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Dari berita Tambo Pagaruyung dapat diketahui bagaiman keadaan Pagaruyung sesudah Adiyawarman demikian pula wawancara dengan S.M.

Dari berita Tambo Pagaruyung dapat diketahui bagaiman keadaan Pagaruyung sesudah Adiyawarman demikian pula wawancara dengan S.M. Taufik Thaib SH. Dikatakan mengenai silisilah raja-raja Pagaruyung adalah sebagai berikut: Adityawarman (1339-1376) Ananggawarman (1376) Yang Dipertuan Sultan Bakilap Alam Yang Dipertuan Sultan Pasambahan Yang Dipertuan Sultan Alif gelar Khalifafullah Yang Dipertuan Sultan Barandangan Yang Dipertuan Sultan Patah (Sultan Muning II) Yang Dipertuan Sultan Muning III Yang Dipertuan Sultan Sembahwang Yang Dipertuan Sultan Bagagar Syah Yang Dipertuan Gadih Reni Sumpur 1912 Yang Dipertuan Gadih Mudo (1912-1915) Sultan Ibrahim 1915-1943 gelar Tuanku Ketek Drs. Sultan Usman 1943 (Kepala Kaum Keluarga Raja Pagaruyung) Dari data ini dapat ditarik kesimpulan bahwa sesudah Adityawarman raja-raja di Pagaruyung sudah menganut agama Islam sesuai dengan sebutan Sultan (pengaruh Islam). Bila Sultan Bakilap Alam memerintah tidak disebutkan oleh tambo tersebut, tetapi dapat diperkirakan sesudah tahun 1409, karena sampai 1409 pemerintahan Pagaruyung masih bersifat sentralisasi seperti sewaktu pemerintahan Adityawarman. Sesudah tahun tersebut pemerintahan Pagaruyung sudah desentralisasi dengan pengertian bahwa nagari-nagari sudah mempunyai otonom penuh dan pemerintahan di Pagaruyung sudah mulai melemah. Selanjutnya dikatakan bahwa di atas pemerintahan nagari-nagari terlihat adanya dua tingkat pemerintahan yaitu Rajo Tigo Selo dan Basa Ampek Balai. Rajo Tigo Selo dimaksudkan adalah tiga orang raja yang sekaligus berkuasa di bidang masing-masing. Raja Alam berkedudukan di Pagaruyung sebagai pucuk pimpinan, Raja Adat berkedudukan di Buo yang melaksanakan tugas-tugas kerajaan dibidang adat. Raja Ibadat berkedudukan di Sumpur Kudus dan melaksanakan urusan keagamaan kerajaan. Gambaran ini adalah lembaga pemerintahan di tingkat raja. Sedangkan ditingkat Menteri dan Dewan Menteri yang dimaksud dengan Basa Ampek Balai terdiri dari: 1. Bandaro (Titah) di Sungai Tarab sebagai Perdana Menteri 2. Tuan Kadi di Padang Ganting yang mengurus masalah Agama 3. Indomo di Saruaso mengurus masalah keuangan 4. Makhudum di Sumanik yang mengurus masalah pertahanan dan rantau Masyarakat nagari dalam mengusut persoalannya berjenjang naik sampai ketingkat kerajaan. Dibidang adat dari nagari terus ke Bandaro dan kalau tidak putus juga diteruskan lagi kepada Raja Buo dan kalau tidak putus juga masalahnya diteruskan lagi kepada Raja Alam di Pagaruyung yang akan memberikan kata putus. Begitu juga dalam bidang agama. Dari nagari naik kepada tuan Kadi di Padang Ganting, terus kepada raja Ibadat di Sumpur Kudus, dan bula tidak selesai juga akhirnya sampai kepada raja Alam yang akan memberikan kata putusnya. Selanjutnya dikatakan bahwa Lembaga Rajo Tigo Selo dibentuk bersama dengan pembentukan Lembaga Basa Ampek Balai. Penobatan dan pelatikan Rajo Tigo Selo dan Basa Ampek Balai bersamaan pula dengan pengangkatan dan pengiriman “Sultan Nan Salapan” ke daerah rantau Minangkabau yaitu daerah-daerah: Aceh, Palembang, Tambusai, Rao, Sungai Pagu, Bandar Sepuluh, Siak Indra Pura, Rembau Sri Menanti dan lain-lain. Pengangkatan dan pelantikan itu dilakukan oleh Sultan Bakilap Alam. Dalam hal ini Bahar Dt Nagari Basa, mengatakan bahwa Basa Ampek Balai pada mulanya terdiri dari Bandaro di Sungai Tarap, yang menjadi Payung Panji Koto Piliang; Datuk Makhudum di Sumanik yang menjadi Pasak Kungkung Koto Piliang; Indomo di Saruaso yang menjadi Amban Puruak (bendahara) Koto Piliang; Tuan Gadang di Batipuah yang menjadi Harimau Campo Koto Piliang, yaitu Menteri Pertahanan Koto Piliang. Kemudian setelah Islam masuk ke Minangkabau dimasukkan Tuan Kadhi sebagai anggota Basa Ampek Balai dan “Tuan Gadang” di Batipuh ke luar dari keanggotaan itu dengan berdiri sendiri sebagai orang yang bertanggung jawab dalam masalah pertahanan Koto Piliang. Semuanya itu terdapat di Tanah Datar yang merupakan pucuk pimpinan di Minangkabau. Selanjutnya dikatakan yang menjadi kebesaran Luhak Agam adalah Parik Paga dan Kebesaran Lima Puluh Kota adalah Penghulu. Dari keterangan itu yang dapat diambil kesimpulan bahwa Lembaga Basa Ampek Balai sudah ada sebelum Islam masuk ke Minangkabau dengan bukti seperti yang dikatakan oleh Datuk Nagari Basa dengan susunan yang sedikit berbeda dari apa yang kita kenal kemudian. Baru sesudah Islam masuk ke Minangkabau kedudukan Tuan Kadhi diserahkan untuk mengurus masalah agama Islam. Selanjutnya susunan Basa Ampek Balai dengan Tuan Gadang sudah seperti yang kita kenal sekarang ini. Mengenai susunan pemerintahan Pagaruyung sesudah Adityawarman ini diuraikan dengan lengkap dalam cerita Cindua Mato. Cindua Mato (Candra Mata) adalah sebuah cerita rakyat Minangkabau yang menggambarkan tentang keadaan pemerintahan Minangkabau Pagaruyung di zaman kebesarannya. Walaupun dalam cerita ini mengenai raja-raja yang diceritakan sudah ada unsur legendanya, tetapi yang mengenai masalah lainnya sama dengan apa yang dikatakan Tambo. Menurut Tambo, Basa Ampek Balai pernah memegang kedudukan Raja Alam yaitu sesudah Sultan Alif meninggal, karena orang yang akan menggantikan Sultan Alih masih belum dewasa. Buat sementara dipegang oleh Basa Ampek Bala

