Slavery by Another Name, by David Blackmon

Book coverAs a writer of made-up stories, I’m increasingly in awe of writers who tell stories about real people, reconstructed from historical evidence, and increasingly drawn to reading them.

This book is about the way in which, after the formal abolition of slavery, white Southern society was able to reintroduce black slavery in a new, but equally brutal, form which continued to exist until 1945: well into living memory.  Douglas Blackmon brings this story alive by repeatedly drawing out individual lives from the historical backdrop: real tragedies, real attrocities, and occasional real acts of courage.  It’s a history book, and a very harrowing one, but its also a real page-turner.

The way the new form of slavery worked was by sentencing people to hard labour and then selling them on to local employers.  This happened at the state level, but it happened in an extraordinarily off-hand and corrupt way also at county level, where local officials would arrest black people as a source of saleable slave labour, often on trivial or made-up charges, such as playing with dice, talking loudly in the presence of white women, ‘vagrancy’ or riding in empty freight cars.  Leaving their employment without permission of their employer was also a criminal offence.  They’d be found guilty in a flimsy quasi-legal process in which they’d have no legal representation and then required to pay fines and court expenses which they could not afford.  At this point, a white farmer, logging camp operator or mining company would come forward and agree to pay the fine in exchange for so many months of labour.   At times of need (harvesting time for instance), large numbers of black men might be rounded up in this way, and sometimes specific black men, known to be good workers, would be arrested in this way at the request of would be purchasers.

These convicts (even if only convicts for using bad language or dropping litter) were then bought and sold by one employer to another, whipped, tortured, forced to work very long hours and live in appalling conditions and not infrequently killed  (unlike antebellum slave owners these new masters had no long-term interest in keeping ‘their’ slaves healthy and alive).  They were also routinely kept on far beyond their original notional ‘sentence’ by being charged with additional offences or required to pay off additional debts in a system where there was close collusion between white public officials and white purchasters, and no sort of checks or balances whatever for black people, who’d been excluded from juries, excluded from participation in government, and were kept in a permanent state of fear, not only by this quasi-judicial form of oppression, but by lynchings, and by the most amazingly coarse, open, brutal and contemptuous kind of racism.  A governor of Georgia, pardoning a white man charged with rape, comments that he seriously doubts that it possible to commit the crime of rape against a black woman, so voracious and uncontrollable are black women’s sexual appetites (a view which of course gives white men carte blanche to indulge their own sexual appetites with any black woman they like).  A white US senator from the South, hearing news of a lynching in Illinois, comments that at last the Northerners are learning how to kill and burn niggers.

The double standards are breath-taking.  Black people are controlled by a mendacious, sadistically brutal and sexual predatory system because they are supposedly untrustworthy, violent and unable to control themselves sexually.  White men who’ve beaten and murdered black slaves escape prosecution or (occasionally) receive the most desultory fines, while black men are sentenced to work for months in darkness under the whip for riding an empty freight car.

Blackman’s concluding message is to remind us that the historical burden from under which black people in the US are trying to emerge is much much more recent than most people would like to admit.   (And of course disenfranchisement and segregation went on much longer even than this particularly form of slavery.   The year that Rosa Parks was arrested for refusing to give up her seat to a white man was the year in which I was born.)   What this book vividly and painfully shows is that those who are denied power and political participation are also denied justice and truth, but I guess it also shows that those who have power also, in a way, deny themselves the truth, for their power gives them the ability to replace reality with their own self-serving projections.  Having power over others which we haven’t earned turns us into babies.

Wondering how things had moved on since those days, I found myself looking up the websites of Southern state legislatures.  I was somewhat relieved to find that in George and Alabama, the proportion of legislators who are black seems to roughly correspond with the proportion of black people in the population in general, which is surely progress of some sort.  It’s a curious quirk of US history that all the black legislators seemed to be members of the Democratic party, the party of segregation, and the ruling party under which the attrocities described by Blackmon took place, while the representatives of the Republican Party, the party of emancipation, seemed to be entirely white.

I recommend this book, which came out in 2009 and won the Pulitzer Prize.  It has several excellent reviews on Amazon UK.  Oddly, and I wondered why this was, there were no reviews of it all on amazon.com.

Birth of a new book

I’ve just completed the first draft of the first short chapter of my new novel Slaymaker.  It’s only a couple of thousand words, which probably doesn’t sound much, but it’s the result of several frustrating unfocussed inspirationless days of faffing around.

