which is established soon after Windrip becoming U.S. president is explicitly modelled on Italian Fascism during the 1920 and ‘30s. This regards, for example, the division of all occupations into classes, including agriculture, industry, and commerce (among others), the supplanting of labor organizations as well as the prohibition of all strikes and lockouts (154). The replacement of labor unions with government organizations was done not only in Fascist Italy but also in Nazi Germany. Paxton demonstrates how this negatively affected workers as this prevented them from socializing as before and thus atomized them. Workers became politically weak individuals instead of a strong collective group as they had been when they had been organized in labor unions (Anatomy 122, 137). Arendt argues that the loss of group solidarity is one of the necessary preconditions for total domination, and she emphasizes the atomization and isolation of people in totalitarian movements (Origins xxxviii, 423).

In addition to anti-unionism, anti-intellectualism is another essential characteristic of fascist regimes (Paxton, Anatomy 5), employed as a motif in It Can’t Happen Here. Intellectualism is symbolized by books, of which the journalist Jessup possesses a plethora. Even though under Windrip he hides the ones that might be considered seditious such as those by Russian authors, he is not spared from the regime’s scrupulous and brutal campaign against ‘menacing’ fiction. Ironically, it is Shad Ledue, Jessup’s former hired man now working for Windrip, who orders the burning of the journalist’s dear Dickens collection, justifying this by the British author’s “complaining about [social] conditions” (221). The burning itself, which various other books fall 30 victim to, Jessup feels obliged to attend as “[i]t [is] like seeing for the last time the face of a dead friend” (221). Books are thus personified and likened to a friend who is being eliminated by the regime. In the same manner, democracy itself is personified earlier in the novel, when Windrip’s election is described as “the long-dreaded passing of a friend” for Jessup (102). A corollary of this portrayal of democracy and intellectualism as dead friends is that they may actually never come to life again. This suggests that, while not completely irretrievable, the destruction of certain human values and achievements such as intellectualism and democracy leaves at least a stain on humanity which can never be effaced entirely again.37

Finally, let us turn to the relationship of fascist/totalitarian regimes to other countries, also known as, as Arendt so fittingly puts it, “the outside world” (Origins 449). According to the German political theorist, it is the world outside the totalitarian regime that makes propaganda necessary whereas within the country, the regime uses rather indoctrination and terror (449- 450). This is also shown in It Can’t Happen Here. While Windrip’s regime does manipulate, for propaganda purposes, numbers and statistics to fit the bleak developments under its tenure to their utopian promises of general prosperity (283-284), they do rely mainly on terror and violence for the retention of their power. When it comes to foreign countries, by comparison, Windrip’s regime primarily uses propaganda, that is, by deceiving foreign visitors about the wellbeing of the country and its citizens, which then leads to misleading reports abroad about the U.S. being “in … bounding health and good spirits” (315-316). Concerning the relation of totalitarian regimes to foreign countries, Arendt emphasizes another distinctive characteristics of this form of government, namely the impossibility of coexistence (Origins xxxiv). In Lewis’s novel, this impossibility looms ahead at the end of the story, where the U.S. declare war against Mexico (367). This development of Windrip’s regime goes in line with Paxton’s argument that fascist regimes need to conquer new land for their survival, as opposed to authoritarian regimes (Anatomy 157). Windrip’s regime thus features similarities with Nazi Germany not only in terms of domestic but also with regard to foreign policies considering the fact that Hitler heavily pursued imperialism after firmly establishing fascism in Germany during the 1930s.

37 The burning of books is also central in Fahrenheit 451. Bradbury’s dystopian novel imagines a regime which views books as dangerous and therefore to be systemically destroyed. Ironically, for the most part, the public does not have to be prevented from reading as it has ceased doing so by itself (83). 31

2. Philip Roth’s Alternative History Novel The Plot against America: A Hypothetical Look back at a (Proto-)Fascist Regime in the U.S.A.38

As opposed to Sinclair Lewis, Philip Roth imagines the rise of fascism in America not in the future but in the past. Roth’s The Plot against America thus describes an event and a subsequent development in U.S. history that did not actually take, which makes it alternative (or, synonymously, alternate) history (cf. Hellekson 2).39 Being fictional, alternative histories are to be distinguished from counterfactuals, which are the equivalents of alternative history in the field of history and which are thus non-fictional (Hellekson 16, Singles 7). Alternative histories have become a distinct genre of literature after the Second World War and have enjoyed popularity particularly since the 1960s, with The Plot against America being especially successful (Hellekson 11, Singles 1-2).

What is crucial to alternative histories is the so-called point of divergence, which denotes “the moment in the narrative of the real past from which the alternative narrative of history runs a different course” (Singles 7). Singles’s point of divergence is similar to what Hellekson calls nexus event, although the latter term is defined more narrowly, typically referring to battles or assassinations (Hellekson 5). In Roth’s novel, the point of divergence (or nexus event) occurs right at the beginning of the story, namely Charles A. Lindbergh’s nomination for U.S. president by the Republican party in 1940.40 This imagined event leads to Lindbergh’s election and his establishment of what might have become a full-fledged fascist regime had he not been deposed approximately two years later, whereupon the alternative history converges with real history again. In this way, The Plot against America differs from most other alternative histories in that the divergence from the real past is not permanent (Singles 9).

38 What is represented in the novel may be considered protofascism as Merriam-Webster defines it, namely “a political movement or program tending toward or imitating fascism” (“Protofascism”). For the sake of simplicity, I will be using the term fascism here given that the boundaries between the two concepts are not always clear, at the very least for non-experts in political science. Incidentally, the journalist Ryan Cooper applies the term protofascism to Donald J. Trump’s presidential campaign in an article in August 2015. 39 Hellekson defines the genre of alternative history as “the branch of literature that concerns itself with history’s turning out differently than what we know to be true“ (1). 40 The fictional Charles A. Lindbergh in The Plot against America is based on the real Charles A. Lindbergh, the biographies of the two being more or less the same up to the point where the fictional Lindbergh seeks the nomination for U.S. president at the Republican Convention in 1940, which the real Lindbergh did not do. For the sake of simplicity, “(Charles A.) Lindbergh” will be used for Roth’s character in this chapter. 32

As is typical of the novel’s genre, Roth negotiates the role of individuals in history (cf. Hellekson 4). The author portrays the profound consequences which the nomination and election of a fascist U.S. president may have in two main respects. First, it shows the impact on world politics, which, because of Lindbergh’s isolationism, develops in favor of the Axis powers during World War II. Second, it demonstrates the effect on ordinary citizens (in this case particularly Jews), who find themselves at the mercy of the new regime and are therefore tormented by worry and fear. The Plot against America may thus be read in light of the “Great Man Theory,” which stipulates that history is shaped more by individuals than through social forces (Hellekson 20). Lindbergh’s power manifests itself mainly on a psychological basis, leaving Jewish U.S. citizens in uncertainty and apprehension as to his discriminatory policies. Exactly how the fascist U.S. government, including its policies and the portrayal of ordinary life under it, is represented will form the central discussion of the second main chapter of this thesis.

2.1. “We Were a Happy Family in 1940”: The Portrayal of Jewish Life in the U.S. prior to Lindbergh’s Nomination and Election as U.S. President

The first-person narrator in The Plot against America is a boy named Philip Roth, whose biography closely resembles that of the author.41 The story is largely told from Philip’s subjective and, to the extent of his young age, limited point of view, recounting his growing up with his parents Herman and Bess as well as his brother Sanford (“Sandy”) and, temporarily, his cousin Alvin in a Jewish neighborhood in Newark, New Jersey. The narrator’s peaceful and carefree childhood in “a happy family” comes to a sudden end with Lindbergh’s nomination in June 1940, constituting “the first shock” of Philip’s life (1-2). The function of a child as narrator in the novel is twofold: first, it highlights the suffering among the American (especially Jewish) population under Lindbergh; second, the child’s innocence contrasts sharply with the political decline towards fascism in the U.S., which may be regarded as a loss of the country’s innocence (as mentioned above, the U.S. had never degenerated into an antidemocratic system ever since its inception).

41 This postmodern technique of self-referentiality, including the use of literary ‘alter egos,’ is also used by several postmodern authors, for instance by Paul Auster in The New York Trilogy. 33

As in It Can’t Happen Here, a central motif in The Plot against America is America, already indicated in the novel’s title and highlighted at the beginning of the story. The novel portrays the strong connection of Jews to (the United States of) America. Jews consider the U.S. their homeland, with the young Jew Philip “[pledging] allegiance to [its] flag … [singing] of its marvels … [and] eagerly [observing] its national holidays” (4-5). Furthermore, most Jews are “Americanized” in several respects, including clothing, accent and writing (3-4). In addition, Philip feels secure “as an American child of American parents in an American school in an American city in an America at peace with the world” (7). However, for the first-person narrator “everything change[s]” with Lindbergh’s nomination, which causes fear – a leitmotif in the novel (1, 5). The emphasis on America and its safety is linked, once again, to the idea of American exceptionalism which implies that a candidate like Lindbergh is invariably prevented from attaining power in the U.S. As what kind of candidate and later president Lindbergh is represented as well as the rationale for his popularity among the majority of the population and the Jews’ apprehension of him will be discussed in the following subchapters.

2.2. “The Nation’s Savior” versus “Hitler”: The Contrasting Representation of a Controversial U.S. Political Figure

Of the three main novels selected for this thesis, The Plot against America most highlights the controversial reputation of a political regime, including its leader. While the political leaders of It Can’t Happen Here and All the King’s Men are represented as power-hungry and ruthless (yet still popular among many citizens), Charles A. Lindbergh’s portrayal in Roth’s novel is much more nuanced. On the one hand, he is celebrated as a hero for his non-stop Transatlantic solo flight across the Atlantic in the late 1920s and pitied as a martyr for the kidnapping and later death of his young son in the early 1930s. Lindbergh is even compared to Abraham Lincoln, the latter being represented as a “titan” in the novel (6). Additionally, the young aviation hero is described as a sort of magician, possessing “the magic to beat” Franklin D. Roosevelt, the sitting U.S. president at the time (13). Lindbergh’s wizardry not only elevates him above the public but also surrounds him with mysteriousness, thus augmenting his appeal. Immediately after his nomination, he is “cheered … as the nation’s savior,” which, like Windrip in Lewis’s novel, 34 demonstrates his natural authority (cf. Paxton’s “mobilizing passions”) and emphasizes his unique role in the destiny of the United States, which is seemingly solely in his hands (Roth 16).

On the other hand, Charles A. Lindbergh is portrayed as a racist Nazi-sympathizer, feared by the Jewish population in America. First, this has to do with his frequent trips to Germany (from his English exile), his decoration by the Nazis and his lauding Hitler as “a great man” at a time when the Nazis’ racist policies against Jews are already in place in Germany (6). Second, Lindbergh’s rhetoric is imbued with racism, including anti-Semitism. He claims that Jews have a dangerous influence on the American media and government and that “our [i.e. the ‘American’] inheritance of European blood” is in danger of being “[diluted] by foreign races,” which includes Jews (14). In reality, however, Jews are at least as devoted to democratic principles as “an admirer of Adolf Hitler” and, at any rate, constitute a minority with no public power due to religious prejudice (15-16).

In light of the American parties’ function as democracy’s gatekeepers (cf. Levitsky and Ziblatt), the question arises as to how Charles A. Lindbergh is shown to secure realistically the Republican nomination. First, in The Plot against America, the nomination process highlights the superiority of the parties’ democratic role, that is, picking the most representative – in other words, most promising and popular – candidate, while the “filtration” role, that is, safeguarding against a dangerous or unfit nominee, is backgrounded (cf. Levitsky and Ziblatt 48-49).42 Second, as It Can’t Happen Here, the fateful convention (in Lewis’s novel it is the Democratic; in Roth’s it is the Republican) is marked by deadlock, in the case of The Plot against America, on the twentieth ballot (15). The scene that then unfolds is reminiscent of the respective passage in It Can’t Happen Here, with the political savior figure (Lindbergh and Windrip, respectively) entering, followed by enthusiastic cheering by the conventioneers. The difference between the two scenes is the surprise factor that characterizes Lindbergh’s entrance, the latter having been not officially planned. The subsequent zealous response, “this spontaneous pseudo-religious drama” (cf. savior figure), was machinated by a conservative isolationist senator, whose

42 As U.S. president, Charles A. Lindbergh is described as dangerous by several characters but also as unfit by Herman Roth (256). 35 nomination of Lindbergh is supported by other reactionary members of Congress, which leads to Lindbergh becoming the Republican presidential nominee (15).43

Immediately after the announcement of Lindbergh’s nomination, the scene which takes place in the almost exclusively Democratic Jewish neighborhood where the Roths live is illustrative of many Jews’ negative attitude towards the Republican candidate. The described mood is almost apocalyptic, with “[e]ntire families known to [Philip] previously only fully dressed in daytime clothing … wearing pajamas and nightdresses under their bathrobes and milling around in their slippers at dawn as if driven from their homes by an earthquake” (16). The dominant reactions are anger, of a perceived step backwards in racial matters, and fear, of Hitler and fascism in the United States (16-17). This horror of Nazism spreads to the novel’s young protagonist, who has a nightmare about his precious stamp collection, with portraits of Washington being changed to those of the Führer and the Nazis’ official emblem printed over one of the album’s pages (43).

