The madness of believing A memoir from inside Alex Jones's conspiracy machine

Behind the scenes of a notorious far-right media outfit. Owens spent four years as a camera operator and editor for Alex Jones' Infowars, part of a ragtag team that, he says, endangered Muslims, immigrants, and others by broadcasting "lies" and "racist, xenophobic fear porn." A nonfiction author with well-deserved credibility issues, he earns points by owning his past: "I was to blame for my actions, unequivocally." His depiction of his former boss as a shameless fabulist--Jones infamously claimed that a school shooting was faked and was ordered by a court to pay $1.5 billion to the victims' families--will surprise no one. But as an apparently candid account of falling under a demagogue's sway, this is substantive stuff. Owens recounts how, per Jones' orders, he and other Infowars staffers produced reports on terrorism, elections, and human trafficking that powered Jones' "realm of untruth." When not shooting footage of staged border crossings or trying to find a purported stateside "caliphate," Owens says he witnessed Jones assault protesters, punch employees, and "insist" that top Democrats smell like sulfur because "they're literal freaking demons from hell." But it's Owens' willingness to examine his shifting mindset that makes the book worthwhile. He was initially "passionate about the message I believed Jones was spreading--encouraging people to think outside the box and challenge the status quo." Covering a standoff between ranchers and Washington, Owens produced a video that garnered a million views and welcomed "unfamiliar feelings of pride, achievement, and self-esteem." In time, and with encouragement from a perceptive partner who emerges as the book's conscience, Owens realized that his "moral compass was off," and that he had to quit. It's a character arc that feels authentic, a personal story that enhances our understanding of extremism. A searching memoir by a writer who regrets peddling toxic falsehoods for a living. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.