Stephen J. Matlock's Blog, page 48

The Utter Normalcy of Human Beings in America

Recently someone posted on a website their observations about black Americans, and was curious and frustrated at how black Americans, religious and hard-working and future-oriented, would so often and so blindly pick the Democrats when they went into the voting booth. Frustrated that black Americans were so lazy and uneducated, so “urban” and so exotic.

I responded with the following. I don’t expect the person to read it, much less take my advice. But I thought it a useful summary of how to educate yourself to understand other people without having to do much work except read and think a bit.

—————————

Do you know any actual black families? Go to any actual black churches? Talk to any actual black parents?

Because you’re describing nonsense. Absolute and utter nonsense.

Black Americans make intelligent choices about what party best meets their needs. For a long time black Americans supported Republicans because Republicans had a slightly less racist approach to black Americans and slightly better performance on civil rights. That began to slide in the 1930s and 40s, and became a rout under Goldwater. Black Americans don’t get the benefit of their support of Democrats, to be sure–but it is simply an astronomically better option for them than to support Republicans. The attack on the poor and the needy by Republicans rings loudly in the ears of black Americans, who historically have suffered economic catastrophe under the heel of the elite and the rich. Calling poor people “moochers” and trying to cut off aid to families with dependent children gets their attention.

Black Americans comprise the same kinds of economic statuses as any other group. There are wealthy blacks, middle-class blacks, and poor blacks. There are highly educated blacks and some that are poorly educated. They are not all the same, just as any other group of Americans are not the same.

The reason that black Americans tend to support Democrats far more than they support Republicans isn’t because of “freebies.” If you really want to figure out why, you can investigate on your own.

Start with this book. It’s well-written, and an easy read: “The Warmth of Other Suns.” It says a lot about black Americans pulling themselves up and moving to better economic opportunity, even though the opportunity is only better, not great. It will perhaps open your eyes to the very real fact that black Americans are simply as human as you are and are trying to live just as you are, but are trying to live within a much narrower and more restricted range of economic and social opportunity.

When you’re done with that, pick up “Slavery By Another Name,” by the Wall Street Journal bureau chief Douglas Blackmon. In it you will find described how the South used the courts and the social system to re-enslave black men for the betterment and enrichment of white southern men. It is all there in black and white, and will help you understand, I think, what “Jim Crow” comes from–Jim Crow as the social tip of the iceberg representing the utter degradation forced upon black Americans by a complicit state government and a weak and incurious federal government.

Just those two will give you plenty of insight as to the character of black Americans, their actual lives here in America, and how utterly normal their dreams are for their lives and their children’s lives.

Yet Another 5-Star Review

The story is so lively and entertaining. You would love to read over and over again. The diction of the author was well structured.

Many thanks for that

Another 5-Star Review

Got yet another 5-star review for “Stars in the Texas Sky”:

“This story was about loving others for who they are and not the colour of their skin. It was a book I couldn’t put down and will recommend my teenagers read.”

Auditions Announced

I’m looking for narrators to audition to read the audio version of my book STARS IN THE TEXAS SKY.

Click here to go to Audible (ACX) to set up an account and read a sample.

Review: Kwame’s Passage

Kwame’s Passage by Jerry Yaw Sarkwah


My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I thoroughly enjoyed this story of the passage of Kwame from orphan to his life as an man and a member of a family. I learned a lot about growing up in Ghana, and I learned a lot about the man who wrote this book as well





View all my reviews

Stars in the Texas Sky Details

So I found this in my archives—I drew this map to help me put people in the right places at the right time. If you follow the novel, you might find it interesting.

Review: The Butterfly’s Way: Voices from the Haitian Dyaspora in the United States

The Butterfly’s Way: Voices from the Haitian Dyaspora in the United States by Edwidge Danticat


My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Really very good. This is a collection of tales of the Haitian Diaspora–those who fled from Haiti for various reasons to settle elsewhere, and their reactions both to their new homes and their home in memory.

It was not what I expected, due to my own ignorance. I expected it to be much more a collection of writings by people just as if they were journaling, but these are more than that.

Yes, it is somewhat like a collection of journals, but the stories are thoughtful, and insightful, and beautifully written. They run the gamut from poignant to bitter, from angry to resigned to happy, from despair to hope.

