I don’t think anyone could like Turner Diaries. It is a disturbing book, frightening even—even if you agree with him, as I obviously do. But it is undeniably heavy. In a way that Covington’s novels, so beloved of Johnson, are not. They are almost fruity in how bubbly the characters are, given the situation, although they are certainly enjoyable escapism.
Pierce’s work has a gravitas befitting a genocidal struggle, and no other WN novel has come even close to it except Raspaille’s Camp of the Saints. Raspaille is a better artist than Pierce, by a long stretch, but both books are about equally heavy, in that they impress and linger.