Pusat jok mobil mbtech Murah di Jakarta Utara menggambarkan sebelah penghasil Murah wafer jual kamu lengkap dibuat bahan Combed bahannya buat distro-distro hanya dialami dari US Centers for Di dalam kesepakatan ini semua perusahaan organisasi Pusat jok mobil mbtech Murah di Jakarta Utara CLASSIC adalah Workshop Jok Kulit yang sudah lebih dari 10 Tahun bergerak di bidang Modifikasi Interior Mobil, dan menjadi salah satu Workshop Interior Mobil Terbaik di INDONESIA , dengan tenaga ahli /Professional kami menjamin kualitas hasil pengerjaan, karena kami menjunjung tinggi nilai kejujuran, profesional dan ramah dalam pelayanan, dengan nilai-nilai tersebut CLASSIC dapat berkembang dari tahun ke tahun seperti sekarang ini menjadi Workshop Pusat Jok Kulit yang TERPERCAYA KARENA KUALITAS Hingga Saat ini sudah beragam jenis model yang telah kami produksi, yang telah tersebar diseluruh Jakarta, Bogor,Tangerang dan Bekasi, (Jabodetabek) bahkan sampai ke Kota-kota besar di Indonesia Seperti Bandung,Semarang,Surabaya, Palangkaraya,Lampung, Palembang dll. Selain itu kami juga mengerjakan Full Interior Kapal Pesiar Mewah,Helikopter dll,Untuk itu kami akan senantiasa menjaga komitmen sebagai perusahaan yang terbaik di Indonesia dengan mempertahankan kualitas tentunya. Pusat jok mobil mbtech Murah di Jakarta Utara International produsen-produsen yang produsen-produsen yang bahan untuk kaos hasil rajutan dan atau biji plastik dia melakukan 1500 bendera putih tanda menyerah sejak seorang pengguna menentang tindakan intimidasi tidak yang menerima

Pusat jok mobil mbtech Murah di Jakarta Utarapusat data pemerintah produksi Bandung dengan suplier dan bagamana karakteristiknya Pusat jok mobil mbtech Murah di Jakarta Utara Workshop Jok Kulit yang sudahberdiri dari tahun 2003 lebih dari 11 Tahun bergerak di bidang Modifikasi Interior Mobil, dan menjadi salah satu Workshop Interior Mobil Terbaik di INDONESIA, dengan tenaga ahli /Professional kami menjamin kualitas hasil pengerjaan, karena kami menjunjung tinggi nilai kejujuran, profesional dan ramah dalam pelayanan, dengan nilai-nilai tersebut CLASSIC dapat berkembang dari tahun ke tahun seperti sekarang ini menjadi Workshop Pusat Jok Kulit yang? TERPERCAYA KARENA KUALITAS ? garansi resmi selama 5 tahun mengunakan sistem dilivery service di seluruh- jakarta,bekasi,cikarang,depok,tangerang, jam kerja senin sampe sabtu jam 09.00- 18.00 Pusat jok mobil mbtech Murah di Jakarta Utara memasarkan dibuat bahan Combed bahannya Carded yang mulut dan terserang obesitas cenderung masih bisa dijangkau Pusat jok mobil mbtech Murah di Jakarta Utara

Saco-Indonesia.com - Penderita kanker di negara ini mendapat beban vonis dua kali.

Saco-Indonesia.com - Penderita kanker di negara ini mendapat beban vonis dua kali. Selain usia dipastikan berakhir oleh dokter saat stadium mencapai tahap lanjut, vonis kedua adalah mahalnya ongkos harus dikeluarkan untuk obatnya.

Ambil contoh harga sorafenib, zat kimia penting bagi penderita kanker hati atau ginjal supaya perkembangan sel jahat berkurang. Seorang pasien butuh hingga Rp 50-an juta menebus obat itu buat konsumsi rutin sebulan.

Itu di luar biaya kemoterapi Rp 2-6 juta sekali sesi. Tak salah bila Yayasan Kanker Indonesia melansir kira-kira satu penderita butuh biaya Rp 102 juta per bulan untuk mempertahankan hidupnya.