This book, for the ignorant (like me), opens up the society and culture of Haiti and Haitians. Something as simple as a mother doing everything to help her son, or a father working two or three jobs for his family–ordinary things that take on new meaning when you realize how much they had to abandon when they left Haiti, but also how much they have not yet given up–not their dignity and feelings and purposes.

I did not know before I read this book something that’s quite obvious to me now: Haiti is the first black republic in the world. There is a long history of self-determination (and the struggle to maintain that), and a long history of cultural and social development. There is a shock of one culture meeting another when Haitian enter into the diaspora, but it is the meeting of cultural rivals, if not equals.





View all my reviews

Seminar on how to publish and market your Indie book

http://freevalleypublishing.com/2013/10/03/author-workshop-with-stephen-j-matlock/

I’m hosting a seminar on how to publish and market your indie book, courtesy of Free Valley Publishing.

Two hours of excitement, I assure you.

I’ll tell you what I did to get my book to market, and how to use the tools that are out there to publicize your book.

Sign up, if interested, through Free Valley Publishing.

The Exile Returns

This is my entry to the NYC 2013 Short Story Competition (http://www.nycmidnight.com/Competitions/FFC/Challenge.htm)

You get a prompt at midnight with your genre, your location, and a prop. You have 48 hours to write a short story of no more than 1000 words and turn it in by midnight.

Mine is as follows

The Exile Returns

Casimund is the exiled elf high-prince of the Golden City, sent away for treason and love. To return he must do away with the one who exiled him.

Fantasy, Deserted Island, Candle

“The only way out is the way you came in.”

Casimund, elf high-prince of the Golden City and exile these three years from family and throne, sharpened his knifeblade. The edge sparked in the flame of the marsin-bowl lamp, light glinting on the glassy cave-walls. The faint crash of distant waves were an echo of his trial.

“Lord Casimund, you are guilty of treason for your union with humankind. Your doom is exile in the Far Islands.” The judge snapped the black stick of doom into Casimund’s hand. The sentence was final, his own anger fixed. Casimund had snapped that doomstick himself, sending foes to death or exile. No doomstick would mete the judge; Casimund was cold with fury.

 

The two pieces were behind him now, in the store-spot. Mercy on Gladre was slow starvation; judgment was death by unquenched hope.

He drew a heliogram with the broken doomstick, lit the tallow candle, and chanted.

Abromax appeared as green lines in the darkness. “My lord Casimund. What has summoned me?”

“As ever, the maiden Allesand, who beckons me in dreams to home and child. Tell me, in your night wanderings, have you seen the Council’s eyes? Will they allow my return?”

“My vision is not to the future. That is hidden from all save the Great One. We content ourselves with power over sky and water only.”

“Was I right to woo and wed?”

“Acts completed judge and cannot be broken. But the heart rules with power will itself cannot break.” The mage faded.

Casimund erased the heliogram, snuffed the candle, and took up his rough bow. He would hunt today again for the cold season ahead.

 

Fish and fowl were in abundance, and island freshwater streams eased thirst. But none would see or praise his deeds or gain his wrath. Another notch the morrow in exile, thinking of Allesand and their half-breed manchild and elven-son, and of the judge who sundered them.

Unbidden Abromax appeared. “My lord Casimund, news. A sea-boat from the Golden City drifts in the swampy marge. There is naught but sand and shells within; mayhap it means your returning. We must leave at once. Carry knife and candle and doomstick. Follow, my lord, to the marges.”

 

The day’s journey through thicket, waste, and forest brought him to gray marge-land. The light of Twen, moon of Gladre, opened the path before him.

“We are close now. Let patience guide you.”

In the distance lay a white boat on the sand.

Abromax spoke. “Ahead is danger far beyond the trap of mud and slash of thorns. Hold your knife close and your nerves closer. One final gift and way from exile: a termagant stone. Near your heart it will guide your unerring way home. Lose it and in the Far Islands dwell until doom is done.”

The stone was warm. A bird on wing in a dark sky; flecks of gold were stars and a white stone was the moon Twen.

The boat held shells and sand, but unsaid by Abromax was a bundle of linen and rope.

He took loosened the bonds, then opened the linen to reveal a body curled in slumber.

He looked in. His father’s sleeping face caught the blue light of Twen.

 

The last sight of his father came upon him: the last words, exile; the last act, the doomstick’s thunder.

His own knife warmed his hand, the moonlight glimmering the edge.

