With the Silent Knowledge
By Ray Elliott
A smart, talented man from a privileged upbringing who’s also an alcoholic with sociopathic tendencies, Michael Callahan is his own worst enemy. He winds up in prison to fend for himself in a hard environment that doesn’t do much to help non-violent offenders break their self-destructive behaviors. With the help of Blaine, a well-meaning counselor, there may be a glimmer of hope that Callahan can finally get the help he needs.
$23.99
"'With the Silent Knowledge' brings us into the reality of Michael Callahan, an exceptionally bright and likable con who lives by a code and who personifies the varied and complex archetypes that make up our broken criminal justice system. This thought-provoking novel brings its readers into the guts of prison life and raises many questions about justice and the necessity of keeping one’s soul intact while adrift in a culture of chaos."
— Dr. Nicholas J. Osborne, former director of the Chez Veterans Center at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign
About the Author
Ray Elliott
Marine veteran Ray Elliott is an editor, publisher and author of numerous works of nonfiction. As a retired, longtime English and journalism educator in public high schools and universities, he has encouraged and inspired many young people to pursue their dreams. In 1999, he left the classroom to write full time. Elliott is on the board of The James Jones Literary Society and the Illinois Center for the Book, and is an officer of the Richard L. Pittman Marine Corps League in Urbana-Champaign, Ill.
Read an Excerpt
Were you to pick any hundred people off the street at random, Callahan thought, set them down in a room, tell them everything you know—which is only a very small percentage of what there is to know—about what goes on in prison, let them ask any questions that they wish to ask and answer them truthfully to the best of your knowledge and ability, there wouldn’t be a person to leave the room who would believe one-twentieth of what you had said. And you’d be angry that they didn’t believe you, as you’re always angry when they don’t believe you in this regard, because you know that the non-belief isn’t born of ignorance, but of malice.
They wouldn’t believe you because they wouldn’t want to believe. To believe you would be a self-indictment. To believe you would impose a responsibility on them that they neither wish, nor know how to handle. To believe you would disrupt years of smug complacency. To believe you would make them realize that they’re not so damn secure as they thought, that conceivably, it could reach out and touch them, too, someday. To believe you would be to rub their own noses in their own sh**.