Philip Roth’s stamp album is a central symbol in the novel. It represents American history, including prominent historical figures such as George Washington, and innocence. Philip has a stamp of Lindbergh (as heroic aviator before entering politics) which he does not want to remove from his collection (26). This may be one of the reasons for Philip’s nightmare of Hitler, his subconscious mind warning him of the Republican candidate and his fascist leanings. It may be interpreted as a sign that America is in danger of losing its democratic/republican innocence. Philip’s stamp collection is his most valuable possession, which he takes with him when he leaves home for longer (or intends to do so). For instance, he does not want to leave it back when he goes on a trip to Washington for several days with his family nor when he decides to run away from home later in the story (57, 232-233). It is during the latter event that Philip loses his album, which leaves him devastated. “The biggest thing [he] … ever owned was gone … and irreplaceable,” in a way like his childhood innocence, lost concomitantly. To the young protagonist, it is like “losing a leg,” something that literally happened to his cousin Alvin when fighting the Nazis in Europe earlier in the story (90, 235). The fact that Philip later begins a new stamp collection may be interpreted as a nostalgic attempt to go back to carefree times.

43 These “machinations“ are linked to the novel’s plot (in the sense of conspiracy) motif, discussed thoroughly in subchapter 2.4. 36

Likewise, the U.S. having slipped temporarily into fascism/totalitarianism later starts anew with FDR’s reelection and the country’s entrance into WWII to fight antidemocratic imperialist regimes in Europe and Asia. However, Philip’s first album being irreplaceable suggests that some things cannot be (wholly) retrieved. Analogously, this indicates that after a decline into fascism a country’s innocence cannot be completely restored.

In the wake of Lindbergh’s nomination by the Republicans, many Jews’ hope is Franklin D. Roosevelt, who becomes the designated candidate for the Democrats soon thereafter. In the novel, Roosevelt at first does not take Lindbergh seriously, asserting that the latter would regret his entrance into politics (18). For Philip, anybody other than Roosevelt becoming U.S. president is inconceivable (28). Nevertheless, Roosevelt is beaten by Lindbergh in the presidential election in the fall of 1940, even by a large margin (52). After a short interval of general disbelief, there is soon a general consensus as to the main reasons for Lindbergh’s victory, among them his relatively young age and a concomitant “graceful athleticism” (contrasted with Roosevelt’s polio disease) and the apparent unwillingness of the majority of Americans to have a U.S. president serve for more than two terms, something that would have been a novelty in the country’s history (53). Behind these superficial explanations for Roosevelt’s defeat given by the mainstream media after the election, the description of Lindbergh’s presidential campaign sheds a more insightful light as to why the aviation hero and Nazi sympathizer is elected.

In Roth’s novel, the fascist (or at least fascist-leaning) candidate is shown crafting a powerful self-image, presenting himself simultaneously as a man of the people and a natural authority (cf. Paxton).44 On the one hand, he is “straight-talking Lindy,” while on the other, he is someone “who ha[s] never to look or to sound superior, who simply [is] superior” (30). The use of a term of endearment (“Lindy”) for a political figure has the same function as in the other two main texts discussed in this thesis (the other terms being “Buzz” and “Willie,” respectively): it represents the politician as both likeable and in touch with the people. Moreover, it (falsely) portrays the man as harmless: after all, one can hardly imagine a person called “Lindy” being cruel or condoning atrocities. In addition to “Lindy,” Lindberg has another nickname, namely

44 Lindbergh’s feat to cross the Atlantic during the late 1920s encompasses both these traits: “an unknown airmail pilot” daring something unprecedented and succeeding (29). 37

“Lone Eagle.” This term is highly symbolic, with “lone” pointing to his individualism and “eagle” indicating his purportedly great strength and vision (cf. “Eagle”). Moreover, the bald eagle appears on the Great Seal of the United States, being the country’s national bird; the name thus emphasizes his patriotism.

In The Plot against America, Charles A. Lindbergh is thus described as presenting himself as an individualistic, courageous man of the people and a natural authority, “who gets the impossible done” (30). In this way, he highlights his image as aviation hero rather than as potential Nazi sympathizer (29).45 When touring the country during his campaign, his political message could not be more simple: either he would be elected U.S. president or the country would go to war.46 This is encapsulated by his slogan: “Vote for Lindbergh or vote for war” (30-31). Lindbergh thus portrays himself as the savior of the American people, which ties in with Buzz’s self-portrayal earlier. By effectively illustrating the horrors of war, the Republican candidate paves the way for his victory in the presidential election.47 Lindbergh’s public appearances in his plane are belittled by an opponent as “carnival antics” (31), a choice of words reminiscent of the phrase “circus tinsel and general clownishness” attributed to Windrip in It Can’t Happen Here. Albeit not to the same degree, Lindbergh is thus also represented as a sort of entertainer for the American people, which goes together with his harmlessness. This view largely changes among the Democratic opposition with Lindbergh’s election as president.

In his quest to ascend to the highest office in the United States, Charles A. Lindbergh has an influential person at this side: Lionel Bengelsdorf, the “religious leader of New Jersey Jewry,” (35). In his endorsement of Lindbergh, Bengelsdorf spins the truth about Lindbergh’s visits to Germany in the 1930s, maintaining that the heroic aviator secretly spied for the benefit of American aviation and air defenses (38). According to Alvin Roth, Bengelsdorf has been bought

45 Being a relatively new phenomenon, aviation certainly fascinated more back then (i.e. in the first half of the 20th century) than it does today (i.e. in the 21st century). A case in point is when, during the Roth’s visit to Washington, D.C., Lindbergh passes over them in his plane, and people cannot help but look up in awe (71-72). The use of imagery is important here: the new U.S. president is looked up on both literally and figuratively. 46 In the novel, Lindbergh is supported by the America First Committee, an organization established to advocate non-interventionism, numerous members of which, however, are anti-Semitic (13-14). 47 Lindbergh’s anti-war rhetoric is reminiscent of the one by the writer John T. Flynn inasmuch as it underlines the burden of the war borne by young men. Flynn argued that “the dying will be done by the boys who parade. And they will die in the fog and smoke of battle, in the stench, the filth, the terrors and the obscenities of the fight upon distant fields in Europe or Asia” (qtd. in Kazin 172). 38 with the aim of “[k]oshering Lindbergh for the goyim” (37, 40). In other words, Bengelsdorf is supposed to dispel any potential concerns on the part of non-Jewish Americans about the possible danger of Lindbergh’s presidency. After all, if a renowned Jew supports Lindbergh, the claims among the Jewish population of Lindbergh being anti-Semitic must clearly be unfounded. In this way, Bengelsdorf may be seen as a fateful ally of Lindbergh, setting the stage for his ultimate electoral victory.48

In his (religious) speeches, Bengelsdorf is presented as a patriot, emphasizing the importance of “Americanizing” Jews, that is, their cultivating “American ideals.” This serves to guard against antidemocratic phenomena such as Bolshevism, radicalism, and anarchism (34). In this context, Bengelsdorf often cites Theodore Roosevelt’s final message to the U.S. citizenry, which deals with American patriotism. In it, the 26th president of the United States asserts that one cannot divide one’s allegiance to several nations, that one cannot be a citizen of more than one country, and that one cannot salute more than one flag. Put briefly, “Any man who says he is an American, but something else also, isn’t an American at all” (34). Through this reference to an influential political figure in U.S. history, The Plot against America effectively demonstrates that excessive patriotism, if not nationalism, is not a purely fictional issue in the novel but a real attitude adopted even by American presidents. It is worth mentioning that nationalism is a crucial feature of fascism (Paxton, Anatomy 7, 52, 62 et passim).49

2.3. “They Live in a Dream, and We Live in a Nightmare”: The Contrasting Representation of a Controversial U.S. Presidency

In The Plot against America, early during his administration, U.S. president Lindbergh signs two understandings, with Germany and Japan, respectively. The United States thus becomes de facto part of the Axis triple alliance (53-55). The reaction to this is positive among the general

48 In the eponymous first chapter of How Democracies Die, Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt discuss so-called “fateful alliances” (13-38). By these they mean the mistake made by political elites in various countries, including Italy and Germany, to ally themselves with (antidemocratic) outsiders in order to control them, which backfired, however (15). I consider the collocation suitable in the context of The Plot against America as well since the alliance between Lindbergh and Bengelsdorf, too, turns out to be fateful. 49 Donald J. Trump is also known for his frequent evocation of patriotism and nationalism, recently in his 2019 U.N. speech, in which he stresses the importance of patriotism and nationalism as compared to globalism and internationalism (cf. Crowley). 39 population – with the exception of one segment: “All the Jews could do was worry” (55, my emphasis). Nevertheless, Herman and Bess Roth remain optimistic: despite anti-Semites in the newly elected U.S. government, America would not become fascist due to the U.S. Constitution in addition to the effective scrutiny by the media (55-56). Considering that this optimism is presented as sincere and not calculated, it again points to the widespread notion of American exceptionalism among U.S. citizens, including Jews. What I mean is the faith of many Americans that their country would not fall prey to full-fledged fascism but would, in the case of fascist tendencies, be saved by the robustness of their democratic institutions and the power of the media.

Even so, in the novel, there are Jews who consider fleeing if Lindbergh’s presidency becomes openly anti-Semitic, the primary destination being Canada (44).50 Because of her fear, Bess Roth herself soon secretly prepares (financially) to flee to their northern neighboring country and later even urges her family to do so (112, 255). The Tirschwells, acquaintances of the Roths, indeed do so, with Mr. Tirschwell prophesying that Lindbergh would establish “a totalitarian dictatorship modeled on Hitler’s” (194). Nonetheless, Herman Roth categorically refuses to escape for several reasons. 51 First, he is shown as deeply patriotic, both believing in and loving America (284). Second, he regards himself as a U.S. citizen, which suggests that he does not see any reason to flee as he is supposed to be protected and not persecuted by his government (286). Third, he simply seems to deny the developments in his country, admitting as much after his sister-in-law happily attends an event with the Nazi minister for foreign affairs, Joachim von Ribbentrop, at the White House: “How can this be happening in America? … If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I’d think I was having a hallucination” (196). This ties back to the myth of American exceptionalism, showing that U.S. citizens – even critical ones such as Herman Roth – wrongly hold the firm belief that fascism cannot happen in their country.

50 As unlikely as it sounds that someone would flee from the democratic and free United States of America, there were reportedly almost a thousand refugees from the Middle East in November and December 2016 crossing the border from the U.S. to Canada. Having been legally admitted into the U.S., the refugees were said to be worried about their legal status being revoked (“Hundreds of Muslim refugees in U.S. fleeing to Canada”). 51 In his analysis of The Plot against America, Mark P. Bresnan calls Herman Roth’s refusal to flee a “major mistake.” In light of the difficult times that the Roths go through under Lindbergh’s administration, there is something to this point of view. 40

The Plot against America features several other events which leave Herman Roth exasperated. One of them occurs during the Roth’s short trip in June 1941 to Washington, D.C., where they visit several historic sites, including the National Mall with the Washington and Lincoln Memorial on either side (44-82). In front of the Lincoln statue arises a scene which is worthy of closer examination. The passage is narrated from Philip’s perspective, for whom Lincoln seems “like the most hallowed possible amalgamation – the face of God and the face of America all in one” (63). While the family, along with other tourists, admires the larger-than-life statue, Herman bewails Lincoln’s assassination, lamenting “what this country does to its greatest presidents …” (63-64). He later repeats this to their tour guide: “I was saying, Mr. Taylor, it is the damnedest thing what this country does to its great men” (64). This is apparently overheard by an elderly woman, a fellow tourist, who apparently interprets “great men” as “[young] soldiers” (who Lindbergh wants to spare from war) and responds how glad she is for having Lindbergh as U.S. president (64). Herman is little impressed by her seeming comparison between Lincoln and Lindbergh, uttering something to the effect, whereupon a man around his age (perhaps the woman’s son) confronts him, asking if something is bothering him. The man then eyes the whole Roth family, makes a contemptuous gesture and sound, and, while walking away from them, is heard referring to Herman as “a loudmouth Jew,” upon which the woman proclaims that “[she’d] give anything to slap his face” (64-65).

