Some books that address controversial issues try to appeal to a broad audience, building bridges and trying to persuade others onto their side. Others are written to a narrow audience, to galvanize the true believers and give them strength and clarity as to the rightness of their side. Neither approach is bad necessarily, but it’s good to know what you’re getting into beforehand so that you know what to expect.
A Nefarious Plot is basically what you get when you combine The Screwtape Letters with talk radio. Steve Deace’s politics lie somewhere to the right of Genghis Khan, and like Genghis’s son Ogedei, he doesn’t believe in picking his battles, but instead opts for fighting a constant, simultaneous offensive on all fronts. But hey, it worked for Ogedei, and it seems to work pretty well for this book too.
Bridge-building books can suffer from being too wishy washy and vague, while true-believing books can suffer from a narrow single-mindedness that weakens the central argument, giving rise to straw men and other fallacies. The single-mindedness is definitely here, and I’m sure that most leftists and progressives would take issue (and be horribly triggered) by how Deace portrays them, but I actually thought that his points were well argued.
The central argument of the book is that America is great because she is good, and if she ever ceases to be good (such as by abandoning the moral and religious principles that undergirded her founding), she will also cease to be great. The argument is presented by a devil named Nefarious, who gleefully recounts how he has gotten us to abandon and forget all of the moral and religious principles that made us good, and therefore great. Like The Screwtape Letters, the devil’s story is ultimately just a vehicle for the author’s argument, but where The Screwtape Letters focuses on personal morality and inward spirituality, A Nefarious Plot focuses on history, politics, and culture.
I was surprised at how dark the book got. Some of Nefarious’s asides were truly dripping with hatred and contempt—not the indescriminate kind that rages without any real focus, but the kind that is so singularly focused that it isn’t satisfied with the mere destruction of its object, but on inflicting the maximum amount of suffering, trauma, and… well, evil. There were a couple of sections that I almost had to skip because they were so dark, which isn’t usually something that happens with me. If I hadn’t had my hands full pruning the apple tree, I probably would have skipped them.
Overall, it’s a very powerful and well argued book. I wouldn’t recommend it to my Democrat parents, since I’m sure it would just put them on the defensive, but I would recommend it to my Republican in-laws. This book probably isn’t going to win any hearts and minds, but it makes enough interesting points and connections that it’s not just preaching to the choir either.