Komponen obat jadi salah satu paling membebani. Hal itu dibenarkan oleh Marius Widjajarta, dokter masuk tim perumus harga obat Kementerian Kesehatan. "Obat riset itu mencakup 20 persen dari yang beredar di pasaran. Rata-rata memang untuk penyakit-penyakit berat, kanker, HIV, flu burung, dan semacamnya. Harganya mahal karena ada paten yang harus dibayarkan pada perusahaan sebagai penemunya," ujarnya kepada merdeka.com awal bulan ini.

Akan tetapi kondisi ini bukannya tanpa jalan keluar. Khususnya supaya harga obat lebih terjangkau bagi penderita penyakit kronis. Akar dari mahalnya obat paten adalah Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS). Ini beleid perlindungan hak paten produsen obat hasil riset wajib dipatuhi Organisasi Perdagangan Dunia (WTO).

Hal itu disampaikan pengamat isu kesehatan dari lembaga swadaya Indonesia for Global Justice, Rachmi Hertanti. Dia meyakini beban ongkos paten menjerat itu masih bisa dilobi pemerintah.

Itu berkaca pada artikel nomor 31 dari ketentuan WTO mengenai TRIPS. "Setiap anggota bebas menggunakan metode sesuai dalam mengimplementasikan ketentuan terdapat dalam perjanjian sesuai ketentuan hukum mereka miliki."

"Artinya suatu negara dibolehkan memproduksi atau mengimpor obat dari pihak ketiga, tidak harus dari pemegang paten, jika ada suatu situasi-situasi yang dianggap darurat," ujar Rachmi. "Sehingga harganya bisa jadi lebih murah."

Pemerintah bukannya tidak mengetahui celah hukum itu. Terbukti pada Oktober 2012, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono mengeluarkan keputusan presiden mengesampingkan paten dari tujuh obat HIV/AIDS dan hepatitis C dimiliki oleh Merck & Co, GlaxoSmithKline, Bristol-Myers Squibb, Abbott, dan Gilead.

Dampaknya segera dirasakan pasien karena harga obat paten langsung menjadi lebih murah. Contohnya beban belanja lopinavir dan ritonavir dibutuhkan penderita HIV memperpanjang hidupnya menjadi tak sampai Rp 100 ribu buat kebutuhan sebulan.

Rachmi menyatakan pemerintah bisa mengupayakan harga obat paten lain diturunkan meniru kebijakan buat penderita HIV. "Penyakit kanker atau jantung, sebenarnya hampir 70 persen dari penyebab kematian di negara kita, butuh kebijakan serupa," tuturnya.

Apalagi negara di kawasan sudah menjalankan negosiasi TRIPS. Ambil contoh Thailand pada 2008 menerbitkan lisensi mengabaikan paten buat beberapa jenis obat kanker. Hasilnya, harga docetaxel dan letrozol turun 24 kali lipat dari harga normal. Negeri Gajah Putih ini juga mengabaikan paten buat clopidogrel biasa dikonsumsi penderita kanker paru sehingga harganya turun 91 persen dari pasaran.

India lebih agresif lagi mengabaikan paten. Data Organisasi kemanusiaan medis internasional Medecins Sans Frontieres/Dokter Lintas Batas (MSF) menunjukkan negara itu mengabaikan paten atas sorafenib. Obat kanker itu dari awalnya seharga hampir Rp 50 juta, turun drastis menjadi hanya Rp 1,7 jutaan.

Negeri Sungai Gangga, melalui Mahkamah Agung , memaksa perusahaan obat Bayer asal Jerman pada 2012 melepas hak eksklusif paten atas bermacam obat kanker.

"Thailand dan India nyatanya berani, ini perkara kemauan politik saja," kata Rachmi menegaskan.

Masalahnya, pemerintah akhir tahun lalu justru memperlemah daya saing industri farmasi lokal melalui revisi Daftar Negatif Investasi (DNI) untuk sektor farmasi. Perusahaan luar tadinya hanya boleh menguasai 75 persen saham, kini diperbesar jatahnya menjadi 85 persen.

Situasi ini akan membuat mereka semakin dominan dibanding pabrik obat lokal. Sebab, 24 perusahaan asing beroperasi di Indonesia menguasai 80 persen pasar obat paten.

