By Request

Polly Courtney's Feral Youth dives headlong into the life of 15 year old Alesha, a young girl from South London just trying to rep her endz and keep all the right affiliations with Peckham Crew. From the start, it is made clear that Alesha is a hard edged fighter of a youth, shaped and roughened by circumstance and necessity. An absent father and a mother that's negligent at best paint a vague background of Alesha's past, engraining an idea that without true family, street fam is all she has. That's where JJ comes in - best friend, brother figure, and the closest thing Alesha has to a real family. It is her connections with JJ that drive most of her wishes and decisions as she struggles her way through street life, bouncing from dodgy flats to hostels, robbing, shoplifting and running errands for the Crew to make ends meet.

At it's heart, Feral Youth is a coming of age story which documents the struggles of an inner city youth pushed around from place to place, and her journey to gain confidence in her self and the ability to change the outcome of her life. Bouncing between legitimizing her life with the help of her once piano teacher Miss Merfield and giving in to the ease of money making through drug deals, black market sales, and general thievery, the reader watches Alesha flip flop her way through the novel, unable to gain the drive to pull herself out of her current lifestyle - one she is smart enough to be scared of, but not strong enough to want to leave: it's familiar, its immediately gratifying, and she's GOOD at it.

Courtney engulfs the reader in the world of Alesha, and gang affiliated life, painting the scene through Alesha's own thoughts and eyes - her very specific catalogue of diction and slang terms reinforcing the believability of her circumstance. We are inside her mind, and feel what she does which often times is the only way the reader would be able to understand the thought process or presumed logic of situations.

While the novel does well to depict the life of a disadvantaged young girl, and further contrast it to the (assumed) privilege born into others, there is an oversimplification which pervades the story. Alesha is motivated by survival - and on occasion, a need to ensure other's (JJ's) survival. Survival in itself is not a simple motivator, and yet the novel fixates on the living from day to day so much that greater motivations, intents, and emotions fall short. As a reader you care about Alesha because you feel sorry for her, and pity is not exactly the primary emotion you want a reader to feel for your character. Of course, there are situations and plots that need sympathy, but I wanted to properly connect with Alesha, understand her, and instead I found myself unsure when she would throw a tantrum and walk out on benefactor Miss Merfield and when she would have one of her 'the mother I never had' moments. While mood swings and angst are natural for a 15 year old girl, too much became for story convenience, and the continual back and forth bordered on the repetitive rather than enhancing Alesha's lack of self confidence. There were moments of course - times with Tisha primarily where I remembered that Alesha was still just a lost 15 year old girl, but these moments were too brief or too surface to fully grab hold of.

 Similarly, the revelation which final converts Alesha after various false starts, failed attempts and cases of giving up, is a simple reveal of a character who is successful, or at least appears to be, living in a posh world with nice clothes, despite having originally come from an estate. While this is a legitimate device to spur a character change in Alesha, the scene falls a bit flat after the months of pep talks, examples and support Alesha has been given to pull out of Crew life. I was frustrated by her because she did not seem to WANT to help herself for much of the novel - it is one thing to try and fail and get discouraged, but without full insight into her emotional side, these instances of failure felt less like tragic crippling self doubt, and more like a child too lazy to put in any hard work. I wanted to KNOW Alesha, what makes her tick, and was only offered brief glimpses of this in piano keys and her connection with JJ. Both could have been explored with more detail as they were reoccurring, though often unexplored themes throughout.

The emphasis on the riot itself, provided a window into youth and gang culture in a way which began to explore pack mentality, the contagion of rage and a need for action, the BBM messages highlighting the rapidity with which a collective can form, swell, and above all unite against a common theme. The tables were turned in order to show the deep rooted frustrations of a culture and society constantly put down and suppressed by ruling powers and the inevitable explosion that follows. Here the reader began to see more of Alesha - smashing in windows releasing pent up rage at all the people and things that have pushed her down. It is the depiction of those who destroy things out of envy - destruction of what they cannot have - and it is a powerful concept. But the truth remains that crime was crime - it was not food stolen for survival, but cell phones and technologies. While we feel for the caged bird, it can be hard from a readers perspective not to also call for justice.

