Terrorism, by its very definition, is designed to instill fear. But its impact is not always measured by body counts or building collapses. In Parallax 9/11, R. Taylor Hopkinson examines a unique juxtaposition: the death of a single man in Florida and the catastrophic destruction of the Twin Towers in New York. Through this “tale of two terrorisms,” the book shows how both micro and macro horrors leave similar emotional wreckage in their wake.
Keith Chapman was a happy, soon-to-be-married father on a golfing trip in May 2000 when he was killed by a car while crossing the road outside a Florida restaurant. What began as a tragic accident soon unraveled into something more sinister. Friends who witnessed the crash later identified the driver as Mohamed Atta—months before Atta would steer an airliner into the North Tower on 9/11.
Hopkinson’s book masterfully explores how one man’s personal tragedy—largely invisible to the public—intersects with one of the most visible atrocities in modern history. The death of Keith Chapman represents a small-scale act of destruction, but its impact on his fiancée, child, and friends was seismic. They suffered the same stages of grief, confusion, and fury that gripped an entire nation a year later.
By paralleling Chapman’s story with that of 9/11, Hopkinson asks us to consider what truly constitutes terrorism. Is it only terrorism when thousands die and the media is watching? Or can it begin with a reckless act that leaves a family broken and a world unaware?
The book forces us to think about scale and empathy. The world mourned with America after 9/11—but how many knew about Keith Chapman? And yet, the emotional gravity of both events is not so different. Both involve sudden violence, bewildering aftermaths, and unresolved questions. Both shatter lives, and both ripple through history in unexpected ways.
Hopkinson’s narrative, drawn from legal files, interviews, and personal reflection, is not just an investigation—it’s a meditation. It reveals that small-scale tragedies often precede large ones. It implies that the same ideological fury that fueled the 9/11 attacks may have been at play in Chapman’s death. And it shows that loss, whether private or public, is universally devastating.
This narrative also challenges readers to rethink the media-driven hierarchy of suffering. Just because Keith Chapman wasn’t on a plane or in a tower doesn’t make his death less significant. Just because the news didn’t report it as terrorism doesn’t mean it wasn’t rooted in the same ideology that would soon consume the world.
In Parallax 9/11, Hopkinson doesn’t ask us to compare tragedies competitively. Instead, he urges us to see the through-lines—the pain, the mystery, and the quest for meaning. In doing so, he proves that every life altered by violence deserves to be remembered. That the horror of terrorism doesn’t only begin when the world is watching—but sometimes, when no one is.