First published in Great Britain in 2011; published in US by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt on July 19, 2011
If you read this book expecting it to be a murder mystery that will be solved by boy detectives, you're likely to be disappointed. The story does open with a murder, and young Harri and his friends make half-baked attempts to solve it, but like boys around the world, they're easily distracted. These aren't the Hardy Boys; Harri Opoku's idea of crime detection is to scan the horizon for clues using his plastic binoculars, to conduct stakeouts with an ample supply of Cherry Coke, and to stick tape on random objects near (and not so near) the crime scene to see if he can lift fingerprints. The kids he doesn't like (including the several who bully him) are, of course, his prime suspects. Quite by accident Harri stumbles upon actual evidence. When he gets close to the truth (again, quite by accident) trouble ensues.
Still, Pigeon English isn't a plot-driven novel; it's a chronicle of a short period in a boy's life. When he isn't detecting, Harri talks to his friends about superheroes, goes to school (he's delighted to learn that a lemon can be made into a battery), fights with his sister Lydia (who is keeping a mysterious secret of her own), admires his platonic girlfriend Poppy, and runs away from bullies (some of whom he provokes because he knows he can outrun them). Occasionally Harri thinks about his life in Ghana, where his father and grandmother still live, keeping in touch by telephone. Now and then he contemplates pigeons.
Harri loves pigeons. He believes he's communicating with a special pigeon friend, although he's uncertain whether these silent conversations are real or imagined. From time to time we're treated to a philosophical pigeon's-eye-view of the world. I confess to being a bit puzzled by those passages. Are we really hearing the thoughts of a numinous pigeon who is watching over Harri, or are we hearing Harri's thoughts as he imagines the pigeon's thoughts? The pigeon's voice is different from Harri's, more mature and less slangy, suggesting that Harri does indeed have a guardian pigeon. Either way, the pigeon passages don't fit in with, and in fact detract from, the rest of the story.
Fortunately, most of the novel is in Harri's voice -- a voice that struck me as authentic, although I admit I don't know any preteens from Ghana who are being raised in London. It took me awhile to figure out that "asweh" means "I swear" and I had to use Google to learn that "hutious" is Ghanaian slang for "frightening" but those words contribute to Harri's unique style of speaking. Harri loves words; "paradiddle" is one of his favorites. Sometimes he adopts (and misuses) a new favorite word ("orgasm," for instance) without quite understanding its meaning.
Harri is a completely innocent kid -- he knows several words and phrases pertaining to sex but his understanding of them is invariably inaccurate. When his sister's friend teaches him to French kiss (a skill he thinks he may need if he is to cement his relationship with Poppy), Harri is disgusted by the lesson. Harri understands the world with a child's logic; his observations -- the notion, for instance, that eyelashes are basically bug shields -- contribute a good bit of the novel's humor. Despite his desire to be as cool as the gang members who inhabit his neighborhood, Harri is disturbed by the crime and violence that surrounds him. Harri's innocence in a corrupt world is part of the book's charm.
The mystical pigeon notwithstanding, I enjoyed this quirky, offbeat novel. It captures the universal experience of childhood from an immigrant's perspective. That perspective is important; Stephen Kelman seems to be saying that life might be awful in Ghana but there's no guarantee it will be any better in London. Some readers won't like the ending. I'm not sure I liked it but I think it's honest. More than that I can't say without saying too much.
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