This then is the dichotomy which encompassed my view of the novel. While I emphasized with the hardships of Alesha's life, I wanted more from her in terms of motivation. While I applauded Miss Merfield's benevolence, I chastised Alesha for her laziness. She had moments of gratitude, of pride, of will, yet I struggled throughout to support someone so blatantly turning to crime and drug trafficking. There may have been necessity there, but battling on through adversity is admirable - giving up is allowable - but lacking the ability to try - the DESIRE to, is frustrating.

Overall, Courtney does well to create a window into Alesha's world - the world of South, of streets, of Crew and of poverty, but I want more than a window; I want to step into that world and get lost there.

Pigeon English

Stephen Kelman's debut novel Pigeon English is a raw and real look into inner-city London's dark daily life. Narrated by the profound Harrison Opoku - an eleven year old boy recently emigrated from Ghana, Pigeon English reveals the depth of violence and twisted justice which so quickly becomes apparent in the London youth. 

Following the death of a fellow youth and student - a bloody and seemingly meaningless stabbing - Harrison and his friend Derek take on a vague sense of duty an begin investigative reports on the scene. In their simplified childish way, they set up watch, interrogate suspects and look for clues and evidence. 

Though the novel holds aspects of crime scene investigation, it is in no means a Murder Mystery by genre. Instead, through these investigations, Kelman reveals the beauty of a young boys mind, and the simple honesty with which he lives his life. Both gentle and loving in his displays of caring for the pigeon which lands on his balcony one day, Harrison is an expressly loveable character whose affection and protective nature for his little sister Agnes (residing in Ghana with their father) is both inspiring and heart warming. 
"I pretended like all the oranges rolling everywhere were her happy memories and they were looking for a new person to stick to so they didn't get wasted.”

 In contrast,  the youth's desire for destruction, brutality and violence, and Harri's own fascination with the local gang, reveal the intensity of youth and the ease with which they as a society can slip into such immense horror and destruction: "Killa got a screwdriver out of his pant. I saw it with my own two eyes... I could even see the killing thoughts in the air, they were sticking to us like crazy moths after thunder. They wanted to kill us, you could tell." Through these dichotomous emotions Kelman weaves the intricate tapestry of emotions which drive youth culture. 

The voice through which the story is told - most predominantly that of Harri, is honest and real, and often times simple - childish excitability certainly comes though - but with a profound depth and beauty which transcends all age and circumstance. 
His analysis of people, is so childishly simple that it reveals truth so often missed by adult mindsets. In his observation of Mr Frimpong, Harrison reveals the pureness of his heart: 

“Mr. Frimpong is the oldest person from church. That's when I knew why he sings louder than anybody else: it's because he's been waiting the longest for God to answer. He thinks God has forgotten him. I only knew it then. Then I loved him but it was too late to go back.” 

This passage also reveals a reoccurring theme within the novel and specifically within Harrison of a fascination with death. The memory and 'spirit' of "The Dead Boy" permeates and presides over the story, weaving its way in and out of day to day chores, guilty looks, and moments of personal triumph. Harrison is fixated on his memory - a boy he wasn't particularly close with - and continually dedicates his moments of happiness to the boy's memory or spirit. 

In the same way, gang members and bully figures are forever fixed on death and revenge, carving death threats in apartment doors and chanting for blood during street fights. There is an animalistic quality alive in each youth and each person which Kelman carefully explores within the confines of brutal gang culture, forcing it to collide with innocent hearts and pure minds in a violent clash of interaction and emotion.

A turbulent and reflective novel, Pigeon English uses the simplicity of style and heart to pierce the heart of the reader even as it drags them into a world of shockingly hardened young criminals perpetuating the dark inner-city life of London. 
Funny, sickening and triumphant, Stephen Kelman's debut is a fine example of voice and heart in a plot-driven, increasingly sic-fi literary world.