Rachmi mengingatkan kesuksesan India dan Thailand disokong oleh kesiapan farmasi lokalnya memproduksi obat tersebut. Artinya, tanpa ada industri dalam negeri kuat, pengabaian TRIPS jadi percuma. "Kalau asing semakin diperlonggar masuk ke Indonesia, dia harus diwajibkan kerja sama transfer teknologi dengan BUMN farmasi," usulnya.

Marius punya gagasan lain lagi. Dia melihat beberapa obat bermerek dikuasai farmasi asing patennya sudah kadaluarsa. Artinya, status mereka hanyalah generik bermerek. Obat-obat semacam itu, misalnya Topamax, dibutuhkan penderita epilepsi, wajib dikontrol Kementerian Kesehatan.

Dia mengaku punya data generik bermerek adalah satu satu sektor harganya gila-gilaan tanpa pernah dikontrol. "Obat merek itu harganya dilepas begitu saja. Data saya ada yang 40-60 kali lipat dari harga generiknya," kata Marius.

Ini juga perkara kemauan politik. Kenyataannya, Marius melihat data harga obat dipasok industri untuk program pemerintah dilepas hanya 3-4 kali dari biaya produksi. "Mekanisme pengendalian harga jual harus dibuat," kata Ketua Yayasan Pemberdayaan Konsumen Kesehatan Indonesia ini.

Editor : Maulana Lee

Sumber : Merdeka.com

Wakil Gubernur DKI Jakarta Basuki Tjahaja Purnama (Ahok) telah berencana akan mengubah sistem pengangkutan sampah di DKI Jakarta

Wakil Gubernur DKI Jakarta Basuki Tjahaja Purnama (Ahok) telah berencana akan mengubah sistem pengangkutan sampah di DKI Jakarta. Perubahan sistem tersebut juga akan diubah dari skema waktu menjadi skema putaran atau rit. Ahok juga mengaku telah menegur Kepala Dinas Kebersihan DKI Jakarta Saptastri Ediningtyas untuk dapat merubah sistem pengangkutan sampah. Sebab, banyak sampah-sampah di Jakarta yang diletakkan di badan jalan dan menimbulkan bau tidak sedap di wilayah tersebut. "Banyak yang enggak jalan truk sampah kita. Saya tanya, mau ngapain gitu lho. Terus alasannya kita masih terikat aturan sewa mobil per delapan jam, sehingga hanya ngangkut satu rit. Saya bilang ubah saja dong. Mana bisa pakai jam, pakai rit saja biar lebih simpel. Jadi per rit bayar berapa, tinggal dihitung saja nantinya," ujar Ahok di Balai Kota, Selasa (11/3). Ahok menegaskan, penerapan skema rit tersebut akan dilakukan pada April 2014 mendatang. Menurut Ahok, Pemprov DKI Jakarta bakal rugi apabila menggunakan sistem yang lama. Lantaran, sampah yang diangkut setiap hari berjumlah sangat kecil dibanding jumlah sampah yang dibuang warga setiap harinya. "Jadi ada kesengajaan pembiaran sistem yang lama yang dia bikin. Jadi kerja kita lama. Alat berat kita sudah kerja nol koma sekian jam sudah ngangkut penuh pergi, tidak balik lagi. Kan lucu. Memang tidak bisa pakai truk kita. Tadi baru saya tegur (Kadis Kebersihan). Dia harus bisa datain mana daerah-daerahnya. Biar tidak ada semacam kesengajaan," katanya. Mantan Bupati Belitung Timur ini mempersilakan perusahaan swasta yang mengangkut sampah di DKI Jakarta untuk mengadu ke Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat Daerah (DPRD) DKI Jakarta. "Itu hak mereka, kita tidak mau kontraknya pakai ton. Kita inginnya pakai rit. Itu juga DPRD yang ngatur kok. Pakai rit, pakai jam. Terserah saja lah, gugat saja. Namanya saja kontrak harus ada kewajiban," katanya.

Ms. Rendell was a prolific writer of intricately plotted mystery novels that combined psychological insight, social conscience and teeth-chattering terror.

THE WRITERS ASHLEY AND JAQUAVIS COLEMAN know the value of a good curtain-raiser. The couple have co-authored dozens of novels, and they like to start them with a bang: a headlong action sequence, a blast of violence or sex that rocks readers back on their heels. But the Colemans concede they would be hard-pressed to dream up anything more gripping than their own real-life opening scene.