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Pada kesempatan ini saya ingin sharing tentang fungsi dan maafaat dari google analistics
Fungsi Google Analytics Untuk website umum digunakan untuk mendapatkan informasi lengkap seputar pengunjung website.

Secara umum fungsi Google Analytics adalah:

  • Mengetahui jumlah pengunjung berdasarkan rentang waktu tertentu, perhari, perminggu, perbulan atau jumlah total. Jumlah pengunjung juga bisa dikategorikan pada pengunjung baru (new visitor) dan pengunjung berulang (returning visitor)
  • Halaman atau artikel yang paling sering dikunjungi berikut jumlah total kunjungan pada masing-masing halaman
  • Mengetahui berapa lama rata-rata waktu yang dihabiskan pengunjung di website
  • Mengetahui sumber kedatangan pengunjung. Pilihannya adalah Mesin pencari (search engine), Pengunjung langsung (direct traffic), dari website lain (referring website) dan lainnya (other)
  • Mengetahui asal negara pengunjung
  • Fungsi Khusus Google Analytics
  • Google Analytics juga memberikan laporan yang lebih detail tentang pengunjung. Berikut ini hal-hal detil yang aku ketahui bisa didapat dari Google Analytics :
  • Pengunjung (Visitors)

Pada bagian ini, anda dapat melihat laporan mengenai :