An analysis of this episode at the Lincoln Memorial reveals its significance in the larger dramatic narrative of the novel. First, it can be seen as a foreshadowing of the social anti-Semitism which becomes increasingly overt under Lindbergh’s administration. Immediately after the incident, Herman Roth asserts that something like this would not have happened under Franklin D. Roosevelt, that it only happened as America has allied itself with Nazi Germany and that Americans now believe that “they can get away with anything” (65).52 Second, the specific location, symbolizing American patriotism (cf. “the face of America”) and unity, highlights the contrast between American ideals (in this case, first and foremost, equality) and its realities (racism/anti-Semitism). After his claim that under FDR, Americans would not have dared utter

52 Mark P. Bresnan boils down the novel’s plot to its essence when he writes that “Lindbergh’s impact isn’t so much a matter of executive actions, as insidious as some of those are. It lies instead in his creation of new boundaries for acceptable speech and behavior.” In this context, he mentions the German-American Bund, which regains traction under Lindbergh (Roth 176). 41 such an anti-Semitic remark, Herman draws his family’s attention to the Gettysburg Address, inscribed on one of the walls of the Lincoln Memorial, specifically to the phrase (originally from the United States Declaration of Independence) “[a]ll men are created equal” (65). Put briefly, the scene is a foretaste of what is to come in the novel, namely widespread racism/anti- Semitism, making clear to the reader that it is America (and not Europe or another continent) which serves as the setting.

Concerning the Roths as well as the elderly woman and the man, they assume clear roles in this episode at the Lincoln Memorial. The Roths are represented as the victims while the woman and the man are shown as the perpetrators of racism/anti-Semitism. The Roth’s tour guide, Mr. Taylor, however, is rather ambiguous in his stance. On the one hand, he is portrayed as extremely friendly and obliging to the Roths; on the other, he is described as “close-mouthed” (cf. Herman being called “loudmouth”) about everything other than the U.S. capital, which he shows them with much enthusiasm and knowledge (59-82). It is thus uncertain whether Mr. Taylor is more on the side of the Roths, but is afraid to say something in front of the other tourists, or more on the side of the others, but does not want to alienate his Jewish clients. The manner in which he is presented makes it appear as if he is not anti-Semitic but does not dare speak up against racist remarks or behavior. He is thus portrayed as the figure of the follower, the opportunist, who lacks the will or courage to rebel against injustices, preferring to stay out of harm’s way whenever possible. This view is corroborated when the Roths are unjustly evicted out of their hotel room (because of “anti-Semitism,” as Herman laconically puts it) and Mr. Taylor quickly looks for a new one somewhere else rather than assisting Herman when he confronts the hotel manager and subsequently the police about this discrimination (67-71).

The motif of opportunism is explicitly mentioned in a later part of The Plot against America, that is, when Alvin Roth (Philip’s and Sandy’s cousin) complains to Philip about some of their (future) extended family members, including Sandy, Evelyn and Rabbi Bengelsdorf (182-183).53 He does not explain why he considers them opportunistic, but this can be inferred from the context. First, Sandy is proud to be a spokesperson for one of the administration’s new programs, harshly criticized by his father Herman (86). Second, Evelyn is delighted to be seen among

53 Evelyn, Bess Roth’s sister, goes on to marry Rabbi Bengelsdorf, Lindbergh’s fateful Jewish ally (see above). 42 government officials, enjoying the figurative limelight. Third, Rabbi Bengelsdorf likes his position of power that he now holds (or seems to hold) under Lindbergh. Alvin bemoans that “people … look for the advantage for themselves and the hell with everything else” (183). Philip first trivializes his brother’s actions and then tries to justify them, maintaining that he is doing it in order to protect his family (183). At any rate, Philip admits to himself that he would not have demurred at doing what his brother is doing if he were in his position (184). Philip’s self-avowal suggests that opportunism is indeed prevalent in society and that it also affects morally good people if they are not aware of the consequences of their selfish behavior (most importantly, children). Philip’s brother Sandy is not represented as an accomplice of the anti-Semitic Lindbergh regime but rather as a victim of its manipulation, which includes the portrayal of a discriminatory policy program as beneficial to Jews.

Looking for the advantage for oneself, as Alvin defines opportunism, is inextricably linked to self-interest. While Herman and Bess Roth are praised by Alvin as “honest people” (183), Bess gets into an argument earlier in the story with her son Sandy, who indirectly accuses her of hypocrisy and self-interest (without explicitly using these terms). After Sandy comes home from his summer stay in Kentucky, Bess informs him of Alvin having been wounded in the war but immediately tries to reassure him by pointing out that he did not die, “and now at least he’s out of the war” (95). When saying this, Bess does not appear to understand how paradoxical this is: on the one hand, she, like her husband Herman, is a fierce critic of Lindbergh’s presidency, including his isolationist stance; on the other, she is glad that her nephew is out of the war (alive), emphasizing that “[n]obody wanted Alvin to go to war – he just went, on his own” (95- 96). Sandy attempts to raise his mother’s awareness of this hypocrisy – in vain (96). Bess apparently does not see any contradiction in her (and her husband’s) opposition to Lindbergh’s non-interventionism and her not wanting to have any of her relatives go to war, which goes back to what Alvin later criticizes in some of the other characters, that is, looking for the advantage for oneself, i.e. self-interest.

Just as Bess Roth looks for the wellbeing of her loved ones, including her nephew, Charles A. Lindbergh presents himself as caring first and foremost about the welfare of his country, an attitude which is, in itself, irreproachable. After all, as U.S. president he is responsible only for 43 his own citizens, and there is no national or international law that obliges him to assist foreign people abroad.54 Therefore, from a purely legal standpoint, Lindbergh does not have to come to the aid of non-American Jews in Europe, even when they are persecuted and killed on a large scale. During his campaign, he accuses “the Jewish people” and “the Jewish race” of warmongering. While he acknowledges that “[w]e cannot blame them for what they believe to be their own interests,” he asserts that “we must also look out for ours” (13). His focus on American interests before those of other countries is, at least at first glance, justifiable. Nevertheless, in light of the atrocities committed in Europe at the time, his non-interventionist stance can only be traced back to his racism/anti-Semitism. This is already indicated by his rhetoric, including the terminology “the Jewish people/race” and the fact that he distinguishes between Jewish and American interests. It is thus evident that Lindbergh does not militarily intervene in Europe because he cares about America first, and more importantly, he does not care about Jews and is even hostile towards them. He later even refuses to provide desperately needed arms to the Allied forces and has no qualms about meeting with the German Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop at the White House (157, 174).

On an international level, U.S. President Lindbergh is shown justifying his isolationism by his American patriotism, not his anti-Semitism. On a national level, he is even portrayed as an inclusive president, devising a new office, called the “Office of American Absorption,” whose programs are supposed to “[encourage] America’s religious and national minorities to become further incorporated into the larger society,” though strangely enough, during Lindbergh’s entire tenure, Jews are the only minority group in which he seems to be interested (85). The OAA’s first program is called Just Folks, “a volunteer work program introducing city youth to the traditional ways of heartland life,” in which Sandy is eager to participate, despite his parents’ reservations (84-85). The second initiative is so-called Homestead 42, purportedly modeled on the Homestead Act of 1862, which provides “relocation opportunities to senior employees” like Herman Roth and which offers “a challenging environment steeped in our country’s oldest traditions where parents and children can enrich their Americanness over the generations”

54 Public international law has evolved in the meantime; there is now a so-called responsibility to protect, according to which U.N. member states have committed themselves “to protect their own populations from genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing and crimes against humanity and [have] accepted a collective responsibility to encourage and help each other uphold this commitment” (“Responsibility to Protect”). 44

(204-205).55 Finally, complementary to Homestead 42 is the so-called “Good Neighbor Project,” intended to fill the housing spaces vacated through Homestead 42 and thus “’enrich’ the ‘Americanness’ of everyone involved” (280).

At first glance, the OAA’s programs under Lindbergh’s administration do seem appealing and innocuous. Their appeal can be traced to their seemingly laudable intentions to promote integration of minorities and their descriptions’ extensive usage of positively connoted words such as “traditional,” “heartland,” and “Americanness,” which are likely to produce feelings of nostalgia, sentimentality and patriotism. Their seeming innocuousness is due to their voluntary basis. At second glance, however, the programs reveal their discriminatory and nefarious purposes. According to Herman Roth, “Just Folks was the first step in a Lindbergh plan to separate Jewish children from their parents, to erode the solidarity of the Jewish family” (86).56 This is indeed what happens in the case of the Roths, with Sandy even considering living with Christians in order to have nothing to do anymore with Jews (196). As for the Good Neighbor Project, many Jews realize that it is supposed to undermine not only Jewish solidarity (outside the family) but also their electoral power (281). Regarding Homestead 42, it proves to be catastrophic for the Roth’s former fellow district residents as they suffer considerable income losses (330).57 While the OOA’s programs are thus on the surface not only harmless but in the interest of Jews, they turn out to be dangerous to the Jewish community by damaging their social cohesion, their revenues and their electoral strength as a minority group.

In The Plot against America, U.S. President Lindbergh’s policies relating to Jews feature a pattern that Levitsky and Ziblatt discuss in How Democracies Die, namely incrementalism. To wit, they point out that democracies do not always end by coups d’état (in other words, suddenly) but may “erode slowly, in barely visible steps” (3-4). This adds the element of imperceptibility as there is no clear step into dictatorship, that is, “no coup, declaration of

55 The Homestead Act of 1862 granted Americans public land for a low price and was devised to promote land ownership of common people as well as westward movement and settlement. However, this entailed evicting Native Americans from their lands and putting them into reservations (cf. “Homestead Act”). Besides, the policy’s efficacy was undermined by land speculators who bought much of the best land and only resold it to settlers for an overcharged price (cf. Brogan 384). 56 The phrase “first step in a Lindbergh plan“ is linked to another major motif in the novel, namely plot/conspiracy, which will be analyzed in the following subchapter. 57 In comparison to Herman Roth’s arguably unwise refusal to flee to Canada, he is described as “wonderfully prescient” in not participating in Homestead 42 (330). 45 martial law, or suspension of the constitution.”58 This hardly noticeable transition from a democratic government into an antidemocratic regime is insidious inasmuch as critics or “prophets of doom” are likely not taken seriously (7).59 In Roth’s novel, there are two main prophets of doom: one being Herman Roth, who stays in the private sphere, however, and the other one being Walter Winchell, a popular radio host and columnist, who labels Lindbergh’s running for U.S. president “the greatest threat ever to American democracy” (20). Herman seems to comprehend Lindbergh’s political strategy, writing to Winchell on the subject of Homestead 42: “This is an experiment … This is the way Hitler did it. The Nazi criminals start with something small, and if they get away with it, … if no one like you raises a cry of alarm …” (225).60 Winchell does raise a cry of alarm shortly afterwards, which is in the eyes (or rather, ears) of many (including the liberal New York Times) too loud, however, which is why he loses his job on the radio and in the press (239-242).

Roth’s novel illustrates the difficulties with which prophets of doom are confronted during what they perceive as the rise of a fascist movement. As far as Herman Roth is concerned, he faces criticism from his own (extended) family, including Evelyn and Sandy. Regarding Herman’s opposition to Just Folks, Evelyn suggests that he is “afraid of his shadow” (86). The proverbial fear of one’s shadow appears again later in the story when Sandy calls his parents “frightened, paranoid ghetto Jews” (227). Herman and Bess Roth are thus accused of paranoia, of seeing a (fascist) danger which is not really there. As to Walter Winchell, he is accused of being a fear monger, of shouting “fire in a crowded theater.” What is more, he is denounced as a demagogue stirring “the passions of the mob” (240). The harsh backlash which the prophets of doom experience because of their critical stance towards the government demonstrates the pitfall of incrementally forming fascist regimes, which manipulate not only the general population but also their targeted victims (in this case, Evelyn and Sandy).61

58 To be precise, there is a declaration of martial law at the end of the novel, but only after Lindbergh mysteriously disappears and the presidency is taken over by former Vice President Burton K. Wheeler (307-308). 59 Incidentally, in his speech at the Davos conference in January 2020, Donald J. Trump disparages climate activists for their doom mongering (Trump, “Trump at Davos: We must reject 'prophets of doom'”). 60 Herman Roth’s letter is not sent, however, which is why Winchell’s subsequent cry of alarm is not caused by Herman but comes from ‘his own initiative’ (226). 61 At the end of the novel, Evelyn Bengelsdorf tries to take shelter in the house of the Roth family, claiming to be pursued by the government for knowing “the truth” (338-339). 46

Thus, despite its detractors, the fascist regime in the novel presents itself with general success not only as democratic but also as reliable. With regard to the latter, Lindbergh’s administration is not getting tired of reiterating that they have kept their campaign promises, most importantly to not enter the European war (126, 179). Concerning democratic values, Rabbi Bengelsdorf underlines that Lindbergh has shown “not a single inclination toward authoritarian rule” (111). As far as Lindbergh’s popularity goes, most newspapers are in favor of him and polls give him exceptionally high ratings, among all voter groups with the exceptions of Jews (126, 243). It seems that even inviting Hitler would not have diminished Lindbergh’s popularity as even then he would have been celebrated as “democracy’s savior” (180). “The lean, beloved, handsome president” is later even described as America’s “godlike catalyst of peace and prosperity” (200, 261). Even the economy is going well under him (124). With this portrayal of Charles A. Lindbergh, who, while fiercely denounced by a small group of the population (that is, Jews), enjoys enormous popularity, Roth’s novel effectively demonstrates that fascist leaders are not necessarily feared by the general public (as tyrants typically are), but may actually be popular.