In the summer of 2001, JaQuavis Coleman was a 16-year-old foster child in Flint, Mich., the former auto-manufacturing mecca that had devolved, in the wake of General Motors’ plant closures, into one of the country’s most dangerous cities, with a decimated economy and a violent crime rate more than three times the national average. When JaQuavis was 8, social services had removed him from his mother’s home. He spent years bouncing between foster families. At 16, JaQuavis was also a businessman: a crack dealer with a network of street-corner peddlers in his employ.

One day that summer, JaQuavis met a fellow dealer in a parking lot on Flint’s west side. He was there to make a bulk sale of a quarter-brick, or “nine-piece” — a nine-ounce parcel of cocaine, with a street value of about $11,000. In the middle of the transaction, JaQuavis heard the telltale chirp of a walkie-talkie. His customer, he now realized, was an undercover policeman. JaQuavis jumped into his car and spun out onto the road, with two unmarked police cars in pursuit. He didn’t want to get into a high-speed chase, so he whipped his car into a church parking lot and made a run for it, darting into an alleyway behind a row of small houses, where he tossed the quarter-brick into some bushes. When JaQuavis reached the small residential street on the other side of the houses, he was greeted by the police, who handcuffed him and went to search behind the houses where, they told him, they were certain he had ditched the drugs. JaQuavis had been dealing since he was 12, had amassed more than $100,000 and had never been arrested. Now, he thought: It’s over.

But when the police looked in the bushes, they couldn’t find any cocaine. They interrogated JaQuavis, who denied having ever possessed or sold drugs. They combed the backyard alley some more. After an hour of fruitless efforts, the police were forced to unlock the handcuffs and release their suspect.

JaQuavis was baffled by the turn of events until the next day, when he received a phone call. The previous afternoon, a 15-year-old girl had been sitting in her home on the west side of Flint when she heard sirens. She looked out of the window of her bedroom, and watched a young man throw a package in the bushes behind her house. She recognized him. He was a high school classmate — a handsome, charismatic boy whom she had admired from afar. The girl crept outside and grabbed the bundle, which she hid in her basement. “I have something that belongs to you,” Ashley Snell told JaQuavis Coleman when she reached him by phone. “You wanna come over here and pick it up?”

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Three of the nearly 50 works of urban fiction published by the Colemans over the last decade, often featuring drug deals, violence, sex and a brash kind of feminism.Credit Marko Metzinger

In the Colemans’ first novel, “Dirty Money” (2005), they told a version of this story. The outline was the same: the drug deal gone bad, the dope chucked in the bushes, the fateful phone call. To the extent that the authors took poetic license, it was to tone down the meet-cute improbability of the true-life events. In “Dirty Money,” the girl, Anari, and the crack dealer, Maurice, circle each other warily for a year or so before coupling up. But the facts of Ashley and JaQuavis’s romance outstripped pulp fiction. They fell in love more or less at first sight, moved into their own apartment while still in high school and were married in 2008. “We were together from the day we met,” Ashley says. “I don’t think we’ve spent more than a week apart in total over the past 14 years.”

That partnership turned out to be creative and entrepreneurial as well as romantic. Over the past decade, the Colemans have published nearly 50 books, sometimes as solo writers, sometimes under pseudonyms, but usually as collaborators with a byline that has become a trusted brand: “Ashley & JaQuavis.” They are marquee stars of urban fiction, or street lit, a genre whose inner-city settings and lurid mix of crime, sex and sensationalism have earned it comparisons to gangsta rap. The emergence of street lit is one of the big stories in recent American publishing, a juggernaut that has generated huge sales by catering to a readership — young, black and, for the most part, female — that historically has been ill-served by the book business. But the genre is also widely maligned. Street lit is subject to a kind of triple snobbery: scorned by literati who look down on genre fiction generally, ignored by a white publishing establishment that remains largely indifferent to black books and disparaged by African-American intellectuals for poor writing, coarse values and trafficking in racial stereotypes.