Total Kunjungan
Total kunjungan baru (pengunjung yang baru pertama kali datang ke website anda)
Rata-rata waktu yang dihabiskan oleh pengunjung di website
Kesetiaan pengunjung. Ini dilihat dari data jumlah kunjungan seseorang ke website anda. Jika berulang maka pengunjung ini dikategorikan sebagai pengunjung setia
Persentasi pengunjung baru dengan total kunjungan
Asal negara pengunjung dan bahasa yang digunakan pengunjung
Jenis browser dan sistem operasi yang digunakan pengunjung
Resolusi monitor pengunjung
Jenis gadget yang digunakan pengunjung (Komputer, Handphone) dan sistem operasi handphone yang digunakan pengunjung
Kecepatan koneksi pengunjung
ISP pengunjung berikut nama ISP tersebut

Sumber Trafik (Traffic Sources)
Google Analytics juga memberikan laporan detil tentang dari mana pengunjung menemukan website kita. Hal-hal yang bisa dilihat adalah :

Asal kunjungan. Seperti yang aku sebutkan sebelumnya, asal kunjungan dikategorikan berdasarkan kunjungan dari search engine, website refferal dan kunjungan langsung. Kita bisa mengambil kesimpulan hal-hal manakah yang mendatangkan pengunjung terbanyak ke website kita. Apakah dari optimasi SEO (Search Engine), kegiatan blog walking dan tebar backlink (Referring Sites) atau dari kunjungan langsung (promosi dari selain blogwalking dan tebar backlink)

Konten (Content)
Pada bagian konten, aku bisa melihat laporan yang rinci mengenai :

Artikel/Posting mana yang paling banyak dikunjungi
Artikel paling akhir yang dibaca oleh pengunjung sebelum meninggalkan website. Dari poin 1 dan 2 ini bisa diambil kesimpulan apakah pengunjung cukup tertarik dengan artikel-artikel lain di website kita. Jika poin 1 dan 2 mengacu pada judul artikel yang sama, secara kasar bisa disimpulkan bahwa konten di website kurang menarik perhatian pengunjung

 

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?”

Photo
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.

Photo
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.”

Photo
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.”

 

WASHINGTON — The former deputy director of the C.I.A. asserts in a forthcoming book that Republicans, in their eagerness to politicize the killing of the American ambassador to Libya, repeatedly distorted the agency’s analysis of events. But he also argues that the C.I.A. should get out of the business of providing “talking points” for administration officials in national security events that quickly become partisan, as happened after the Benghazi attack in 2012.

The official, Michael J. Morell, dismisses the allegation that the United States military and C.I.A. officers “were ordered to stand down and not come to the rescue of their comrades,” and he says there is “no evidence” to support the charge that “there was a conspiracy between C.I.A. and the White House to spin the Benghazi story in a way that would protect the political interests of the president and Secretary Clinton,” referring to the secretary of state at the time, Hillary Rodham Clinton.

But he also concludes that the White House itself embellished some of the talking points provided by the Central Intelligence Agency and had blocked him from sending an internal study of agency conclusions to Congress.

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Michael J. Morell Credit Mark Wilson/Getty Images

“I finally did so without asking,” just before leaving government, he writes, and after the White House released internal emails to a committee investigating the State Department’s handling of the issue.

A lengthy congressional investigation remains underway, one that many Republicans hope to use against Mrs. Clinton in the 2016 election cycle.

In parts of the book, “The Great War of Our Time” (Twelve), Mr. Morell praises his C.I.A. colleagues for many successes in stopping terrorist attacks, but he is surprisingly critical of other C.I.A. failings — and those of the National Security Agency.

Soon after Mr. Morell retired in 2013 after 33 years in the agency, President Obama appointed him to a commission reviewing the actions of the National Security Agency after the disclosures of Edward J. Snowden, a former intelligence contractor who released classified documents about the government’s eavesdropping abilities. Mr. Morell writes that he was surprised by what he found.

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“You would have thought that of all the government entities on the planet, the one least vulnerable to such grand theft would have been the N.S.A.,” he writes. “But it turned out that the N.S.A. had left itself vulnerable.”

He concludes that most Wall Street firms had better cybersecurity than the N.S.A. had when Mr. Snowden swept information from its systems in 2013. While he said he found himself “chagrined by how well the N.S.A. was doing” compared with the C.I.A. in stepping up its collection of data on intelligence targets, he also sensed that the N.S.A., which specializes in electronic spying, was operating without considering the implications of its methods.

