Horwitz describes his goal of following in Olmsted’s footsteps as much as possible, given that many of the roads and settlements have long vanished. He frequently improvises his itinerary, at one pointing hitching a ride for several days on a massive coal barge on the Ohio River. This glimpse into the dangers and tedium of 21st century blue collar work sharply contrasts with a jaunt on a Mississippi riverboat, converted into a pleasure cruise for retirees. When Horwitz visits such familiar tourist destinations as New York or The Alamo, he clearly tries to avoid travel-writing clichés as he cheerfully chats with strangers in small-town bars or docents at obscure museums.
Horwitz’s enthusiasm can be infectious. Like Olmsted himself, he becomes fascinated with a settlement of utopian Germans in south central Texas. Olmsted grew more radicalized against slavery the more he saw plantation brutality, and Horwitz points out the ironies of changing dynamics at the Mexican border: In the 1850s, runaway slaves would flee into Mexico seeking opportunities, while today’s illegal immigrants go in the other direction.
The author’s optimism at reaching across political divides takes a blow in Crockett, Texas, where he meets a group of paranoid conservatives convinced that there’s a Muslim training compound near town. Horwitz does a little digging and finds that the structure is just a Pakistani doctor’s residence with a security fence surrounding a large property. But when the author brings the truth to his new acquaintances, he’s disappointed when they brush aside the facts and remain unshaken in their beliefs.
“Spying on the South” makes some sharp changes in tone, at times putting aside the grim aspects of the past and present for some breezy interludes, including a visit to Louisiana’s “Mudfest,” a festival of mud, alcohol and monster trucks. At times Horwitz seems eager to emulate the wry observations of Bill Bryson and other lighthearted travel writers. When he briefly links up with Australian humorist Andrew Denton, though, his new travelling companion mostly complains about unhealthy Southern food and comes across as a condescending snob.
Since Olmsted spent much of his travel on horseback, Horwitz’s attempts to experience life in the saddle lead him to a trail guide recommended as a “mule man extraordinaire.” After several days together, Horwitz finds that the Texan, who at first seemed to be a tough, modern-day cowboy, is a just verbally abusive jerk, contemptuous of the author for reasons never explained. Horwitz’s writing makes the episode compellingly enraging, but it also feels sour and unresolved.
Overall, “Spying on the South’s” strongest moments find Horwitz connecting with Southerners and relaying his first-hand observations. The author seems uncomfortable with generalizing over contemporary “Red State” politics in the transition from the Obama to Trump presidencies, as if he’s aware that doing justice to the topic would send the narrative far afield from its mission as more of a historical travelogue.
At times “Spying on the South’s” extensive references to the legs of Olmsted’s journey tend to blur together. But the 19th century landscape architect, like the contemporary journalist, come across as kindred spirits, full of curiosity and open-mindedness about the South, candid about its flaws yet eager to celebrate its positive sides. They both make great traveling companions.
‘Spying on the South’
by Tony Horwitz
476 pages, $30