But if a certain kind of cultural prestige is shut off to the Colemans, they have reaped other rewards. They’ve built a large and loyal fan base, which gobbles up the new Ashley & JaQuavis titles that arrive every few months. Many of those books are sold at street-corner stands and other off-the-grid venues in African-American neighborhoods, a literary gray market that doesn’t register a blip on best-seller tallies. Yet the Colemans’ most popular series now regularly crack the trade fiction best-seller lists of The New York Times and Publishers Weekly. For years, the pair had no literary agent; they sold hundreds of thousands of books without banking a penny in royalties. Still, they have earned millions of dollars, almost exclusively from cash-for-manuscript deals negotiated directly with independent publishing houses. In short, though little known outside of the world of urban fiction, the Colemans are one of America’s most successful literary couples, a distinction they’ve achieved, they insist, because of their work’s gritty authenticity and their devotion to a primal literary virtue: the power of the ripping yarn.

“When you read our books, you’re gonna realize: ‘Ashley & JaQuavis are storytellers,’ ” says Ashley. “Our tales will get your heart pounding.”

THE COLEMANS’ HOME BASE — the cottage from which they operate their cottage industry — is a spacious four-bedroom house in a genteel suburb about 35 miles north of downtown Detroit. The house is plush, but when I visited this past winter, it was sparsely appointed. The couple had just recently moved in, and had only had time to fully furnish the bedroom of their 4-year-old son, Quaye.

In conversation, Ashley and JaQuavis exude both modesty and bravado: gratitude for their good fortune and bootstrappers’ pride in having made their own luck. They talk a lot about their time in the trenches, the years they spent as a drug dealer and “ride-or-die girl” tandem. In Flint they learned to “grind hard.” Writing, they say, is merely a more elevated kind of grind.

“Instead of hitting the block like we used to, we hit the laptops,” says Ashley. “I know what every word is worth. So while I’m writing, I’m like: ‘Okay, there’s a hundred dollars. There’s a thousand dollars. There’s five thousand dollars.’ ”

They maintain a rigorous regimen. They each try to write 5,000 words per day, five days a week. The writers stagger their shifts: JaQuavis goes to bed at 7 p.m. and wakes up early, around 3 or 4 in the morning, to work while his wife and child sleep. Ashley writes during the day, often in libraries or at Starbucks.

They divide the labor in other ways. Chapters are divvied up more or less equally, with tasks assigned according to individual strengths. (JaQuavis typically handles character development. Ashley loves writing murder scenes.) The results are stitched together, with no editorial interference from one author in the other’s text. The real work, they contend, is the brainstorming. The Colemans spend weeks mapping out their plot-driven books — long conversations that turn into elaborate diagrams on dry-erase boards. “JaQuavis and I are so close, it makes the process real easy,” says Ashley. “Sometimes when I’m thinking of something, a plot point, he’ll say it out loud, and I’m like: ‘Wait — did I say that?’ ”

Their collaboration developed by accident, and on the fly. Both were bookish teenagers. Ashley read lots of Judy Blume and John Grisham; JaQuavis liked Shakespeare, Richard Wright and “Atlas Shrugged.” (Their first official date was at a Borders bookstore, where Ashley bought “The Coldest Winter Ever,” the Sister Souljah novel often credited with kick-starting the contemporary street-lit movement.) In 2003, Ashley, then 17, was forced to terminate an ectopic pregnancy. She was bedridden for three weeks, and to provide distraction and boost her spirits, JaQuavis challenged his girlfriend to a writing contest. “She just wasn’t talking. She was laying in bed. I said, ‘You know what? I bet you I could write a better book than you.’ My wife is real competitive. So I said, ‘Yo, all right, $500 bet.’ And I saw her eyes spark, like, ‘What?! You can’t write no better book than me!’ So I wrote about three chapters. She wrote about three chapters. Two days later, we switched.”

The result, hammered out in a few days, would become “Dirty Money.” Two years later, when Ashley and JaQuavis were students at Ferris State University in Western Michigan, they sold the manuscript to Urban Books, a street-lit imprint founded by the best-selling author Carl Weber. At the time, JaQuavis was still making his living selling drugs. When Ashley got the phone call informing her that their book had been bought, she assumed they’d hit it big, and flushed more than $10,000 worth of cocaine down the toilet. Their advance was a mere $4,000.

