The Haiku Review

by Jake Tapper and Alex Thompson

Ancient power calls,
Secrets in marble and blood—
Truth shapes the nation.

Original Sin by Jake Tapper and Lucas Thompson grabs the imagination from the first page: it’s a gripping journey through the founding sins that still echo today, casting new light on America’s origin story. With deft storytelling and sharp insight, the authors transport readers to the antebellum South where the comfort of marble homes and plantations masks a brutal system of human suffering.

The main theme of Original Sin revolves around the enduring legacy of slavery and how the wealth and culture of the South were built atop a foundation of oppression. Tapper and Thompson trace family dynasties, legal codes, and cultural narratives to show how slavery was not a historical anomaly but the engine of Southern prosperity. Through vivid portraits of enslaved individuals, enslavers, and politicians, the book reveals how each generation fortified the institution—using law, violence, and ideology—while white elites maintained their illusions of gentility. Central to the narrative is the shocking revelation of how sites like Monticello, historical homes, and public institutions carry these unspoken histories. Original Sin argues that the “sins” of the past continue to shape our present, and only by facing the unvarnished truths can society begin to address deeper inequalities.

What sets this book apart is Tapper and Thompson’s clear-eyed vision: they intend to unsettle complacency and insist that history be held up without sugarcoating. Their narrative execution is meticulous. They weave archival research, personal testimonies, and modern-day investigations into a cohesive, readable tapestry. Chapters move between eras and characters with fluid transitions, allowing the reader to see connections that persist across time. While the prose is engaging and the storylines compelling, the back-and-forth between historical recounting and contemporary analysis occasionally knocks the rhythm. Yet this structure ultimately reinforces the theme—history isn’t silent; it continues to whisper into our institutions and cultural memory. Another strength is the balanced portrayal of individuals: neither demonizing entirely nor excusing, the authors humanize the complexity of historical actors without diminishing the moral stakes.

Readers who will resonate most with Original Sin include history enthusiasts, social justice advocates, educators, and anyone seeking a fuller understanding of America’s tangled roots. It’s particularly suited for thoughtful book clubs or classroom discussions that delve into the historical foundations of systemic inequality. The best time to read this book is during a quiet weekend afternoon, perhaps in a study or by a fireside—somewhere reflective, to allow the weight of its revelations to settle in. It’s not the kind of book to skim between tasks but to sit with thoughtfully, making notes, considering its implications. In a season of civic reckoning, Original Sin is both sobering and essential—a call to look inward so that true change can begin.