While fear is thus not an issue for most American citizens in The Plot against America, it definitely is for one group: Jews. Indeed, fear is the novel’s leitmotif. The first sentence already gives insight into the book’s theme, that is, (the specter of) fascism in America: “Fear presides over these memories, a perpetual fear” (1). Fear starts to creep into the Roth’s household with Charles A. Lindbergh’s nomination as U.S. president, extending throughout his presidency until Franklin D. Roosevelt is elected again in the fall of 1942 and normalcy returns to the country (normalcy in the sense of America being unmistakably a democratic republic again, waging war against the fascist/totalitarian regimes in Europe with whom Lindbergh was de facto allied). As mentioned above, in the novel Jews are mainly afraid of the establishment of a fascist regime which persecutes Jews. A passage in the middle of the story illustrates Jews’ dilemma in the case of (impending) persecution:

What they were was what they couldn’t get rid of. … Their being Jewish issued from their being themselves, as did their being American. It was as it was, in the nature of things, as fundamental as having arteries and veins, and they never manifested the slightest desire to change it or deny it, regardless of the consequences. (220) 47

This passage describes the nature of Jewishness of the novel’s characters, representing it not as a religion or a cultural life style but as something innate. It also shows that even if there were the possibility of change, they would not want it. The Plot against America thereby highlights the horror of anti-Semitism and Jewish persecution even more as the two phenomena are directed against the core and essence of human beings and not ‘merely’ against their belief system or way of living.

While for most of the novel fear is described as something diffuse, it is more concrete in at least one part, that is, Philip’s (and Sandy’s) fear of the cellar. Philip believes his home’s basement to be haunted by the ghosts of the dead (139-140). The cellar may be seen as a symbol of the past and the ghosts may be regarded as symbolizing the crimes committed in the nation’s history. Philip’s going down into the basement may be compared to figuratively going back in history. Roth’s novel draws attention to the fact that American history is not unblemished, citing antidemocratic tendencies and human rights violations similar to Lewis’s It Can’t Happen Here. Apart from the Ku Klux Klan and their fascist leanings, referred to throughout the story, there is a direct mention of the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798, connected to tyranny, intolerance and treachery in the novel (341).62 63 At the end of The Plot against America, when Herman Roth and his son Sandy undertake a longer tour through the U.S. while the country is in a state of emergency (mostly due to the spread of anti-Semitic violence), there is reference to the Leo Frank case, described as “a part of the history that [feeds] [Herman’s] sense of danger” (361). As explained in the postscript, in the 1910s Leo Frank was dubiously convicted and later lynched for his alleged murder of a girl. Anti-Semitism arguably played a significant role in the affair (381).64 Among others, the references to these historical events in the novel point to the

62 Mrs. Wishnow, the Roth’s former neighbor, is relocated to Kentucky within the framework of Homestead 42 and killed, most likely by Klansmen going after “the vermin” (331). 63 The Alien and Sedition Acts comprised four controversial laws which limited the activities of foreigners in the U.S. and restricted freedom of speech and of the press (cf. “Alien and Sedition Acts”). The latter constitutes one of the fundamental rights guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution (more precisely, the Bill of Rights). 64 In The Jew Accused: Three Anti-Semitic Affairs (Dreyfus, Beilis, Frank) 1894-1915, Albert S. Lindemann relativizes the allegedly widespread anti-Semitism regarding the Frank case, arguing that there were more people sympathetic to Leo Frank and in favor of him than there were who were not. He acknowledges, however, that the latter had “convictions … potent enough to lead them to violence” (274). Thus, there is no denying that anti-Semitism exists in the U.S. as well and that Jews are confronted with “numerous and powerful enemies” (275). 48 antidemocratic and/or anti-Semitic tendencies which the United States has gone through, once again suggesting that America is not exempt from them.

2.4. “The Plot against America”: Conspiracies and Plots as Narrative Devices

Roth’s novel is permeated by the motif of a plot/conspiracy, referring to essentially three different alleged schemes.65 The first has already been touched upon, that is, Lindbergh’s (and his peers’) plot to turn America into a fascist country. Starting with his nomination, there are indications of “machinations” (15, see above). Of those who warn against the establishment of fascism in the United States, there are not only Herman Roth and Walter Winchell, as mentioned above, but also Franklin D. Roosevelt, who argues that “’[the] only thing we have to fear … is the obsequious yielding to his Nazi friends by Charles A. Lindbergh” (cf. fear motif).66 He subsequently raises the possibility of “a plot being hatched by anti-democratic forces here at home harboring a Quisling blueprint for a fascist America, or by foreign nations …” Nevertheless, FDR reassures his audience by arguing that “the great upsurge of human liberty of which the American Bill of Rights is the fundamental document” will never be given up on by U.S. citizens (178). Again, this kind of rhetoric alludes to American exceptionalism, suggesting that Americans would not tolerate an antidemocratic form of government. It turns out, however, that when anti-Semitism (in the form of physical violence) manifests itself on a large scale in the U.S. at the end of the novel, a considerable part of civil society plays a role in it and there is relatively little resistance (316).

Other figures in The Plot against America contribute to the notion of Lindbergh’s scheme against the United States. They include Alvin Roth, who identifies the role of Rabbi Bengelsdorf as “koshering Lindbergh for the goyim” (40, see above). Additionally, there is Herman who recognizes Just Folks as being “the first step in a Lindbergh plan … to erode the solidarity of the Jewish family” (86, see above). Besides, the father of the Roth family theorizes about a possible conspiracy between Hitler and Lindbergh about the fate of Great Britain. Herman hypothesizes

65 The terms plot and conspiracy are used interchangeably here, meaning “an evil, unlawful, treacherous, or surreptitious plan formulated in secret by two or more persons” (“Conspiracy”). 66 Franklin D. Roosevelt’s aphorism “The only thing we have to fear [is fear itself]“ is referred to in the novel as “the opening seven words of a sentence as renowned as any ever spoken at a first inaugural” (178). What is meant is FDR’s inaugural address as U.S. president in March 1933. 49 that after Hitler’s desired conquests, “Lindbergh will call a phony peace conference … and the price for world peace and no German invasion of Great Britain” would be the establishment of fascism in England (101). Finally, still among the Roth family, the idea of a Lindbergh/Hitler plot against America is taken up on in a game, in which Philip imagines running away, together with one of his friends, from the Nazis, who have entered the United States with Lindbergh’s (tacit) consent (116). The Roth’s preoccupation with a potential scheme against America, plotted by Lindbergh, Bengelsdorf and possibly Hitler, points to the concern shared by many Jews about increasing, or increasingly overt, anti-Semitism in the United States, a concern which is presented as more and more justified in the course of the novel.

Alongside Herman Roth, the most outspoken Lindbergh critic in the novel is Walter Winchell (see above). Winchell refers to Homestead 42 as “phase one of organized Jewish persecution” and, like Herman, advances a conspiracy theory between the U.S. president and the Führer: in return for Homestead 42, Hitler would not invade Great Britain (228-229).67 The (former) journalist and news reporter subsequently warns of a “fascist plot to destroy American democracy,” involving “the fascist fifth column of the Republican right marching under the cross and the flag” (230, 242). Winchell’s portrayal of American fascism is practically identical to how Paxton pictures it in The Anatomy of Fascism: “No swastikas in an American fascism, but Stars and Stripes … and Christian crosses” (202). Roth’s novel is thus in line with Paxton’s argument that ‘successful’ American fascism would have its own characteristics, different from European ‘models.’ The political scientist and historian points out that fascist movements in the U.S. which resembled the Nazi movement, such as the Black Legion or the Silver Shirts, were relatively unpopular. In contrast, movements like the Ku Klux Klan, which were functionally similar (in their anti-Semitism, for instance) but used genuinely American themes (like crosses) experienced a renaissance in the 1920s and were therefore much more dangerous (201-202).

In contrast to Herman Roth, what makes a prominent figure like Winchell bothersome for fascist supporters and anti-Semites is his wide reach among the public. After Winchell’s announcement to run for president of the United States, things escalate (Roth 242). At his public speeches, in

67 This conspiracy theory, in which Hitler threatens Lindbergh, is also compatible with the third major plot theory, discussed later. 50 which he refuses to abandon his sharp criticism against Lindbergh and speaks of a “Hitlerite plot against America”, he is attacked and injured by a mob (260-263).68 After his recovery, he continues his anti-Lindbergh campaign through America – with personal protection. He points out the fact that the necessity of his being protected when speaking publically is indicative of the country’s turn to fascism (264). Indeed, the novel portrays here the curtailment of free speech, a right stipulated by the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. The exercise of this right is not threatened directly by the government, however, but by the public. Nonetheless, Winchell rightly draws attention to “the religious intolerance emanating from the White House,” Lindbergh’s disgust for the Jewish religion and his concomitantly indirect promotion of “unheard-of Nazi barbarism in the American streets” (264). Through the character of Winchell (based on a real figure), who is later even killed, Roth’s novel thus brings up a crucial point: not only a politician’s policies have far-reaching consequences but also his rhetoric.69 Thus, a fascist leader’s anti-Semitic rhetoric is shown to promote violence against Jews in the U.S. (see also footnote 52).

In The Plot against America, Winchell’s anti-fascist crusade is accompanied by anti-Semitic violence in the streets, most notably in Detroit, which has a significant connection to several real-life anti-Semites mentioned in the novel. First, the city is the headquarters of Charles E. Coughlin and “his Jew-hating Christian Front,” the priest already having been mentioned in the first chapter of this thesis. Second, it is home to Reverend Gerald L. K. Smith, referred to as “the dean of anti-Semites.”70 And third, it is where the American automobile industry is based, led by Henry Ford, who in Roth’s novel becomes Secretary of the Interior under Lindbergh (264-265).71 The violence in Detroit is directed against buildings (such as shops and synagogues) and Jewish citizens alike, including students (265-266). The riots evidently resemble and are also likened to

68 Fitting with the plot motif, the attack on Winchell is described as a “well-plotted, obviously premeditated pandemonium” (263). 69 The tragic consequences which a political leader’s rhetoric might have was also shown, arguably, in El Paso, Texas, in August 2019, where a shooting spree was apparently inspired by Donald J. Trump’s racist rhetoric about immigrants (Baker). 70 The Plot against America quotes Smith claiming that “Christian character is the true basis of real Americanism” (264-265). 71 The novel mentions Ford’s newspaper, the Dearborn Independent, and his magnum opus, The International Jew (a reprint of the newspaper articles in four volumes), which are highly anti-Semitic (265). In the novel’s postscript, Roth specifies that via his newspaper Ford disseminated the fake Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion, which details a “Jewish plan for world domination,” as a purportedly authentic document (378). 51 the Kristallnacht in Germany, “the Night of Broken Glass,” which was defended by Coughlin as a counter-attack to “Jewish-inspired Communism” (266). Concerning the violence in Jewish neighborhoods in Detroit, the phrase “kerosene-soaked crosses were ignited on the lawns” is an obvious allusion to the Ku Klux Klan with their symbol of a burning cross. This is perhaps the novel’s clearest indication that American fascism is possible. In other words, it may not only be justified by an anti-Semitic American priest when it happens abroad (as in the case of the German Kristallnacht), but it may also be actively committed by anti-Semitic groups like the KKK.72 73

“[T]he pro-Nazi conspiracy that … successfully [plots] the riot in Detroit” can be incorporated in the first major alleged scheme in the novel, namely Lindbergh’s fascist plot against America – with likely Nazi collusion (268). The second major purported scheme is the one of a Jewish plot against the United States, propagated, unsurprisingly, by the Nazis and other anti-Semites. The conspiracy theory involves Franklin D. Roosevelt as the mastermind in addition to several other prominent Jews such as the Rothschilds and the mayor of New York City, La Guardia. The theory purports that Roosevelt and his fellow Jewish conspirers are behind Winchell’s assassination and Lindbergh’s disappearance, and are, generally speaking, bent on a world war between Jews and non-Jews (309). Obviously, this is an allusion to the Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion (see footnote 71). In line with the Jewish conspiracy theory in the novel, the KKK and the ANP warn against a Jewish coup d’état (310). The reason as to why the Nazis and other anti-Semites promote this theory of a Jewish plot against America is twofold: first, they deflect from their own heinous machinations and second, they evoke even more fear and hatred against Jews and thereby attempt to win over even more followers. Roth’s novel effectively illustrates how the use of a major conspiracy theory achieves this.

