How a Villain Makes a Hero and A Hero, A Villain
Guest Post by Freddie Owens
A funny thing happened on the way to the completion of my first novel, Then Like The Blind Man: Orbie's Story. On a daily basis I found myself entering or trying to enter the skin of a nine-year-old boy, trying to see the world of the novel entirely from his point of view. I suppose I should thank the 'Novel Muse' for giving me such an opportunity.
In the midst of writing the novel I became aware of how dependent the world is on one's point of view and how one's point of view is in turn dependent on the world. This to me was fascinating. I wrote the story (as suggested above) in first person and from the protagonist, Orbie Ray's point of view. In it Orbie comes to suspect Victor Denalsky, the novel's villain, of having murdered his father. The reader sees Victor but only through Orbie's eyes. Everything about Victor therefore is a function of how Orbie sees him, and Orbie's description of Victor is in turn heavily influenced by Victor's behavior. Victor tries to manipulate Orbie's point of view, cajoles and challenges it, at times violently, but in the end Orbie's view prevails, though profoundly transformed. This, of course, is as it should be since all of Victor's characteristics, including his motivations, are rendered either in Orbie's voice or by innuendo.
Now, Victor Denalsky is not your typical villain. He is extremely complex, confusedly so, yet he seems somewhat cardboard-like in the beginning, almost stereotypical (intentionally so). I think this is because Orbie's viewpoint is still rudimentary; he sees things in black and white nine-year-old terms, a parallel I suppose to the racist attitudes he displays early on. Victor is seen by Orbie to have some good qualities, he's a war hero, he's been in battles, he's very good looking and has what seems to be a very friendly relationship with Orbie's father, Jessie, and his mother, Ruby. An ominous quality enters all this however after Orbie's father is killed in an accident at the steel mill and Victor moves in on his family and vulnerable mother, bringing with him the smell of toilet shit and beer and dead cigars.
Victor becomes the bad guy; the hated stepfather in Orbie's eyes and everything enters hell from there on in until Orbie's sensibilities are awakened in Kentucky. He has certain experiences there with his maverick grandparents, with the black community of Pentecostal snake handlers and with the Choctaw shaman, Moses Mashbone. He finds he can’t maintain his prejudices in an environment of humor and vibrant fellow feeling. Even his tightly nursed hatred of Victor begins to unravel. As his world (in spite of everything) becomes sweeter, happier, it becomes also more and more perplexing, posing questions worthy perhaps only of the nine-year-old wunderkind, paradoxical questions like, "If you wanted to destroy something, why would you want to save it too?" As Victor becomes increasingly monstrous, increasingly alcoholic, increasingly violent, we see also that he becomes oddly repentant, has himself been spiritually wounded, becoming worthy of a deep though uninvited sympathy. This all takes place in Orbie's point of view, of course, which in turn is subject to the influence of the world of Kentucky and Harlan's Crossroads, which again is subject to Orbie's point of view. Like I said, fascinating.
A funny thing happened on the way to the completion of my first novel, Then Like The Blind Man: Orbie's Story. On a daily basis I found myself entering or trying to enter the skin of a nine-year-old boy, trying to see the world of the novel entirely from his point of view. I suppose I should thank the 'Novel Muse' for giving me such an opportunity.
In the midst of writing the novel I became aware of how dependent the world is on one's point of view and how one's point of view is in turn dependent on the world. This to me was fascinating. I wrote the story (as suggested above) in first person and from the protagonist, Orbie Ray's point of view. In it Orbie comes to suspect Victor Denalsky, the novel's villain, of having murdered his father. The reader sees Victor but only through Orbie's eyes. Everything about Victor therefore is a function of how Orbie sees him, and Orbie's description of Victor is in turn heavily influenced by Victor's behavior. Victor tries to manipulate Orbie's point of view, cajoles and challenges it, at times violently, but in the end Orbie's view prevails, though profoundly transformed. This, of course, is as it should be since all of Victor's characteristics, including his motivations, are rendered either in Orbie's voice or by innuendo.
Now, Victor Denalsky is not your typical villain. He is extremely complex, confusedly so, yet he seems somewhat cardboard-like in the beginning, almost stereotypical (intentionally so). I think this is because Orbie's viewpoint is still rudimentary; he sees things in black and white nine-year-old terms, a parallel I suppose to the racist attitudes he displays early on. Victor is seen by Orbie to have some good qualities, he's a war hero, he's been in battles, he's very good looking and has what seems to be a very friendly relationship with Orbie's father, Jessie, and his mother, Ruby. An ominous quality enters all this however after Orbie's father is killed in an accident at the steel mill and Victor moves in on his family and vulnerable mother, bringing with him the smell of toilet shit and beer and dead cigars.
Victor becomes the bad guy; the hated stepfather in Orbie's eyes and everything enters hell from there on in until Orbie's sensibilities are awakened in Kentucky. He has certain experiences there with his maverick grandparents, with the black community of Pentecostal snake handlers and with the Choctaw shaman, Moses Mashbone. He finds he can’t maintain his prejudices in an environment of humor and vibrant fellow feeling. Even his tightly nursed hatred of Victor begins to unravel. As his world (in spite of everything) becomes sweeter, happier, it becomes also more and more perplexing, posing questions worthy perhaps only of the nine-year-old wunderkind, paradoxical questions like, "If you wanted to destroy something, why would you want to save it too?" As Victor becomes increasingly monstrous, increasingly alcoholic, increasingly violent, we see also that he becomes oddly repentant, has himself been spiritually wounded, becoming worthy of a deep though uninvited sympathy. This all takes place in Orbie's point of view, of course, which in turn is subject to the influence of the world of Kentucky and Harlan's Crossroads, which again is subject to Orbie's point of view. Like I said, fascinating.
Orbie's Story
by Freddie Owens
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. Then Like The Blind Man: Orbie’s Story is the
enthralling debut novel by Freddie Owens, which tells the story of a spirited
wunderkind in the segregated South of the 1950s and the forces he must overcome
to restore order in his world. Rich in authentic vernacular and evocative of a
time and place long past, this absorbing work of magical realism offered up
with a Southern twist will engage readers who relish the Southern literary
canon, or any tale well told.
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?
Equal parts Hamlet and Huckleberry Finn, it’s a tale that’s both rich in meaning, timely in its social relevance, and rollicking with boyhood adventure. The novel mines crucial contemporary issues, as well as the universality of the human experience while also casting a beguiling light on boyhood dreams and fears. It’s a well-spun, nuanced work of fiction that is certain to resonate with lovers of literary fiction, particularly in the grand Southern tradition of storytelling.
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?
Equal parts Hamlet and Huckleberry Finn, it’s a tale that’s both rich in meaning, timely in its social relevance, and rollicking with boyhood adventure. The novel mines crucial contemporary issues, as well as the universality of the human experience while also casting a beguiling light on boyhood dreams and fears. It’s a well-spun, nuanced work of fiction that is certain to resonate with lovers of literary fiction, particularly in the grand Southern tradition of storytelling.
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About Freddie Owens:
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 member of Lighthouse
Writer’s Workshop in Denver,
Colorado. In addition, I am/was a
licensed professional counselor and psychotherapist, who for many years
counseled perpetrators of domestic violence and sex offenders, and provided
psychotherapy for individuals, groups and families. I hold a master’s degree in
contemplative psychotherapy from Naropa
University in Boulder, Colorado.
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Socialize with Freddie!
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