“The N.S.A. had largely been collecting information because it could, not necessarily in all cases because it should,” he says.

The book is to be released next week.

Mr. Morell was a career analyst who rose through the ranks of the agency, and he ended up in the No. 2 post. He served as President George W. Bush’s personal intelligence briefer in the first months of his presidency — in those days, he could often be spotted at the Starbucks in Waco, Tex., catching up on his reading — and was with him in the schoolhouse in Florida on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, when the Bush presidency changed in an instant.

Mr. Morell twice took over as acting C.I.A. director, first when Leon E. Panetta was appointed secretary of defense and then when retired Gen. David H. Petraeus resigned over an extramarital affair with his biographer, a relationship that included his handing her classified notes of his time as America’s best-known military commander.

Mr. Morell says he first learned of the affair from Mr. Petraeus only the night before he resigned, and just as the Benghazi events were turning into a political firestorm. While praising Mr. Petraeus, who had told his deputy “I am very lucky” to run the C.I.A., Mr. Morell writes that “the organization did not feel the same way about him.” The former general “created the impression through the tone of his voice and his body language that he did not want people to disagree with him (which was not true in my own interaction with him),” he says.

But it is his account of the Benghazi attacks — and how the C.I.A. was drawn into the debate over whether the Obama White House deliberately distorted its account of the death of Ambassador J. Christopher Stevens — that is bound to attract attention, at least partly because of its relevance to the coming presidential election. The initial assessments that the C.I.A. gave to the White House said demonstrations had preceded the attack. By the time analysts reversed their opinion, Susan E. Rice, now the national security adviser, had made a series of statements on Sunday talk shows describing the initial assessment. The controversy and other comments Ms. Rice made derailed Mr. Obama’s plan to appoint her as secretary of state.

The experience prompted Mr. Morell to write that the C.I.A. should stay out of the business of preparing talking points — especially on issues that are being seized upon for “political purposes.” He is critical of the State Department for not beefing up security in Libya for its diplomats, as the C.I.A., he said, did for its employees.

But he concludes that the assault in which the ambassador was killed took place “with little or no advance planning” and “was not well organized.” He says the attackers “did not appear to be looking for Americans to harm. They appeared intent on looting and conducting some vandalism,” setting fires that killed Mr. Stevens and a security official, Sean Smith.

Mr. Morell paints a picture of an agency that was struggling, largely unsuccessfully, to understand dynamics in the Middle East and North Africa when the Arab Spring broke out in late 2011 in Tunisia. The agency’s analysts failed to see the forces of revolution coming — and then failed again, he writes, when they told Mr. Obama that the uprisings would undercut Al Qaeda by showing there was a democratic pathway to change.

“There is no good explanation for our not being able to see the pressures growing to dangerous levels across the region,” he writes. The agency had again relied too heavily “on a handful of strong leaders in the countries of concern to help us understand what was going on in the Arab street,” he says, and those leaders themselves were clueless.

Moreover, an agency that has always overvalued secretly gathered intelligence and undervalued “open source” material “was not doing enough to mine the wealth of information available through social media,” he writes. “We thought and told policy makers that this outburst of popular revolt would damage Al Qaeda by undermining the group’s narrative,” he writes.

Instead, weak governments in Egypt, and the absence of governance from Libya to Yemen, were “a boon to Islamic extremists across both the Middle East and North Africa.”

Mr. Morell is gentle about most of the politicians he dealt with — he expresses admiration for both Mr. Bush and Mr. Obama, though he accuses former Vice President Dick Cheney of deliberately implying a connection between Al Qaeda and Iraq that the C.I.A. had concluded probably did not exist. But when it comes to the events leading up to the Bush administration’s decision to go to war in Iraq, he is critical of his own agency.

Mr. Morell concludes that the Bush White House did not have to twist intelligence on Saddam Hussein’s alleged effort to rekindle the country’s work on weapons of mass destruction.

“The view that hard-liners in the Bush administration forced the intelligence community into its position on W.M.D. is just flat wrong,” he writes. “No one pushed. The analysts were already there and they had been there for years, long before Bush came to office.”

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