Finally, the third major alleged scheme in The Plot against America is offered by Evelyn Bengelsdorf, based on the account of Anne Lindbergh via Rabbi Bengelsdorf. It may be called

72 In the novel, Winchell’s touring is given as the cause for the emergence from obscurity of numerous (really existing) organized anti-Semitic groups, including “the German-American Bundists and the Coughlinites and the Ku Klux Klanners and the Silver Shirts and the America Firsters and the Black Legion and the American Nazi Party” (267). The use of polysyndeton here emphasizes the multitude of anti-Semitic groups in the United States at the time. 73 The so-called Winchell riots are also described as apparently “stage one of the resolution of Henry Ford’s ‘Jewish question’” as discussed in the Dearborn Independent and The International Jew (270, see footnote 71). 52 the purely Nazi plot against America. The fact that this third plot theory is related from hearsay stresses its natural untrustworthiness. Nevertheless, it is described as “not necessarily the least convincing” (321). Put briefly, the theory contends that the Lindberghs were effectively blackmailed by the Nazis, who had abducted their child to Europe, raising it according to Nazi values.74 Not wanting anything to happen to Charles Jr., the Lindberghs were forced to do whatever the German Nazis told them to, extending from the election campaign up to Charles A. Lindbergh’s presidency. Their fate, and by extension America’s fate, was thus in the hands of Hitler. Due to Lindbergh’s inefficiency in bringing about the final solution to the Jewish question (i.e. the extinction of Jews), he was kidnapped by the Nazis, “deemed necessary by Berlin.” Lindbergh’s failure to cooperate effectively with the Nazis was thought to be due to his wife’s “moral objections” (321-325). Whether Evelyn’s report is true or not remains open, however.

Generally speaking, Roth’s novel technically leaves the truth content of what are defined here as the three major purported schemes ambiguous. However, they differ in the representation of their probability. The first major scheme, i.e. the fascist plot against America, is portrayed as the most likely, including a potential collusion between Lindbergh and Hitler to turn America fascist. The second major scheme, i.e. the Jewish plot against America, is portrayed as a mere diversionary maneuver by anti-Semites. Lastly, the third major scheme, i.e. the purely Nazi plot against America, is presented as a possibility, although its likelihood is challenged (326). At any rate, the theme of The Plot against America remains true: fascism in America is possible and not even improbable given the variety of antidemocratic trends in U.S. history. The novel’s exact descriptions of persons, groups, and events creates a “reality effect” – indeed, especially the novel’s penultimate chapter, which is largely structured chronologically into sections headlined by the respective dates (on a day-to-day basis), reads like a historical account, and thus as something that may actually have happened. What is more, the novel’s postscript shows the striking parallels between the fictional characters in the book and their real-life counterparts. In this way, even though Roth’s novel constitutes “a work of fiction,” as the author stresses in his note to the reader (364), it contains an important message: it can happen here.

74 Generally, it was believed that the Lindberghs’ son had died after his having been kidnapped in 1932 (6, see above). 53

3. Robert Penn Warren’s Historiographic Novel All the King’s Men: Antidemocratic Tendencies during the Interwar Period in the U.S.A.

Robert Penn Warren’s novel is different from the other two main texts discussed in this thesis in that it deals more implicitly with antidemocratic forms of government such as fascism, authoritarianism and totalitarianism. None of the abovementioned terms are mentioned explicitly in the novel; nonetheless, they are alluded to as meaningful signifiers. In addition, the novel can, strictly speaking, neither be categorized as a dystopian novel (as defined by Claeys) nor as alternative fiction (as defined by Hellekson). Rather, it is based on real-life characters, most notably Huey Long, and can thus be defined as a roman à clef. The Long-inspired character in Warren’s novel is called Willie Stark, whose development from idealism to corruption is represented not as a fault of the individual but of the system. Like Lewis and Roth, Warren thus criticizes the idea of American exceptionalism, especially the notion that the United States is exceptional in its status as a democracy, lending further substance to the argument that it – i.e. the establishment of an antidemocratic system – can happen in America as well.

The novel’s title is an allusion to Huey Long’s motto “Every Man a King,“ whose tenet is propagated not only by Berzelius Windrip in It Can’t Happen Here but also by the main political figure in Warren’s novel. It is taken from the famous English nursery rhyme Humpty Dumpty (emphasis added):

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men Couldn't put Humpty together again.

As Humpty Dumpty, Willie Stark in All the King’s Men also figuratively falls, that is, from his initial idealism to his eventual corruption and, quite literally, when he is assassinated towards the end of the novel. Just as Humpty Dumpty cannot be put together again, Stark succumbs to the wound which has been inflicted on him. As will be discussed later, his political ‘inheritance,’ i.e. his corrupt politics, however, survives through the even more corrupt and ruthless character Tiny Duffy, who succeeds him. Warren thus alludes to the continuity of time, specifically to the persistence of antidemocratic forms of government. This goes along with the allusion of the 54 phrase “all the king’s men” to monarchy and, in this way, to medieval times. Additionally, time plays a significant role in terms of the narrative structure: All the King’s Men is recounted non- chronologically, with several flashbacks and a blending of the past and the future, which suggests time’s fluidity. It discusses the consequences of (past) actions for the future and philosophizes about history, its ”costs” and its “moral neutrality” (see subchapter 3.5.). At least equally important, Warren’s novel treats religious themes, including Calvinist theology and its notions of original sin (see subchapter 3.3.).

3.1. The Motif of the American Dream and Its Corruption

Even more so than Berzelius Windrip in It Can’t Happen Here and Charles A. Lindbergh in The Plot against America, Willie Stark in All the King’s Men epitomizes the common man and thus the man of the people.75 He is described as “a red-faced and red-necked farm boy” and called “Cousin Willy from the country” (7, 28). When running for governor in his native state, he recounts his humble beginnings – as a child getting up early in the morning to work on the farm before walking to school and as an adolescent staying up late to study “after a hard day’s work in the field” (136). Stark describes himself as a typical “red-neck” and “hick,” terms he also uses to refer to the members of his audience.76 Even though these labels are derogatory, their use is effective inasmuch as Stark thus represents himself as one of the ordinary people, sharing the same hardships and burdens.77 In this way, he creates rapport and thereby wins support. Stark’s self-image as a common man is central to his characterization as a populist, as defined by Michael Kazin in The Populist Persuasion. According to Kazin, populists are on the side of the common people (if not among them) and are in opposition to what they call “elites” or “the establishment,” who they sharply criticize (xi). In All the King’s Men, the populist character does not explicitly use the terms elite or establishment but nevertheless refers to them, typically by the personal pronoun “they” or “them.” For instance, he bemoans the fact that he is the one

75 The “common man” enjoyed an iconic status during the Depression Era, as illustrated by James Agee’s and Walker Evan’s famous photo book Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, first published in 1941 (five years prior to the first publication of Warren’s novel). 76 The terms “redneck” and “hick” are used more or less interchangeably in the novel. Dictionary.com defines “redneck” as “an uneducated white farm laborer, especially from the South [of the United States]” and “hick” as “an unsophisticated, boorish, and provincial person; rube” (“Redneck;” “Hick”). 77 Burden is the telling name of the novel’s narrator, which will be discussed in subchapter 3.5. 55 that “they [i.e. the establishment] were going to try to use and split the hick vote” (142, my emphasis).78

Stark’s description of his humble origins serves not only to present himself as a common man and man of the people but also to tell his personal story of the American dream.79 By illustrating the hard (manual and intellectual) work which he went through to become what he is (a lawyer and a gubernatorial candidate), Stark aims to demonstrate that one can succeed regardless of one’s personal background. Thus, the aspiring politician shares the common belief “that even the plainest, poorest fellow can be Governor if his fellow citizens find he has got the stuff and the character for the job” (137). After an unsuccessful attempt (see also footnote 78), Stark later becomes governor of his state and gets reelected later, even by a landslide (147, 233-234). All the King’s Men can thus be read as a novel corroborating the idea of the American dream inasmuch as a common man of humble upbringing is successful, through ambition and perseverance, in attaining not only an academic degree but also one of the highest political offices in the country. Yet, Warren’s novel can equally be considered a critique of the American dream in that the main protagonist’s success is represented as superficial and, what is more, tarnished by corruption, as will become evident later in the story.

3.2. The Satirical Description of the Personality Cult around an Antidemocratic Leader

Before discussing Stark’s decline from idealism to corruption in the course of the novel, it is worth turning to a further significant aspect of his characterization, one already discussed with regard to the two corresponding antidemocratic figures in Lewis’s and Roth’s respective novels, namely his (self-)portrayal as savior. In the same way as Windrip and Lindbergh, Stark is portrayed as special, having a divine purpose. As in the other novels, this representation is contradictory to the respective characters’ image as common men and men of the people. In this regard, Kazin points out something that he refers to as “an enduring irony of populism,”

78 In his first gubernatorial campaign, Stark is framed by a competing candidate who uses him as a decoy (the competing candidate, who is strong in urban areas, encourages Stark, who is popular in rural areas, to run for governor, thus hoping that Stark takes away votes from his main rival, who is normally strong in the countryside). 79 Cambridge Dictionary defines “the American dream” as “the belief that everyone in the US has the chance to be successful and happy if they work hard” (“the American dream”). 56 that is, that populist language has frequently been employed “most effectively by eloquent men who stand above the crowd” (24). Of the three main texts analyzed in this thesis, All the King’s Men is arguably the one that most highlights this irony by emphasizing the contrast between Stark’s portrayal as an ordinary citizen, on the one hand, and as a savior figure, on the other. This is paradoxical as one cannot be ordinary and special at the same time. With irony and paradox being among the primary tools of satire (Highet 18), Warren’s novel is in this regard thus highly satirical.

While Stark’s representation as a common man is initially prevalent, there are already indications that he may be special early in his life. At first, his idealism is disparaged by other characters, who criticize him for having delusions of grandeur. When he tries to take on influential politicians, he is said to believe to be Jesus Christ and to be “too big fer [sic] his britches” (Warren 77, 80). Later, however, his idealism and fight against corruption is highly praised.80 It is argued that “[t]he Lord … justified him,” and that “he [stands] in a special relation to God” (99).81 Even though Stark does not succeed in becoming governor right away, his portrayal as savior definitely helps his political image. In another instance, he is referred to as a “martyr,” an appellation which goes along with his Jesus-like representation (104). With regard to Stark’s improved image, the novel discusses the question of luck: on the one hand, the text raises the possibility that some people “are born outside of luck, good or bad, …” while on the other, it argues that “the best luck always happens to people who don’t need it” (94, 97). Both of these theories are linked to the notion of determinism, already elaborated on in the first chapter of this thesis. They suggest that Stark’s (political) rise was predetermined and thus independent from any kind of godsend (as the schoolhouse incident is presented as, see also footnote 80). The idea of determinism heightens Stark’s image as savior in that, regardless of the circumstances, he is portrayed as destined for a higher, even divine, purpose.

As governor of his state, Stark is represented as exceptionally popular among the hicks and rednecks. When giving public speeches across the state on the subject of his announced

80 The change in the general perception of him occurs after a horrible accident in a school building, caused by corrupt business dealings (more precisely, patronage), which Stark fiercely criticized. 81 Ironically, this argumentation is successfully employed for their own purposes by the men who use Stark as a decoy (see footnote 78). 57 impeachment (discussed later), he is shown enjoying tremendous support by his main constituency. The description of these appearances is especially telling in regard to Stark’s relationship to this group of people, which is why it merits a close reading. The passage I am going to focus on here is recounted (as is the entire novel) by the first-person narrator Jack Burden, a former newspaperman and now personal assistant to the governor. Burden talks about Stark’s relation to the state’s legislature as well as how he interacts with the audience and how the latter responds.

The scene in question perfectly illustrates Stark’s status not only as a savior figure but also as a populist/demagogue.82 Its exaggerated and vivid portrayal of Stark points to its narrative technique of satire, similar to the one used to describe Windrip in It Can’t Happen Here. First, Stark disparages the state’s legislature, calling them “hyena-headed, feist-faced, belly-dragging sons of slack-gutted she-wolves” and complains about having to see “them and their kind so long” – a clear allusion to his contempt for the establishment (218-219). Second, Stark evokes God and asks the crowd if he disappointed them, telling them to “look into the depth of [their] heart[s] to see the truth” (219). His reference to God and the heart emphasizes his focus on emotions, typical for a demagogue (see footnote 82). Third, and most importantly, the audience is portrayed as in complete awe of their governor. In lieu of a verbal response, they roar (219). While “[t]he roar would swell and rise and fall and swell again, [Stark] [is] standing with his right arm raised straight to Heaven and his red eyes bulging” (220). This part, that is, the roar of the people and Stark’s gesture and facial expression, is plainly reminiscent of fascism. Thus, while the novel can be read as a warning against antidemocratic tendencies in general, it can also be understood as a warning against fascism in particular.

