In his new book, Methland, Nick Reding explores the meaning of meth in small-town America and the devastating effect it has on local morale and economies. One advantage of living in a small town is the familiarity with one's community, all of which is ruined when meth takes over. Reding specifically focuses on Oelwein, Iowa, and reports on the history of meth in the United States from 1990 to 2006.
Starting with a Japanese chemist who first synthesized dextromethamphetamine in 1898, meth was recognized for its grim euphoria that comes in five parts: the rush, high, shoulder, tweak, and withdrawal. By 1933, mass production of meth was widely prescribed as a weight loss solution for housewives and as a stimulant for soldiers. Hitler is even believed to have been addicted to the drug.
Today, meth is referred to as the "most American drug" because it helps people work long hours without any of the side effects that industrious Americans dread: sloth and fatigue. This is why Reding calls it the only example of a widespread illegal narcotic that is vocational, instead of recreational. It is highly addictive, leaving a fixed change in the brain's chemistry, and it was not until the 1980s that the dangerous side effects were finally realized. But the scariest part about meth is that it can be made in a kitchen sink, using materials that are used to fight the common cold.
Lori Arnold, Tom Arnold's sister, discovered this in the early 1990s when she introduced the drug to the Midwest from California by seizing control of the entire value chain, from manufacture to distribution and retail. Lori has been in and out of prison since then, but left behind what Reding refers to as a "sociocultural cancer" that spread between classes, families and communities.
Reding, in evaluating the damage, closely profiles major characters in the Oelwein meth circuit: an addict, trafficker, doctor, district attorney, and mayor. He lives with his subjects for several months at a time, throughout the duration of three years, and takes note all their stories without the use of a video camera or tape recorder, exchanging letters with inmates and cooking dinner with addicts' families.
Some of the collected accounts are gruesome (sheets of skin melting off an addict's body after a meth lab explosion) and most of them are heart wrenching, but the biggest achievement in his reporting is that they are all strikingly real.
From his time in Oelwein, Reding traces the connection between meth, the pharmaceutical industry, and the government. He also brings insight to the connection of small towns to major cities. It is not longer a question of whether meth is a larger problem in rural towns than in cities, the major difference being that Los Angeles can cover the related costs of those problems more easily than Oelwein. But he ends on a high note, showing how Oelwein and other towns have managed to control the crisis through careful supervision and city revitalization.
Ultimately, reading Methland feels like a meth trip; It's fast paced, keeps you up at night, and leaves you wanting more.
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