The Lies of the Land
Seeing Rural America for What It Is—and Isn’t
The Lies of the Land
Seeing Rural America for What It Is—and Isn’t
It seems everyone has an opinion about rural America. Is it gripped in a tragic decline? Or is it on the cusp of a glorious revival? Is it the key to understanding America today? Steven Conn argues that we’re missing the real question: Is rural America even a thing? No, says Conn, who believes we see only what we want to see in the lands beyond the suburbs—fantasies about moral (or backward) communities, simpler (or repressive) living, and what it means to be authentically (or wrongheadedly) American. If we want to build a better future, Conn argues, we must accept that these visions don’t exist and never did.
In The Lies of the Land, Conn shows that rural America—so often characterized as in crisis or in danger of being left behind—has actually been at the center of modern American history, shaped by the same forces as everywhere else in the country: militarization, industrialization, corporatization, and suburbanization. Examining each of these forces in turn, Conn invites us to dispense with the lies and half-truths we’ve believed about rural America and to pursue better solutions to the very real challenges shared all across our nation.
An audiobook version is available.
320 pages | 4 halftones | 6 x 9 | © 2023
Geography: Cultural and Historical Geography
History: American History, Environmental History
Reviews
Table of Contents
Introduction: Crisis and Myth
Part I: Militarized Space
Chapter 1: Engineering the Landscape
Chapter 2: From Rural Community to Army Town
Chapter 3: The Cold War Comes to the UP
Postscript: Addicted to the Military
Part II: Industrial Spaces
Chapter 4: Factories Instead of Farms
Chapter 5: Cars in the Cornfields
Part III. Rural Inc.
Chapter 6: Who’s Afraid of Big?
Chapter 7: Chains ’R’ Us
Part IV. The Suburbanization of Rural America
Chapter 8: Creating Post-rural Space
Chapter 9: The Politics of Post-rural Complaint
Conclusion: Places vs. Spaces
Acknowledgments
Notes
Bibliography
Index
Excerpt
A book about rural America is preposterous on its face.
There is no such thing as “rural America,” because there are many rural Americas, each with its own history, culture, and dynamics. There are “rurals” in every state and in every region of the country; rural Americans come, just like urban Americans, in every stripe and flavor politically, ethnically, religiously: Quebecois timber workers in northern Maine, shrimpers from Southeast Asia in coastal Louisiana, Central American slaughterhouse workers in rural Iowa and Kansas. And, of course, Native American reservation land remain overwhelmingly rural. We know from the novels of Willa Cather and Sinclair Lewis, from the diary of Rachel Calof and other such sources that women have long experienced rural life differently than men and have often felt its hardships more acutely, and still do.
Economically, rural America relies on agriculture, and it relies on extractive and manufacturing industries; it also depends on tourism and recreation. Depending on where you look, rural America is either desperately poor or awash in money. Any list of the nation’s poorest counties includes mostly rural ones—places like Wheeler County, Georgia, and McCreary County, Kentucky. At the same time, Teton County, Wyoming, inhabited at a sparse five people per square mile, can stake a claim to being both the wealthiest in the country, home to some of America’s superrich, and the place with the nation’s most yawning wealth gap. No single book—no single word—could pretend to do justice to all that diversity of experience.
Likewise, there have been any number of attempts to define exactly what rural America is in the first place. Researchers at Ohio State University recently announced five different kinds of “rural” in Ohio alone! Once, rural people were classified on the basis of the work they did, the assumption being that those people made their living directly from the land in one way or another. That is certainly not true anymore, and it hasn’t been for some decades. Rural people drive long-haul trucks and they work for the state or county (though many might explain that this isn’t the same as working for “the government”), and some commute long distances for office or factory work in a metropolitan area.
In 1987, the W. K. Kellogg Foundation funded the National Rural Studies Committee, to promote the study of rural America. Yet even this group of scholars “struggled with the term ‘rural,’” and wound up using rural, nonmetropolitan, countryside, and hinterlands more or less synonymously. John Fraser Hart, a geographer who was on the committee, turned the definitional dilemma into something of an inadvertent koan: “The need to understand and define the concept of rural becomes all the more urgent as that concept becomes ever less clear.” At roughly the same time, the Bureau of the Census had more or less given up altogether, deciding that rural meant anything left over after counting urban and metropolitan regions. “The urban population consists of all persons living in urbanized areas and in places of 2,500 or more inhabitants,” the bureau announced in 1985; “all other population is classified as rural.” The welter of definitions and the very precision they struggle to achieve underscores their arbitrariness in the first place. I’ll say here that I have neither fixed on one definition nor attempted my own, though the bulk of this book focuses on the space between the Appalachians and the Sierras. This space includes much of what is commonly considered rural America, though certainly not all of it.
Still, most of us feel a rural place when we stand in one or when we drive through it. The spaces are bigger, the traffic is lighter, the houses fewer and farther between. We have the sensation—an illusion, really—of leaving all the artifice of the “urban” behind and entering something closer to nature. We can find ourselves alone, or nearly so. Indeed, that’s often the reason metropolitans go out to the country in the first place.
Awards
Foundation for Landscape Studies: John Brinckerhoff Jackson Book Prize in Landscape Studies
Finalist
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