And here’s the best thing.  It’s finally coming alive.  There’s energy in it.  There’s the beginnings of a new way of telling the story, a new kind of narrative voice, that’s unique to and necessary to this particular book.  And then there’s Slaymaker himself, appearing for the first time at the end of the chapter, rather as  a singer walks out onto the stage at the very end of the warm-up number played by his backing group.

Of course this energy will go again, of course they’ll be many more days when it feels like nothing will come alive at all.   But now I’ve found it once, I know I’ll find it again

Rights deals for Dark Eden

Rights to Dark Eden have now been brought by (in this order) US, Turkish, Russian, French and Polish publishers.  Details here on my agent (John Jarrold’s) website.

It’s actually quite appropriate that, after the UK and the US, the first publisher to take Dark Eden on should be Turkish, because in the back story to the book, the planet Eden was first discovered by five people, two of them British, two American, and one (Mehmet Haribey) Turkish.    That’s the reason Mehmet is a common name in Eden, along with Michael, Angela (or Gela), Dixon and Tommy.

Dark Eden out as audio book

I’m very pleased to say that Dark Eden will be available as an audio book at the end of this week.  I haven’t heard it yet myself but here are two narrators  and I assume they share out between them the various male and female narrators within the book.

The thing that gets me is that it’s more than 13 hours long.   Did I really write 13 hours-worth of words?!

Morocco

I spent the week before last in a place on the coast of Morocco called Oued Laou with two old friends, Clive and Jonathan.  Jonathan has a small house there and speaks Moroccan Arabic, which earns him huge respect.

The last time I visited him there, the trip inspired my story The Peacock Cloak.  On the hills around the town, cistus flowers, admired by Tawus at the beginning of the story, grow in great profusion.

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Much of the ground, though, is intensively cultivated by small subsistence farmers who grow wheat, barley, peas, lentils, onions and figs, all packed in tightly together, and keep goats, sheep, cows and chickens.

They live in very small and simple single-storey houses consisting of a brick wall, topped with flat layers layer of branches and twigs, and then a covering of loose earth (though some of them now have added a polythene membrane, a solar panel, or even a power line).  As I looked out at the little hillside village below I imagined people living pretty much as they do now in houses pretty much like these for thousands of years, while successive invaders – Romans, Vandals, Arabs, Spaniards – broke over them like waves with their various projects of subjugation/improvement/religious conversion/enlightenment/ modernisation.  Just like Tawus.

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And like Tawus too, we found ourselves to be the objects of fascination and even wonder.  One old woman stood with her hand over her mouth as if to stifle shrieks of incredulity, while her more confident daughter questioned us sharply about ourselves.  Where did we come from, France or Spain?  (There were only two options, I understand.)

They insisted we came in for mint tea and fried eggs.  The goat wandered in after us and settled down comfortably in a corner of the bare earth floor.   The daughter looked across at it and drew a finger over her throat to indicate the goat’s fate after Ramadan, telling us of the many uses to which its meat and skin would be put.

The tea was like polo mints dissolved in water.  The eggs were delicious too.

Science Fiction

I attended a seminar on an  SF  module, led by my friend Prof Rowlie Wymer.   Rowlie was describing a particular SF short story.  I forget which story it was, but it had all the virtues that are the hallmarks of good SF, a certain kind of disciplined playfulness.   And the thought came to me that ‘science fiction’ is correctly named, not because it necessarily deals  with science, but because of a certain similarity between its methodology, its creative strategy, and the scientific method.  You take the world as we know it, you manipulate certain variables, you see what happens, you explore the implications. As another professor, Ian Stewart, said at the Clarke award event, science fiction is about ‘what if’.

Dark Eden wins Arthur C Clarke award!!

I’m absolutely delighted that Dark Eden has won the Arthur C Clarke award.  I’m feeling a bit dazed today (though very happily so), and sleepiness is starting to catch up with me, so I won’t attempt to write much about it now.   (There are few thoughts here written earlier in the day for the Atlantic Books website, and the award ceremony itself is on video here.)

I will say though that I have been extremely touched by the number of people who have contacted me one way or another to say ‘well done!’  It’s not so often in life that you get a whole bunch of people warmly wishing you well all at once.  It feels absolutely great!   And it really is much so easier to write when you feel that people are cheering you on.

 

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