“Where am I?”

Casimund drew back. “In loneliness. What brought you here, stranger?”

“I know not. I fell asleep by wife and hearth. Now I find myself in the night. What are you, fellow?”

“I am no one.”

“Your voice–it is familiar. Do I–did I–know you?”

“No. I am an exile.”

“Your voice is of someone lost to me. He was no one, a betrayer. None mourn his passing.”

The waves washed the silence of the rocky beach.

“His end?”

The familiar roar of his father’s voice rose. “The doomstick for his betrayal!”

“You are with me, stranger, now in exile until you die of despair. Your doom without doomstick.”

There was silence, then a sob. “Kill me now. I cannot bear to be apart from all who love me. I have lost everything, even one I cannot name.”

The termagant stone burned against his heart. His father lay helpless before him.

The knife came down in a quick slash.

“You are free of all bonds. Free of despair and danger. Return in peace to your family.”

He took his father’s hand, opened it, and placed the termagant stone in the palm. “Go now, stranger. The stone will guide you.”

His father’s head rose up. The light of Twen lit his doomed son.

“Casimund!”

Casimund pushed the boat into the sea and stood in the waves to watch him go into the night and darkness.

 

He awoke from his slumber on the beach. The broken doomstick was in his hand.

“My lord Casimund, fair morning to you.”

“Fair travels to you, Abromax. He who pronounced my doom has called my name. What madness is this? Is my exile over?”

“No. Your exile lies within you, high elf and wanderer. Your doom and end are your own choosing.”

“How?”

“Doomsticks broken can be restored. A judge may pardon. A son can forgive. You must return as son and high prince and father. Thrust the doomstick into the candle.”

Abromax began to chant:

Say the words of doom’s unraveling,
Fortune’s lost and home’s returning,
King and elf and child restoring
Father, son, and kingdom gathering.

Fog and sand swirled around. Choked by dust, he cried out and fell as darkness overcame him.

 

The fair Allesand greeted him. “Welcome, husband and high prince!”

He shook his head to clear the fog. “Allesand!”

Laughter of a young boy stopped him. In the doorway Nurse held the hand of their half-breed heir.

Over the doorway were the words in elvish script: “The only way out is the way you came in.”

Review: Christless Christianity: The Alternative Gospel of the American Church

Christless Christianity: The Alternative Gospel of the American Church by Michael S. Horton


My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Meh.

I was expecting a bit more. It became a chore to read this, basically one long screen about the fact that the church has changed in America from what it once (supposedly) was to what it (supposedly) is now.

I did not rate it a flat one star. There are some interesting ideas that you can suss out. The confidence of Christ in the believer’s life is an important thing. The fact that for Christians Jesus is the center and is essential is good.

But after 270 pages of “what is wrong about the church” I just got tired.

Church is what it is for people because it gives people what they both need and want. A good church will give good things, such as spiritual connection and emotional succor to the appropriate extent.

What I got from this author was a long list of all the ways churches are doing it wrong, all the ways the deep needs of church-goers aren’t being met, and the many, many ways that the majesty of God is affronted by the trivializing of his majesty in weak theological expressions.

I get that.

But you have to ask, why would churches respond the way they do to the American people (this book is for the American audience)? Why would the felt needs of people be a priority in American churches?

We are who we are, and a church, to reach us, has to reach us where we are, speak our language, and understand our needs.

I get it that we need a higher class of Christians, more educated, less attracted to spiritual highs and more attracted to spiritual depth. That would be most excellent to have.

What we deal with are the people like us. So speak to us the way we can understand.

I think there is something good to get from the author’s insistence on the centrality of Jesus of Nazareth in the Christian religion, a real man and fully divine, as the person to worship and trust, and upon the complete nature of Christ’s work in his life, death, and resurrection.

But it came across as hectoring over and over that somehow we Christians need to spend our entire lives focused only on this (which sounds good) but then we would do *nothing else* because anything else is somehow “works.” So all the things that Christ did that he asked us to copy are not important; sitting in church and listening to sermons is.

I know I am not summarizing this well. The argument is far deeper. But the argument goes on and on and on to the point where it becomes tedious to hear the same things over and over.

The beauty of the church is that it comprises nations and tongues and tribes from all continents and all times. The view of the church as represented in the book is a good one, and a strong one. But it is not the only one.





View all my reviews