Thursday, August 23, 2012

A Candied Razor

"These jolts of sobriety in the midst of rank goofiness are a ten-year-old's specialty. Each one comes as a fresh, hard surprise, like finding a razor blade in a candy apple." --Susan Orlean

A razor blade in a candy apple. Orlean's phraseology in "The American Male at Age Ten" is pretty much the only way I can articulate my feelings about Pigeon English.

This book is incredibly frustrating.

In the novel, Kelman chronicles the daily musings of Harri Opoku, an 11-year old Ghanaian immigrant living in a slummy South London borough. An innocent person has been brutally stabbed to death, and Harri is determined to get to the bottom of the crime.

Reading Harri's reflections on the gang warfare, prolific drug use, and unstable nature of his squalid surroundings is enough to make my stomach churn. And with strings of broken English and frequent nonce words, I'm often left feeling as lost as the narrator.

However, there is a stinging clarity to Harri's observations. Even as a child, Harri has an inner strength and resolve that draws you in.

I won't say I love the book. It strikes an uncomfortable nerve, and the narrative style is enough to drive me crazy. But there's no way I'll stop reading now.

You just can't give up on this kid.

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