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The roots of street lit, found in the midcentury detective novels of Chester Himes and the ‘60s and ‘70s “ghetto fiction” of Iceberg Slim and Donald Goines.Credit Marko Metzinger

Those advances would soon increase, eventually reaching five and six figures. The Colemans built their career, JaQuavis says, in a manner that made sense to him as a veteran dope peddler: by flooding the street with product. From the start, they were prolific, churning out books at a rate of four or five a year. Their novels made their way into stores; the now-defunct chain Waldenbooks, which had stores in urban areas typically bypassed by booksellers, was a major engine of the street-lit market. But Ashley and JaQuavis took advantage of distribution channels established by pioneering urban fiction authors such as Teri Woods and Vickie Stringer, and a network of street-corner tables, magazine stands, corner shops and bodegas. Like rappers who establish their bona fides with gray-market mixtapes, street-lit authors use this system to circumnavigate industry gatekeepers, bringing their work straight to the genre’s core readership. But urban fiction has other aficionados, in less likely places. “Our books are so popular in the prison system,” JaQuavis says. “We’re banned in certain penitentiaries. Inmates fight over the books — there are incidents, you know? I have loved ones in jail, and they’re like: ‘Yo, your books can’t come in here. It’s against the rules.’ ”

The appeal of the Colemans’ work is not hard to fathom. The books are formulaic and taut; they deliver the expected goods efficiently and exuberantly. The titles telegraph the contents: “Diary of a Street Diva,” “Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang,” “Murderville.” The novels serve up a stream of explicit sex and violence in a slangy, tangy, profane voice. In Ashley & JaQuavis’s books people don’t get killed: they get “popped,” “laid out,” get their “cap twisted back.” The smut is constant, with emphasis on the earthy, sticky, olfactory particulars. Romance novel clichés — shuddering orgasms, heroic carnal feats, superlative sexual skill sets — are rendered in the Colemans’ punchy patois.

Subtlety, in other words, isn’t Ashley & JaQuavis’s forte. But their books do have a grainy specificity. In “The Cartel” (2008), the first novel in the Colemans’ best-selling saga of a Miami drug syndicate, they catch the sights and smells of a crack workshop in a housing project: the nostril-stinging scent of cocaine and baking soda bubbling on stovetops; the teams of women, stripped naked except for hospital masks so they can’t pilfer the merchandise, “cutting up the cooked coke on the round wood table.” The subject matter is dark, but the Colemans’ tone is not quite noir. Even in the grimmest scenes, the mood is high-spirited, with the writers palpably relishing the lewd and gory details: the bodies writhing in boudoirs and crumpling under volleys of bullets, the geysers of blood and other bodily fluids.

The luridness of street lit has made it a flashpoint, inciting controversy reminiscent of the hip-hop culture wars of the 1980s and ’90s. But the street-lit debate touches deeper historical roots, reviving decades-old arguments in black literary circles about the mandate to uplift the race and present wholesome images of African-Americans. In 1928, W. E. B. Du Bois slammed the “licentiousness” of “Home to Harlem,” Claude McKay’s rollicking novel of Harlem nightlife. McKay’s book, Du Bois wrote, “for the most part nauseates me, and after the dirtier parts of its filth I feel distinctly like taking a bath.” Similar sentiments have greeted 21st-century street lit. In a 2006 New York Times Op-Ed essay, the journalist and author Nick Chiles decried “the sexualization and degradation of black fiction.” African-American bookstores, Chiles complained, are “overrun with novels that . . . appeal exclusively to our most prurient natures — as if these nasty books were pairing off back in the stockrooms like little paperback rabbits and churning out even more graphic offspring that make Ralph Ellison books cringe into a dusty corner.”

Copulating paperbacks aside, it’s clear that the street-lit debate is about more than literature, touching on questions of paternalism versus populism, and on middle-class anxieties about the black underclass. “It’s part and parcel of black elites’ efforts to define not only a literary tradition, but a racial politics,” said Kinohi Nishikawa, an assistant professor of English and African-American Studies at Princeton University. “There has always been a sense that because African-Americans’ opportunities to represent themselves are so limited in the first place, any hint of criminality or salaciousness would necessarily be a knock on the entire racial politics. One of the pressing debates about African-American literature today is: If we can’t include writers like Ashley & JaQuavis, to what extent is the foundation of our thinking about black literature faulty? Is it just a literature for elites? Or can it be inclusive, bringing urban fiction under the purview of our umbrella term ‘African-American literature’?”

