“Noodling for Flatheads” by Burkhard Bilger
A tribute to moonshiners, squirrel-brain eaters, cockfighters and other Southern holdouts against a bland and uniform national culture.
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It is doubtful that this reviewer, sitting midst my hounds in one of Mississippi’s woollier rural corners, can fully grasp the awe bound to gape the jaws of most readers of Burkhard Bilger’s “Noodling for Flatheads.” Few people outside the South, for instance, have even heard of catfish grabbing (the “noodling” of the title being an Okie variation), the peculiar and treacherous practice wherein barehanded folk wrestle up giant flathead catfish from their underwater lairs. And while most members of the bookish public are vaguely aware of activities like cockfighting, coon hunting and moonshining, they tend to associate them with an America long past — when presidents were nicknamed Old Hickory, coonskin caps were all the rage and men and bears shared the same roadways, at about the same speed.
Not so hereabouts: My local saloon is strewn with men happy to show off the scars on their forearms from belligerent catfish; lost coon hounds wander into my yard every autumn; and moonshine goes for a dollar a shot at a juke joint one county over (and is best drunk, I’ve found, mixed weakly with Mello Yello). But hereabouts, as I’m ever reminded, isn’t America proper, or properly American. Having written my share of magazine articles on topics similar to those included in this book, I know the weird glee that befalls Manhattan editors when apprised of such arcana. “That’s so … bizarre,” comes the inevitable response. Perhaps, but then what’s toting a bag full of dogshit while walking your pup through the city? The South, I’ll contend, has no exclusive license on the bizarre.
Though it does, admittedly, bear its share of it. Top-tier science reporter Bilger documents eight of the region’s more outlandish bizarreries: catfish grabbling, cockfighting, moonshining, squirrel-brain eating, frog farming, coon hunting, chitlin eating and rolley holing (a mutation of the game of marbles native to Tennessee’s Cumberland River area). Yet bizarreries might be too strong a term — squirrel and coon hunting, after all, once made perfect sense (that being meat and fur); moonshining was once no less sensible a chore than soap making; and the eating of chitlins — that’s pig intestines — was an essential if unpleasant condition of slave life. What’s bizarre about these practices, then, isn’t necessarily inherent to them; it’s their continuation in the face of their modern inutility, rather, that gives them the stamp of oddity. (Coon hunters, for instance, don’t actually kill raccoons these days; they award their dogs points for tracking a coon to a tree, and then promptly strike another trail.) The why of these pursuits is at the center of any meaningful intrigue they hold; the details of how may beguile, but without the why they’re merely spectacle.
Jonathan Miles, a contributing editor at Men's Journal, writes regularly for Salon Books. More Jonathan Miles.



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