In addition to his representation as a populist/demagogue, the scene, as mentioned above, equally portrays Stark as savior. First, there is his evocation of God (see above). Second, Stark’s rhetoric reminds one of a prophet (of doom). “[W]ith his arm [still] up” the governor declares:

“I have looked in your faces!” And they would yell. And he said, “O Lord, and I have seen a sign!” And they would yell again. And he said, “I have seen dew on the fleece and the ground dry!” Then the yell. Then, “I have seen blood

82 According to Cambridge Dictionary, a demagogue is “a person, especially a political leader, who wins support by exciting the emotions of ordinary people rather than by having good or morally right ideas” (“Demagogue”). 58

on the moon!” Then, “Buckets of blood, and boy! I know whose blood it will be.” Then, leaning forward, grabbing out with his right hand as though to seize something in the air before him, “Gimme that meat ax!” (220)

Apart from the biblical language, this part clearly evokes cravings for revenge on the part of the governor. This conforms to Stark’s earlier announcement, after dropping out of his first (unsuccessful) gubernatorial campaign, where he said that “[w]hen I come back to run for Governor again, I’m coming on my own and I’m coming for blood” (140). His behavior and actions as governor suggest his sincerity about this – a further indication of his hatred of the establishment.83

Similar to the passage analyzed above is the scene when Stark steps out on the state capitol to declare that the announced impeachment proceedings will not be initiated. Importantly, this is narrated not as it happens but shortly beforehand, that is, as the narrator imagines it to occur: “Willie [is] to stand on those steps at eight o’clock that night” (229). Indeed, Burden “[knows] how the play [will] come out” and likens it to “a dress rehearsal after the show has closed down.” Burden “[stands] there and [feels] like God-Almighty brooding on History” (225). This ties back to the idea of determinism and raises the question as to what is determined in history and what is not. As a political insider, the novel’s narrator knows that Stark will not be impeached, or that, if he were to, the impeachment would not be successful. Accordingly, he foresees Stark’s confident interaction with the cheering crowd. By extension, the question arises as to what (political) trends and developments can be prophesied on the basis of a certain piece of knowledge. Can the rise of fascism/authoritarianism/totalitarianism be foreseen in view of the rise of antidemocratic forces? In this sense, this passage becomes a sort of metafiction. To what extent can a writer of a fictional text (like Warren) anticipate certain social and political tendencies? This goes back to dystopian fiction and their function, that is, extrapolating present patterns and turning it into a dark fictional story, which then becomes a form of social commentary and even criticism (Sisk, Booker 18).84 At any rate, the novel’s narrator is portrayed as almost melancholic in this moment of foreknowledge. Thus, in All the King’s Men at least, prescience is presented as not necessarily positive.

83 Stark’s intimidation and coercion of oppositional legislators will be discussed in subchapter 3.4. 84 The emphasis is on (social) commentary and criticism here – I am not arguing that Warren, Roth or Lewis were prophets in the sense of being able to foretell the future. 59

Before Stark comes out to give his speech at the state capitol, the crowd enthusiastically chants “Willie!” (222, 229). Warren’s novel thus raises a few problematic aspects about a politician like Stark. First, there is a clear focus on Stark’s persona, which points to a personality cult around him. This connects back to one of Paxton’s ”mobilizing passions,” namely “the need for authority by natural leaders” (Anatomy 41). Political history of the 20th century (and before) shows that personality cults and “natural leaders” were almost invariably detrimental to democracy (cf. Mussolini, Hitler, Stalin). Second, Stark is presented not only as a natural leader but also as affable and likeable, as indicated by the crowd’s use of his nickname (the terms of endearment “Buzz” in It Can’t Happen Here and “Lindy” in The Plot against America fulfill the same function). “Willie” seemingly speaks to Stark’s bonhomie – after all, one would not call an ill-natured person in this way.85 With this image of a good-natured and harmless person, Stark can thus more easily enforce his antidemocratic style of leadership as he knows most of the general public to like and trust him. Warren (as well as Lewis and Roth) thus allude to the banality of evil, as discussed by Hannah Arendt in Eichmann in Jerusalem, that is, the common (re-)presentation of fascism/totalitarianism as (morally) inoffensive and even pleasant.

The personality cult around Stark is satirically indicated elsewhere in the novel as well. First, he is generally referred to as “the Boss.” Second, there are hundreds of larger than life-size portraits of the governor in various public places such as drugstores, pool halls and palaces. The portrait is signed by Stark and bears the legend “My study is the heart of the people” (9). Stark’s motto adds to his populism/demagoguery: it evokes his seeming empathy und closeness to the people. Third, the governor wants to name several of his political achievements after himself, including new speedways and a medical center (343, 349). Importantly, naming infrastructure after himself is Stark’s own idea, not the public’s. Thus, the governor is shown to be narcissistic, self-advertising himself through his infrastructure projects.86 In this way, Warren’s novel problematizes the focus on a specific persona from two angles. On the one hand, Stark is worshipped by many people in the novel (cf. savior figure); on the other, Stark apparently

85 By contrast, the crowd chanting “Stark” would perhaps have undermined the governor’s image as good-natured (although it would – quite literally – have strengthened his image as a strong and resolute politician). 86 Similarly, the 45th (current) president of the United States, too, is known for naming things after himself, including towers, hotels and golf courses. What is more, he has been accused by several critics of a “narcissistic personality disorder” (Senior). 60 idolizes himself, too (cf. narcissism). All the King’s Men demonstrates that (self-)aggrandizement of a political figure undermines democracy and sets the stage for an antidemocratic system. This is due to the fact that idolized and self-idolizing leaders are commonly more concerned with their self-image than with policies aimed at improving the country’s general welfare.

3.3. Lost Illusions (of Idealism) in American Politics

Whereas as governor, Stark is portrayed as narcissistic and corrupt, during his youth and early political career he embodies idealism and integrity. He is described as a bookworm and the teacher’s pet during his school years (21). As a college student, he is eager to learn about the history of the United States and is inspired by “the great names” such as Franklin and Emerson and their “fine sayings and … ideas” (100). Stark is ambitious in pursuing his law degree in addition to working on the farm and as a peddler (99). He laments having prepared too much for the bar examination, claiming that “[a] corn-field nigger could have answered [the questions] if he’d been able to spell” (101). Despite his racist use of language (cf. “nigger”), he is presented as racially unprejudiced when it comes to politics. As county treasurer (his first and only political position before becoming governor), he is even disparaged as a “nigger-lover” for his advocating the low bid for a schoolhouse project, which would employ many black people instead of a higher one that he knows to be based on patronage (80-91). Stark’s wife Lucy maintains that “Willie doesn’t want to be Treasurer … if he has to associate with those dishonest people” (89).87 Stark is thus represented not only as an idealist but also a person of integrity, who takes a stand against dirty politics as practiced by the Board of County Commissioners of Mason County under his tenure as county treasurer.

After an unsuccessful attempt at becoming reelected as county treasurer, Stark, as the Chronicle (for which the narrator Jack Burden works) puts it, “keeps his faith” and declares that “[t]ime will bring all things to light” (95). Indeed, the corrupt deal between the Board of County Commissioners and the construction company backfires: because of the low-quality material used, there is an accident at the school building, killing and crippling numerous children (97).88 In this way, corruption is revealed, and Stark is strengthened in his idealism, assuming the status

87 Stark’s aversion against the establishment seems to be shared by his wife (cf. “those dishonest people”). 88 The narrator Jack Burden describes this as Stark’s “luck” (97, see above) 61 of a savior (see above). When later running for governor for the first time, he attempts “to live up to his notion of a high destiny,” reflected in the rhetoric of his early campaign speeches which are described as “awful” as they are “full of facts and figures” (106). Stark’s initial idealism can also be gathered from the perfectionist manner in which he prepares his speeches, being “hell-bent on making each one a second Gettysburg Address” (104). Stark does not understand why, despite the detailed presentation of his carefully thought-out plans, many people do not show much interest (108). Warren’s novel thus presents an aspiring politician who is disillusioned by his audience’s response (or, rather, the absence thereof) to his idealistic policy proposals. In this way, it may be argued that Stark’s turn away from idealism is at least partially caused by the public’s lack of responsiveness thereto.

Most importantly, Stark’s initial idealism shows in his (socialist) policies. He envisages a new tax program, better infrastructure, a more efficient administration and a better education system (117). Considering that he appears to stay faithful to these programs as governor, he differs from Windrip in It Can’t Happen Here. In contrast to Stark, Windrip only pays lip service to socialist values, seriously undermining them when in power, which makes him a typical fascist (cf. Paxton, Anatomy 10). As for Stark, he is portrayed as a politician who actively pursues socialism, for instance by his tax increases, his highway program and a public health bill (Warren 203). According to him, “complete education” and proper healthcare should be a right and not a charity (392). In addition, “the rich man and the great companies that draw wealth from this state shall pay this state a fair share” (393).89 What is problematized in the novel is not an inconsistency between Stark’s proposed policies and his actual policies (as in the case of Windrip, among other things) but the manner in which he acts and operates as a politician. This is perhaps best summarized by Stark’s attorney general, who, when asked if he likes what has been done under Stark, responds: “I like it. But I can’t say I like some of the stuff around it” (204). “The (corrupt) stuff around it” will be analyzed thoroughly in the following subchapter.

Given that Stark is shown initially as prodemocratic and only eventually as antidemocratic, the question arises as to what may have caused such a shift. Warren’s novel provides essentially

89 Stark’s rhetoric and views on infrastructure, education, healthcare and tax policy have been more or less shared by many non-socialist (and arguably non-populist) politicians, notably Barack Obama (Obama 18-20). 62 two different explanations. The first is that the change is only apparent but not real. In other words, Stark has already been vicious as a student and young politician, without this coming to the fore. This is linked to the theory of original sin, a motif in the novel, which is propagated by Stark. Specifically, the governor does not tire of maintaining that “man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and [that] he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something” (75, 235, 286).90 This means that every human being is fundamentally sinful and corrupt and that these vices extend from the cradle to the grave. Naturally, Stark does not apply this adage to himself but to a character called Judge Irwin, whom he regards as a political opponent and who has the reputation of being morally upright.91 Stark is proven right insofar as it turns out that even this person of seeming integrity has committed a moral faux pas in his life, which corroborates his theory. And indeed, other characters in the novel who appear virtuous abandon themselves to vice, for instance Anne Stanton, with whom Stark has an extramarital affair (401-404). At the end of All the King’s Men, Burden marries Ms. Stanton and they come to live with an old man who Burden initially thought to be his father and who provides his theory about original sin. Essentially, it stipulates that, being perfect, God had to make something different from himself in order to actually create something (otherwise, it would merely have been “extension”) and anybody who differs from God is imperfect and therefore sinful (658-659). In this way, corruption and sin may be considered merely human, flaws from which no one is spared.

For those not believing in religion, including the idea of original sin, there is another possible explanation for Stark’s transition from idealism to corruption. According to this view, it is not the fault of the human individual but a systemic one. As discussed above, Stark becomes disillusioned by the corrupt dealings of his political colleagues, whose decision-making is based on patronage and racism rather than on fair competition and non-discrimination (80-91). To the Chronicle’s managing editor, Burden indicates that this kind of politics is not specific to Mason County: “They run [things] up there just like they run ‘em down here” (77). In other words, corruption is portrayed as ubiquitous in the country and as part of the system. Therefore, it may be argued that rather than corrupting the system (as political opponents in the novel assert he

90 Stark’s biblical language further strengthens his (self-)image as savior. 91 Judge Irwin turns out to be the narrator’s father at the end of the novel. 63 is doing), Stark is corrupted by it. Read in this manner, All the King’s Men constitutes a harsh criticism against the American political system, which is not only corrupt in and of itself but, moreover, also corrupts those idealists which enter it.

