Written as a response to the rise of European fascism, this book depicts a fascist future for the United States.
It Can’t Happen Here is the only one of Sinclair Lewis’s later novels to match the power of Main Street, Babbitt, and Arrowsmith. A cautionary tale about the fragility of democracy, it is an alarming, eerily timeless look at how fascism could take hold in America.
Under a tyranny, most friends are a liability. One quarter of them turn “reasonable” and become your enemies, one quarter are afraid to stop and speak, and one quarter are killed, and you die with them. But the blessed final quarter keep you alive.
A Chilling Mirror: Reconsidering Sinclair Lewis’s It Can’t Happen Here
Sinclair Lewis’s 1935 novel, It Can’t Happen Here, remains a chillingly relevant thought experiment on the fragility of democracy and the potential for authoritarianism to take root even in a nation that believes itself immune. Published in the shadow of rising fascism in Europe and amidst the economic turmoil of the Great Depression, the book serves as both a dire warning to Lewis’s contemporary America and a disturbing prophecy for future generations. While the novel occasionally suffers from didacticism and uneven pacing, its core message and prescient insights into the mechanics of demagoguery secure its place as a powerful and necessary text.
The novel centers on the rise of Berzelius “Buzz” Windrip, a charismatic, fear-mongering politician who campaigns on a platform of simplistic populism, isolationism, and promises of national restoration. Against the backdrop of increasing social and economic anxiety, Windrip taps into a vein of resentment and insecurity, ultimately sweeping into the presidency and swiftly dismantling democratic institutions to establish a totalitarian regime, the “Corpo State.” The narrative follows Doremus Jessup, a liberal newspaper editor in Vermont, who initially dismisses Windrip as a buffoon but is forced to confront the terrifying reality as civil liberties erode, dissent is brutally suppressed, and the nation descends into tyranny.
One of the novel’s greatest strengths lies in its meticulous portrayal of how such a transformation could occur. Lewis highlights the role of apathy (“It can’t happen here”), economic desperation, the manipulation of media, the exploitation of prejudice, and the normalization of increasingly extreme rhetoric. Windrip is a terrifyingly plausible figure – not an intellectual ideologue, but a showman who understands the power of slogans, rallies, and projecting an image of strength and decisive action missing from the established order. Lewis’s depiction of the creeping normalization and the psychological impact on ordinary citizens, including those who cooperate out of fear or self-interest, is particularly insightful.
Moreover, the novel offers a nuanced, if sometimes heavy-handed, exploration of resistance. Doremus Jessup is not a traditional hero; he is flawed, hesitant, and often driven by circumstance rather than innate bravery. His journey from skeptical observer to reluctant dissenter and eventual participant in an underground resistance movement reflects the complex moral choices citizens face under oppression. Through Doremus and other characters, Lewis examines the different forms resistance can take, from quiet defiance to active rebellion, and the immense personal cost involved.
However, It Can’t Happen Here is not without its critical weaknesses. At times, Lewis’s eagerness to convey his message overrides subtlety. Characters can occasionally feel less like fully realized individuals and more like mouthpieces for particular viewpoints or archetypes representing different facets of American society reacting to the crisis. The narrative structure, while effective in charting the decline into fascism, can sometimes feel episodic, jumping between different perspectives and events without always maintaining a consistent momentum. Furthermore, the satirical elements, while sharp, occasionally verge on caricature, potentially undermining the chilling realism Lewis otherwise achieves.
Despite these criticisms, the novel’s enduring relevance cannot be overstated. Lewis’s analysis of the conditions ripe for authoritarianism – economic inequality, political polarization, the seductive appeal of a strongman promising easy answers, and the danger of overconfidence in democratic stability – resonates powerfully today. It Can’t Happen Here forces readers to confront uncomfortable questions about their own society: What are the warning signs? How easily can freedoms be lost? What is the individual’s responsibility when faced with the erosion of democratic norms?
In conclusion, Sinclair Lewis’s It Can’t Happen Here is a vital, albeit imperfect, work of political fiction. Its occasionally blunt style is arguably offset by the urgency and clarity of its warning. It reminds us that the safeguards of democracy are not self-sustaining and that vigilance against the forces of demagoguery and complacency is a continuous, active requirement. Reading it today is not just an academic exercise but a potent reminder that the unthinkable is always closer than we might believe.