Then Like The Blind Man: Orbie’s Story is the story of a spirited wunderkind in the segregated South of the 1950s. Rich in authentic vernacular and evocative of a time and place long past, this absorbing work of magical realism with a Southern twist will engage readers who relish the Southern literary canon, or any tale well told.
A storm is brewing in the all-but-forgotten backcountry of Kentucky. And, for young Orbie Ray, the swirling heavens may just have the power to tear open his family’s darkest secrets.
Nine-year-old Orbie already has his cross to bear. After the sudden death of his father, his mother Ruby has off and married his father’s coworker and friend Victor, a slick-talking man with a snake tattoo. Since the marriage, Orbie, his sister Missy, and his mother haven’t had a peaceful moment with the heavy-drinking, fitful new man of the house. Orbie hates his stepfather more than he can stand; this fact lands him at his grandparents’ place in Harlan’s Crossroads, Kentucky, when Victor decides to move the family to Florida without including him. In his new surroundings, Orbie finds little to distract him from Granpaw’s ornery ways and constant teasing jokes about snakes.
As Orbie grudgingly adjusts to life with his doting Granny and carping Granpaw, who are a bit too keen on their black neighbors for Orbie’s taste, not to mention their Pentecostal congregation of snake handlers, he finds his world views changing, particularly when it comes to matters of race, religion, and the true cause of his father’s death. He befriends a boy named Willis, who shares his love of art, but not his skin color. And, when Orbie crosses paths with the black Choctaw preacher, Moses Mashbone, he learns of a power that could expose and defeat his enemies, but can’t be used for revenge. When a storm of unusual magnitude descends, he happens upon the solution to a paradox that is both magical and ordinary. The question is, will it be enough?
Reviews
“Every once in awhile, you read a book in which every element fits together so perfectly that you just sit back in awe at the skill of the storyteller. Then Like the Blind Man is one of these books.
..” – The San Francisco Book Review
“…an electrifying porthole to the South of the ’50s, where, though inane prejudice may have dominated, kindness and justice also had a place. …These are characters with incredible heart and appeal…” – Foreword Reviews
About The Author
A poet and fiction writer, my work has been published in Poet Lore, Crystal Clear and Cloudy, and Flying Colors Anthology. I am a past attendee of Pikes Peak Writer’s Conferences and the Association of Writers and Writing Programs, and a current member of Lighthouse Writer’s Workshop in Denver, Colorado. In addition, as a professional counselor and psychotherapist, I counseled perpetrators of domestic violence and sex offenders for many years, and provided therapies for individuals and families. I hold a master’s degree in contemplative psychotherapy from Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado.
Born in Kentucky and raised in Detroit, I drew writing inspiration from childhood experiences growing up around Harlan’s Crossroads, Kentucky. My life-long studies of Tibetan Buddhism and Vedanta not to mention encounters with Native American Shamanism are also of note in this regard.
Two memories served as starting points for a short story I wrote that eventually became the novel, Then Like the Blind Man: Orbie’s Story. One was of my Kentucky grandmother as she emerged from a shed with a white chicken held upside down in one of her strong bony hands. I, a boy of nine and a “city slicker” from Detroit, looked on in wonderment and horror as she summarily wrung the poor creature’s neck. I watched as it ran about the yard frantically, yes incredibly, as if trying to locate something it had misplaced as if the known world could be set aright, recreated, if only that one thing could be found. And then of course it died.
The second memory was of lantern light reflected off stones that lay on either side of a path to a storm cellar me and my grandparents were headed for one stormy night beneath a tornado’s approaching din. There was wonderment there too, along with a vast and looming sense of impending doom.
For these and many others of my childhood memories I owe my grandparents. Had I not been exposed to their homespun and wizened ways, I would not have been able to begin my short story, much less this novel. The same goes for my dear, good-hearted parents who have survived many bad times to enjoy the good.
For more about Freddie Owens and his work, please visit his website.
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