When looking for a specific instance which causes Stark’s change from idealism to corruption and concomitantly from a prodemocratic stance to an antidemocratic one, there is one that is particularly striking, that is, the moment after one of Stark’s speeches during his first (unsuccessful) gubernatorial campaign, when the candidate complains to Burden, who covers the campaign, that his audience “didn’t seem to be paying attention” – at least “[n]ot while [he] was trying to explain about [his] tax program” (108). Stark – in his aspiration “to live up to his notion of a high destiny” (106) – is evidently ignorant of what the general public yearns to hear. Burden tries to help him, explaining: “Just tell ‘em you’re gonna soak the fat boys, and forget the rest of the tax stuff” (108). The narrator’s advice features two main characteristics of populist language, namely scapegoating and simplification (cf. Kazim). Naturally, the scapegoat is part of the elite/establishment, in this case wealthy individuals. Stark is thus urged by Burden to adopt a populist rhetoric, by which he is supposed to render his political speeches more effective (in the sense of garnering more votes). Furthermore, Burden gives another piece of advice, arguably even more significant:

Hell, make ‘em cry, make ‘em laugh, make ‘em think you’re their weak erring pal, or make ‘em think you’re God Almighty. Or make ‘em mad. Even mad at you. Just stir ‘em up, it doesn’t matter how or why, and they’ll love you and come back for more. … it’s up to you to give ‘em something to stir ‘em up and make ‘em feel alive again. … Tell ‘em anything. But for Sweet Jesus’ sake don’t try to improve their minds. (108)

This crucial utterance by the otherwise taciturn newspaperman encapsulates the central element of demagoguery (see footnote 82): emotionalism. Burden goes so far as to argue that one should even be willing to become the target of ridicule or hatred oneself as long as this serves the purpose of eliciting strong emotions among the crowd. The reporter suggests that people have become numb and all that they want is to feel something. By contrast, he strongly advises against mental/intellectual development as this would be futile. In a sense, this approach is also linked to nihilism, defined as “a system of thought that says that there are no principles or beliefs that have any meaning or can be true” (“Nihilism”). In other words, it is not about political content considering that the different views are all the same but about wooing 64 potential voters by appealing to their emotions. As already seen above, the disillusioned Stark adopts this rhetoric approach.

Another instance which noticeably causes a change in Stark is when he finds out that he has been framed by a political opponent and fellow gubernatorial candidate (see footnote 78). Being used as a dummy arouses Stark’s hatred not only against established politicians (whom he already despised before that) but arguably against the whole political system as it makes him aware that there is hardly anybody that he can trust. Paradoxically, as governor he decides to work with many people who were in the know about the frame-up, including the woman who accidentally revealed it to him (who becomes his secretary), Jack Burden (who becomes his assistant), and, most importantly, a man called Tiny Duffy, who, as campaign manager, even was behind the plot against him. Ironically, under Governor Stark, Duffy becomes highway commissioner and subsequently lieutenant governor, for which Stark gives the following explanation: “I keep him because he reminds me of something … I don’t ever want to forget … [t]hat when they come to you sweet talking you better not listen to anything they say” (146). Through the frame-up, Stark learns (and remembers) never to trust anybody. It is not surprising that Stark loses faith in others when those close to him either conspire against him or do not dare tell him about the conspiracy when they are aware of it. This loss of faith arguably further pushes Stark from idealism to corruption.

Upon discovering the plot against him, Stark renounces his candidature but nevertheless tries to make sure that the candidate who used him as a decoy gets defeated (140). In doing so, he continues to deliver speeches (in favor of the candidate’s opponent), which are starkly different from the ones before. First, he is much more direct and labels his audience members with terms which they do not like (including hick, see above). In one speech, he stresses the importance of self-reliance: “… you are a hick and nobody ever helped a hick but the hick himself. … God helps those who help themselves” (143). While his biblical language corresponds to his image as savior, his emphasis on self-responsibility is rather in line with an economic-liberal viewpoint than a socialist one. At any rate, it is consistent with the notion of the American dream, which stipulates that one’s (mis-)fortune lies mainly in one’s own hands rather than those of others (including the government). When asked about his program, Stark responds by demanding to 65

“nail up” the candidate who framed him and, in case he does not get the job done, the other candidate (whom he is supporting for the moment). Indeed, Stark calls on his audience to “[n]ail up anybody who stands in [their] way” (144). What Stark is promoting here is ultimately self- justice and law of the strongest, both of which are highly antidemocratic.

3.4. Corrupt Politics Corroding Democracy

Stark’s transition from idealism to corruption and antidemocratic rhetoric/behavior is rather abrupt. Indications of the latter begin to become apparent after the two instances mentioned above, that is, after Burden’s pieces of advice and Stark’s finding out about the conspiracy against him – his inflammatory speeches against the politician who framed him already show his turn away from idealism. But as soon as he becomes governor, there is no more doubt about it. His espousal of antidemocratic methods manifest themselves in several regards, including corruption, coercion and blackmailing of the state’s legislature “in addition to other little charges of malfeasance and nonfeasance” (218).92 These are indeed the charges by which the oppositional legislators threaten to impeach the governor. Ironically, through blackmailing and bribery of many of those legislators, Stark succeeds in averting an impeachment process against him (220-221, 224). This is arguably the culmination of absurdity of the political system as portrayed in the novel and as such another prime example of its satire: that instead of defeating corruption by rendering justice, the latter is defeated by more of the former.

Stark’s ‘favorite’ corruptive methods are intimidation, bribery and threat (blackmailing). When Judge Irwin does not endorse Stark’s man but his opponent for the Senate nomination, Stark goes to Irwin’s place at nighttime to pay him a visit and frighten him (49, 57-73). This is when Stark instructs Burden to dig into Irwin’s past to find something incriminating, arguing that “[t]here is always something” (74-75, cf. original sin). Through the character Stark, the novel demonstrates that power can be used to evoke fear in others in order to obtain what one

92 Malfeasance denotes “an example of dishonest and illegal behaviour, especially by a person in authority,” while nonfeasance is defined as “a failure to do something when there is a legal duty to do so, especially by a person in authority” (“Malfeasance;” “Nonfeasance”). 66 wants.93 At the end of the story, when Burden lets Irwin know that he has found something that can be used against him, Irwin calls a spade a spade: “Your employer is trying to put pressure on me. To blackmail me” (521). Shortly afterwards, he commits suicide (525). Earlier in the story, Stark affirms that he actually wants others to be scared of him, even those close to him (348). Besides, he reveals that he actually prefers arresting ‘bothersome’ people (what he calls “busting”) over bribing them: “Bust ‘em and they’ll stay busted, but buy ‘em them and you can’t tell how long they’ll stay bought” (348). This ties back to Stark’s earlier call “to nail up anybody who stands in your way” and speaks to a common approach embraced by antidemocratic regimes: forcefully getting rid of oppositional figures who might interfere with one’s fascist/totalitarian ambitions.

Indeed, even though twice democratically elected, Stark is described as leaning towards fascism/totalitarianism. According to an acquaintance of Burden’s, Stark has destroyed the state’s constitution (185). To be sure, under Stark half the constitution is changed in line with his views by his nominations of Supreme Court judges who unconditionally vote in his favor (204). When theorizing about law in general, Stark draws a comparison between law and “a single-bed blanket on a double bed and three folks in the bed and a cold night.” Logically, the blanket (i.e. the law) needs to be expanded “for growing humankind.” The governor summarizes his credo about how politics works as follows: “The best you can do is do something and then make up some law to fit” (204). By this logic, law would follow politics, whereas in a democratic state it is the opposite. In addition, Stark is accused of having taken control of “the whole state.” “Give him another few years and nothing can blast him out” (185). Stark is thus presented as a totalitarian leader, by his having introduced “a political system in which those in power have complete control and do not allow anyone to oppose them” (“Totalitarianism”). Besides, the “bid for total control” through an expansion of executive powers also characterizes fascist regimes (cf. Paxton, Anatomy 11).

Stark’s corruption in a more general sense is also reflected in his focus on public appearance, which is based on superficiality and, in some cases, even manipulation and hypocrisy. For

93 For Donald J. Trump, too, fear is tightly connected to, if not synonymous with, (real) power, as Bob Woodward argues in Fear: Trump in the White House. Indeed, a central motif of Woodward’s non-fiction book is Trump’s claim that “[r]eal power is fear,” which Trump made at a campaign speech in March 2016 (xiii; see also 175, 275, 300). 67 example, as governor, Stark has himself and his family photographed on his father’s farm in order to give the impression of being a man of the people, rooted to his native soil. To show his big heart, he wants the family’s dog in the picture, telling Burden to “get the hairy bastard up [there] and make him look like he was glad to see me” (39). The governor becomes even more hypocritical after his numerous extramarital affairs, when he still tries to “keep up appearances” with his wife, with whom he continues to have advertising photos taken. The pictures include his son as well as “white leghorns in the foreground and a wire fence behind” and are captioned “Governor Willie Stark and Family” (493). Furthermore, not only Stark is portrayed as hypocritical, but so are those of his voters who are aware of the governor’s infidelity but do not mind as long as he does not divorce (493). Stark “having it both ways” is to them “a mark of the chosen and superior” (493), which, once again, clearly suggests his status as savior.

What renders Stark’s corruption arguably most alarming is not only his own awareness but also his minimization of it. The governor admits the existence of graft in his administration, but plays it down, declaring that “there’s just enough to make the wheels turn without squeaking” (592). He thus draws an analogy between politics and some kind of machinery. First, he asserts that just as the latter requires oil to work smoothly, the former needs graft/corruption to function properly. Second, he claims that just as there is “some loss of energy” in every machine, there is criminality in politics (592). Nevertheless, he maintains that he has a positive impact on the state – in other words, that he does more good than harm. At any rate, Stark’s concept of politics as a second-term governor is a far cry from his idealistic stance in his early political career, implying an understanding of governing which is highly problematic in its corrosion of democratic principles.

3.5. The Motif of a Hopeful Future in the Face of a Burdensome Past

As a student of history, the novel’s narrator Burden is frequently shown absorbed in historical and philosophical musings, which may be seen as an attempt to make sense of everything and also to justify his own actions (first and foremost, his working for Governor Stark). Concerning Stark’s opinion on corruption and criminality in politics, Burden postulates what he calls “the theory of historical costs,” which essentially stipulates that there are no gains without costs (592). Specifically, he argues that change in their state could only have occurred as it did (by 68

Stark’s corrupt governorship) and that, at the end of the day, it does not matter how it came about (592-593). Burden calls this “the theory of the moral neutrality of history” (593). Basically, this theory is equivalent to the idea that the end justifies the means. In the case of Stark, this means that his corrupt, antidemocratic politics was merely the instrument to a better life for the common man. According to this standpoint, there is nothing wrong with such a kind of leadership as long as it improves the general welfare. Burden is aware that “[a]ll that [is] a high historical view from a chilly pinnacle” (593). Nevertheless, he considers the possibility that “[m]aybe it took a genius to see it [and] … a hero to act on it” (593). In this way, through the novel’s narrator Burden, Roth corroborates his fictional antidemocratic leader’s image as savior and authority figure.

The respective theories of historical costs and of the moral neutrality of history are two motifs in All the King’s Men. The former’s stipulation is shared by the character Judge Irwin, who points out that “you don’t make omelettes without breaking eggs” and that “politics is always a matter of choices … [a]nd there is always a price to make a choice” (186, 516-517). Even though a fierce foe of Stark up until his death (the governor even arguably having been a cause of his eventual suicide), Irwin is of the same opinion as Stark.94 Additionally, at the end of the novel, Burden suggests that “all knowledge that is worth anything is maybe paid for by blood” (647). While he refers to the numerous deaths in the story, including Stark, Adam Stanton and Judge Irwin, this proposition can be interpreted in a larger context. As a student of history, Burden does research on the nineteenth century, including racism and slavery, which he calls “the great injustice” (276). In hindsight, knowledge or awareness of this great injustice may also be said to have been paid for by blood, that is, during the American Civil War. While the second theory mentioned above stipulates that history is morally neutral, one could also argue, as Stark’s attorney general does, that “[h]istory is blind, but man is not” (658). This implies that historical injustices and sufferings do have meaning and continue to play a significant role in the present.

In Warren’s novel, the historical past is linked to a burden. The narrator’s last name is telling in this regard. For his dissertation, Burden does research about a man in the antebellum period,

94 Irwin commits suicide upon learning that Burden, on Stark’s assignment, has found something incriminating against him in the judge’s past. 69 who frees his slaves – not for their sake, but for his own, that is, “to relieve [his] spirit of a burden, the burden of their misery and their eyes upon [him]” (275). The man is aware of “the great injustice” but is in a way unable to liberate himself from this burden. Later in the story, Burden argues that “if you could not accept the past and its burden there [is] no future, for without one there cannot be the other, and [that] if you accept the past you might hope for the future, for only out of the past can you make the future” (656). Whether it is one’s personal past or the historical one, there is, according to this perspective, no escaping what has happened. Applied to American history, there is no use in denying “the great injustice” of institutionalized racism in the form of slavery. Man, who is, in contrast to history, not blind, has to accept it and move forward, which is connected to another motif in the novel: optimism and hope.

When Burden finds out about the affair between his two friends Willie Stark and Anne Stanton, he heads west to California, in an apparent attempt to leave things behind and start anew (405- 408). Burden indicates that “[w]e [Americans] have always gone west,” an allusion to westward expansion in the United States, also known as “Manifest Destiny” (Brogan 297).95 The novel’s narrator provides various reasons as to why many people move west, including the commission of a crime. The latter motive does not apply to Burden, but it is nonetheless thought-provoking. The narrator goes to Long Beach, California, the westernmost part of the United States (apart from Alaska and Hawaii) and, so to speak, the final destination (464-465). This suggests that one can go only so far; in other words, one can flee from one’s past (and possible misdeeds) only to a limited extent. Furthermore, not even two days after his arrival, Burden heads home to his native state. Applied to American history, this can be interpreted as the futility of a country’s figurative escape from past crimes and injustices as this works only temporarily. At one point, the past’s ‘burden’ has to be accepted in order to hope for a better future.