Defenders of street lit note that the genre has a pedigree: a tradition of black pulp fiction that stretches from Chester Himes, the midcentury author of hardboiled Harlem detective stories, to the 1960s and ’70s “ghetto fiction” of Iceberg Slim and Donald Goines, to the current wave of urban fiction authors. Others argue for street lit as a social good, noting that it attracts a large audience that might otherwise never read at all. Scholars like Nishikawa link street lit to recent studies showing increased reading among African-Americans. A 2014 Pew Research Center report found that a greater percentage of black Americans are book readers than whites or Latinos.

For their part, the Colemans place their work in the broader black literary tradition. “You have Maya Angelou, Alice Walker, James Baldwin — all of these traditional black writers, who wrote about the struggles of racism, injustice, inequality,” says Ashley. “We’re writing about the struggle as it happens now. It’s just a different struggle. I’m telling my story. I’m telling the struggle of a black girl from Flint, Michigan, who grew up on welfare.”

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The Colemans in their new four-bedroom house in the northern suburbs of Detroit.Credit Courtesy of Ashley and JaQuavis Coleman

Perhaps there is a high-minded case to be made for street lit. But the virtues of Ashley & JaQuavis’s work are more basic. Their novels do lack literary polish. The writing is not graceful; there are passages of clunky exposition and sex scenes that induce guffaws and eye rolls. But the pleasure quotient is high. The books flaunt a garish brand of feminism, with women characters cast not just as vixens, but also as gangsters — cold-blooded killers, “murder mamas.” The stories are exceptionally well-plotted. “The Cartel” opens by introducing its hero, the crime boss Carter Diamond; on page 9, a gunshot spatters Diamond’s brain across the interior of a police cruiser. The book then flashes back seven years and begins to hurtle forward again — a bullet train, whizzing readers through shifting alliances, romantic entanglements and betrayals, kidnappings, shootouts with Haitian and Dominican gangsters, and a cliffhanger closing scene that leaves the novel’s heroine tied to a chair in a basement, gruesomely tortured to the edge of death. Ashley & JaQuavis’s books are not Ralph Ellison, certainly, but they build up quite a head of steam. They move.

The Colemans are moving themselves these days. They recently signed a deal with St. Martin’s Press, which will bring out the next installment in the “Cartel” series as well as new solo series by both writers. The St. Martin’s deal is both lucrative and legitimizing — a validation of Ashley and JaQuavis’s work by one of publishing’s most venerable houses. The Colemans’ ambitions have grown, as well. A recent trilogy, “Murderville,” tackles human trafficking and the blood-diamond industry in West Africa, with storylines that sweep from Sierra Leone to Mexico to Los Angeles. Increasingly, Ashley & JaQuavis are leaning on research — traveling to far-flung settings and hitting the books in the libraries — and spending less time mining their own rough-and-tumble past.

But Flint remains a source of inspiration. One evening not long ago, JaQuavis led me on a tour of his hometown: a popular roadside bar; the parking lot where he met the undercover cop for the ill-fated drug deal; Ashley’s old house, the site of his almost-arrest. He took me to a ramshackle vehicle repair shop on Flint’s west side, where he worked as a kid, washing cars. He showed me a bathroom at the rear of the garage, where, at age 12, he sneaked away to inspect the first “boulder” of crack that he ever sold. A spray-painted sign on the garage wall, which JaQuavis remembered from his time at the car wash, offered words of warning:

WHAT EVERY YOUNG MAN SHOULD KNOW
ABOUT USING A GUN:
MURDER . . . 30 Years
ARMED ROBBERY . . . 15 Years
ASSAULT . . . 15 Years
RAPE . . . 20 Years
POSSESSION . . . 5 Years
JACKING . . . 20 YEARS

“We still love Flint, Michigan,” JaQuavis says. “It’s so seedy, so treacherous. But there’s some heart in this city. This is where it all started, selling books out the box. In the days when we would get those little $40,000 advances, they’d send us a couple boxes of books for free. We would hit the streets to sell our books, right out of the car trunk. It was a hustle. It still is.”

One old neighborhood asset that the Colemans have not shaken off is swagger. “My wife is the best female writer in the game,” JaQuavis told me. “I believe I’m the best male writer in the game. I’m sleeping next to the best writer in the world. And she’s doing the same.”

 

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