All the King’s Men is ambiguous about hope and optimism. The novel gives indications that suggest that the future may not be bright. First, Stark is succeeded by the dishonest deputy governor Tiny Duffy, and Stark’s grandson is named after the former governor (619, 642). This

95 ‘Manifest Destiny’ denotes the idea that the spreading out of (European) Americans across a large part of the North American continent (especially westward) was divinely ordained; the phrase was famously used by the Democratic journalist John L. O’Sullivan in 1845 (Brogan 297). Burden also makes an explicit link to history, referring to “the West [as] the end of History” (Warren 467). 70 speaks and alludes to the continuity of “business as usual,” i.e. corruption and antidemocratic conduct. Second, even the last glimmer of hope, as represented by the color green, is shown to vanish: “[t]he rectangle of green in the middle of blackness where the light of the window [falls] on the grass [is] suddenly black, too” (647). Nevertheless, the novel emphasizes the importance of belief, to which hope and optimism are inextricably linked. After Stark’s death, both his wife and Burden try convince themselves (and each other) that the governor was a great man. Both “have to believe that”, which implies that, deep down, they are not really sure (643). Still, both cling to this view, arguably to self-justify their close relationship to the corrupt and antidemocratic politician.

In connection to Stark’s death, the novel once again touches upon the notion of determinism. Stark points out to Burden that “[i]t might have been all different, Jack” (603). He thereby not only refers to the attempt on his life, which he subsequently succumbs to, but to his governorship in general. In this instance, he is portrayed as being aware of the controversy and divisiveness surrounding his persona and style of leadership. The scene may be interpreted as a moment of critical self-reflection, which is arguably the first step towards improvement. Burden’s philosophical musings on a different subject earlier in the story provide a justification – and, to some extent, excuse – for Stark’s and Burden’s actions.96 He theorizes that “by the time we understand the pattern we are in … it is too late to break out of the box” (529). Seen from this perspective, Stark and his peers, including Burden, did not immediately realize the obvious wrongness of adopting corruption and antidemocratic behavior to achieve their ends. They defended their course of action (implicitly) by “the theory of historical costs” and “the theory of the moral neutrality of history,” and thus believed that the end justified the means. In this way, Warren’s novel demonstrates that the corrosion and eventual destruction of democracy may occur despite goodwill, that is, if one adopts corrupt and coercive measures in order to implement one’s policies – along the lines of “the road to [antidemocratic] hell is paved with good [policy] intentions.”

96 Burden tries to understand why his mother did not marry who turned out to be the love of her life, namely Judge Irwin (528-529). 71

Conclusion

In this thesis I have shown that American exceptionalism has been called into question and criticized in U.S. political writing through the realistic representation of antidemocratic political systems in a specifically American context. The three novels which I selected – It Can’t Happen Here, The Plot against America and All the King’s Men – employ a number of (literary) strategies which demonstrate convincingly and forcefully that fascism/totalitarianism is not only possible in parts of Europe and the former Soviet Union but is also clearly imaginable within the United States. The strategies include the use of literary techniques such as allusions/references and metaphors/analogies as well as the realistic portrayal of typical fascist/totalitarian patterns and phenomena. In terms of aesthetic composition, the novels heavily employ satire (including irony, paradox and parody) in order to emphasize further their critique of American exceptionalism.

Each of the selected novels deals with a fictional unprecedented rise of an antidemocratic government, which is met with incredulity by a significant part of the population in the novels. This speaks to one of the novels’ major motifs, that is, that many U.S. citizens consider fascism/totalitarianism impossible on American soil, thus firmly believing that “it can’t happen here.” This corresponds to the widespread feeling of superiority among many Americans, as discussed by Lipset and other scholars. Lewis ridicules this attitude by using this phrase as his novel’s title. Roth similarly does so by choosing a title (The Plot against America) which suggests that the U.S. is a victim of fascism/totalitarianism and not its perpetrator. The title of Warren’s novel (All the King’s Men) is also suggestive in that the allusion to the downfall of a fictional character (Humpty Dumpty) may be interpreted as an analogy of the figurative democratic collapse of a U.S. state. The fact that the latter is unspecified indicates that it may be any U.S. state and, by extension, all of them, that is, the entirety of the United States.

Satire is a major aesthetic strategy in all of the selected novels, employed to heighten awareness of their common theme, i.e. the critique of American exceptionalism. Most notably, it is used in the portrayal of the antidemocratic movements/regimes, including their respective leaders. Concerning the antidemocratic fictional leaders – Berzelius Windrip, Charles A. 72

Lindbergh and Willie Stark – what is paradoxical (and thus satirical) is that they are simultaneously shown representing themselves as savior figures and common men, as special and ordinary. In this manner, they respond to, on the one hand, “the need for authority by natural leaders,” as is typical during the rise and times of fascism (cf. Paxton) as well as, on the other hand, the apparently popular desire of having “a man of the people” in power, which is inextricably linked to populism (cf. Kazin). Adding to the novels’ satire is the authors’ use of parody. In one aspect or another – including their gestures and rhetoric – the fictional antidemocratic leaders are parodies of historical fascist/totalitarian ‘models,’ especially Adolf Hitler. In this way, there is a blend of amusement and contempt in the novels’ literary aestheticism (cf. Highet). The selected texts thus offer criticism against personality cults (including “the [perceived] need for authority by natural leaders”) and demonstrate effectively that the U.S. is not immune to them.

While the parodies of the respective fictional antidemocratic leaders are typically based on allusions to fascist ‘models’ (such as the raised right arm and the bulging red eyes in All the King’s Men), the novels also make clear references to fascist/totalitarian phenomena. First, they refer to fascism/totalitarianism during the interwar period outside the U.S., including Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany. Second, they reference fascist/totalitarian trends inside the U.S., both past and contemporary. The novels’ references to fascism/totalitarianism outside the U.S. contextualize the subject and serve to show parallels to fascist/totalitarian developments inside the U.S. In this way, the novels point out that the United States is not exceptional after all in the sense that Americans are not (morally) superior and that the U.S. is not exempt from democratic decline (and is thus not exemplary either).

In addition to allusions and references to specific real-life antidemocratic trends and developments both in- and outside the United States, the selected novels are concerned with the issue from a general perspective. Indeed, many of the patterns and phenomena connected to fascist/totalitarian regimes as discussed by political theorists and scientists (including Hannah Arendt and Robert O. Paxton) can also be found in the novels, which is why a close analysis of the respective plots and characters was crucial. It Can’t Happen Here is much concerned with – in fictionalized form – the political, economic and social preconditions for 73 fascism/totalitarianism, which Arendt and Paxton lay out – in non-fictionalized form – in their respective politological studies. Lewis’s novel highlights the fierce oppression of any opposition to the fascist/totalitarian regime, a key characteristic of this kind of antidemocratic government. The Plot against America emphasizes the fact that fascist regimes may not only democratically come to power (through an election as opposed to a coup d’état), but may subsequently even retain this veneer of democratic legitimation throughout their tenure even after starting to undermine democratic principles. A key aspect here is the incremental corrosion of democracy, which is thus imperceptible for the uncritical general population (cf. Levitsky and Ziblatt). All the King’s Men stresses that a highly corrupt political system (in other words, a political system in a severe crisis) may corrupt a young aspiring initially idealistic politician to the point where he makes use of antidemocratic methods in an even more alarming manner. Besides, Warren’s novel also links totalitarian tendencies to populism.

For their respective representations of antidemocratic political systems, the selected novels draw on common analogies. Most importantly, they depict politics as a spectacle. On the one hand, they thus problematize the fact that fascism/totalitarianism is often portrayed not as dangerous and worrisome but as harmless and entertaining. On the other hand, the analogy of a spectacle reinforces the novels’ satirical nature, serving to highlight the flaws of antidemocratic leaders (e.g. contradictory self-representations and narcissism) and those of the general public (e.g. blind enthusiasm and an uncritical political stance). Another essential analogy is that of lightness and darkness – most important in It Can’t Happen Here (but also featuring in All the King’s Men). This analogy, which likens democracy to lightness and fascism/totalitarianism to darkness, serves two purposes: on the one hand, it emphasizes the bleakness and somberness under antidemocratic governments; on the other, it suggests that sinister times are only transitory and that there is always hope for brighter ones.

A further significant literary technique in the novels is point of view. The third-person narrative situation in It Can’t Happen Here describes some of the internal processes in the main character, Doremus Jessup, while the story is largely recounted in a factual, albeit satirical, manner. In the other two selected novels, there are first-person narrators, about whom we learn much more regarding their feelings and thoughts. While they are both involved in the events, they differ in 74 the degree of their involvement: the young Philip Roth may be seen more like a peripheral character (I-as-witness) whereas Jack Burden is more of a protagonist (I-as-protagonist, cf. Nünning 111). The first-person narration by an innocent young Jewish boy in The Plot against America highlights not only the cruelty of the fascist regime but also the impuissance of its victims. Additionally, Roth uses juxtaposition to stress the contrast between the Jewish versus the Gentile experience of Lindbergh’s presidency. As for All the King’s Men, in contrast, the first- person narrator fulfills a different function: not only is he not a victim of the antidemocratic state government led by Willie Stark, as personal assistant to the governor he may even be considered an accomplice of the regime. As Burden is not portrayed as either unlikeable or intrinsically bad, this points to the fact that antidemocratic political systems may even be directly supported by generally good people, who find arguments (cf. “the theory of historical costs” and that of “the moral neutrality of history”) to justify their collaboration with antidemocratic governments/leaders.

With regard to narrative structure, apart from the different temporal perspectives (looking into the future or the (recent) past), there is an important difference in terms of chronological linearity, more precisely, between All the King’s Men and the other two selected novels. Lewis’s and Roth’s works are narrated essentially chronologically, recounting a – more or less gradual – U.S. American decline into fascism/totalitarianism. This provides order and predictability as the reader senses the direction in which the story is going. Warren’s novel, by contrast, is filled with sometimes extended flashbacks, which make the story non-chronological. The narrative structure of All the King’s Men thus reflects the blending of past and future as discussed by the narrator in the story, who represents the two phenomena as interdependent. The non- chronological structure definitely undermines the order and predictability of the storyline, which may be interpreted as a reflection of the chaos and unpredictability of antidemocratic political systems. At any rate, Warren’s novel seems not only concerned with place (topos), as typical of a dystopian novel (in the wider sense), but also very much with time (chronos).

In conclusion, what is arguably timeless is the possibility of an antidemocratic U.S. political system, as negotiated in the three selected novels for this thesis. Fascism/Authoritarianism/Totalitarianism is represented as a threat – then and now. 75

Incidentally, Robert O. Paxton discusses in an interview with Democracy Now Donald J. Trump’s fascist tendencies during his presidential campaign in 2016 (“Is Donald Trump a Fascist?”). In the interview, Paxton draws parallels between common fascist themes such as “the need for authority by natural leaders” and “the beauty of violence” (already elaborated on in his seminal work The Anatomy of Fascism) to Trump’s campaign, including the Republican candidate’s rhetoric. Ever since, many other journalists and scholars have voiced their concerns about Trump, both prior and during his presidency (Sunstein, Foster). Recently, Joel Kotkin, writing for the Daily Beast, wondered whether the U.S. is on the brink of a Weimar moment, alluding to Hitler’s seizure of power in 1933. All of this demonstrates the continued concern in America about the specter of fascism/authoritarianism/totalitarianism. What the selected novels can do here, also beyond Trump’s presidency, is raise awareness that the United States may likely not be exceptional in this regard, thus dissuading Americans from adhering to – or even adopting in the first place – the arrogant attitude of “[i]t can’t happen here.”

Works Cited

Primary Sources

Main Texts Lewis, Sinclair. It Can’t Happen Here. 1935. London: Penguin Classics, 2017. Roth, Philip. The Plot against America. London: Vintage Classics, 2004. Warren, Robert Penn. All the King’s Men. 1946. London: Penguin Classics, 2007.

Companion Texts Agee, James, and Walker Evans. Let Us Now Praise Famous Men: Three Tenant Families. 1941. Boston, MA: Mariner Books, 2001. Asimov, Isaac. “What If–.”Nightfall and Other Stories. New York: Doubleday, 1969, pp. 191-205. Auster, Paul. The New York Trilogy. London: Penguin Books, 1990. Bradbury, Ray. Fahrenheit 451. 1953. New York: Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, 2012. Dick, Philip K. The Man in the High Castle. 1962. London: Penguin Books, 2014. House, Edward M. Philip Dru: Administrator: A Story of Tomorrow, 1920-1935. North Charleston, SC: Createspace, 2010. Steinbeck, John. The Moon Is Down. 1942. London: Penguin Books, 2000.

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