Just when the publishing world is ready to assert that nothing good ever comes out of the slush pile, a talent like Stephen Kelman comes along. The 34-year-old Englishman—who before turning to writing worked in jobs ranging from house-cleaner to warehouse operative—began his novel, Pigeon English, in response to a spate of news stories about British youth violence. But he also called upon his own childhood experience, which was not unlike that of Hari Opuku, the narrator of this electric debut.

An 11-year-old Ghanaian immigrant who loves sneakers, YouTube and driving his older sister crazy, Hari is decidedly a child. Yet he's also wise beyond his years—growing up as part of a London housing project's insular community of illegal aliens, addicts and knife-wielding thugs will do that to a kid. Indeed, violence is a common occurrence, and one Hari describes with as much honesty, humor and emotion as he does a grade-school crush or the pigeon that regularly visits his balcony. Still, when one of his classmates is killed in the street, Hari does feel deeply moved and decides, along with his best friend Dean, to solve the crime using techniques gleaned from episodes of "CSI." But while his attempts to go undercover and obtain DNA samples may seem comical, as the duo comes closer to the truth (and the murderer), their adventures grow ever more dangerous.

Hari's joie de vivre is infectious, and his voice simultaneously charming and haunting—similar to the narrators of Emma Donoghue's Room or Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. And much like those books, Pigeon English is a story for adults whose success rests almost entirely on the unreliability of a child's interpretation. Were Kelman to have entrusted this tale to an older teller, we'd no doubt lose the excitement, immediacy and hopefulness that infuses it.

A charming narrative voice energizes this lively first novel, which has brought enthusiastic reviews, healthy sales and a movie contract to its young British author. 

Eleven-year-old Harrison ("Harri") Opuku has migrated with his mother and older sister Lydia from Ghana (where his father, baby brother and grandmother remain) to a "council estate" (i.e., public housing in a tower block) in the south of London. Gangs of teenagers from neighborhood estates prowl the violent streets, but Harri responds to their threats by joining forces with a friend (Jordan) as "detectives" resolved to find those responsible for the fatal stabbing of another boy. Kelman quickly gives the reader emotional identification with Harri, who is mischievous (he loves tormenting the huffy, whiny Lydia), a romantic goof (who hopes against hope that his blond schoolmate Poppy will acknowledge his existence), energetic (he's locally renowned for his speed) and a verbal athlete who speaks in a lively multilingual argot festooned with vivid, funny locutions. When he solemnly grouses, "In England there's a hell of different words for everything," or pronounces everything along the spectrum that runs from delightful to alarming "hutious," there's just no resisting the kid. Unhappily, even though the aforementioned slaying (based on the true story of the 2000 murder of a Nigerian boy) is given central stage early on, the story is depressingly underplotted and really isn't much of a novel. Its title also refers (too coyly) to the pigeon that lands on Harri's window ledge, which becomes a kind of protector and exemplar, clumsily signifying both freedom and flight. And when, late in the book, the bird itself swoops in to share the narrative, we sense how desperate Kelman is to fill up pages.

Even a kid as feisty and ingratiating as Harri can overstay his welcome. A pity, because brief snatches of his embryonic wit, street smarts and survival instincts are about as hutious as it gets.

Though new in London, having moved from Ghana with his family, 11-year-old Harrison Opuku knows what to do when he sees a classmate lying dead. He and friend Dean start gathering evidence. They really don't know what trouble will soon come their way. Not so much a thriller, I think, but a clash-of-cultures tale and a debut novel the publisher is betting on.

Ten-year-old Harrison Opuku has recently immigrated to London from Ghana. Harri is a joyous child who loves everyone—the pigeon on his balcony, his baby sister still in Ghana, the girl who sits next to him in class, his parents, his teachers, and the neighborhood thief with an appealing dog. Less easy to like, let alone love, are the members of the Dell Farm Crew, a local gang whose threats make every school day a challenge. When a classmate is murdered, Harri and his friend decide to discover the killer. As this charming boy gets closer to a solution, readers will feel their adrenaline start pumping, hoping Harri will succeed and remain safe. VERDICT Narrated by Harri in a laugh-out-loud combination of Ghanaian and British slang, this first novel places readers in the London of large housing projects where legal and illegal immigrants struggle to make new lives for themselves, where crime is a way of life, and where a good-hearted boy is an anomaly. If your patrons liked Roddy Doyle's Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha and if they rooted for Jamal Malik in Slumdog Millionaire, they will love Harri Opuku. [See Prepub Alert, 1/17/11.]—Andrea Kempf, Johnson Cty. Community Coll. Lib., Overland Park, KS

Kelman's debut novel is a well-tuned if simplistic portrait of a kid's life in the housing projects of London. After 11-year-old Harri, whose family has immigrated from Ghana, sees a classmate lying dead on the sidewalk one night, Harri and his buddy, Dean Griffin, set out to solve the murder, looking for the murder weapon, interviewing suspects, and gathering evidence. But the strength of this novel is not its murder mystery; rather, it's in hearing all Harri's thoughts as he falls in love, talks to his baby sister, or expresses himself in his own idiosyncratic language. The street-talk slang that Harri uses—boring things take "donkey hours" and Nike Air trainers are "bo-styles"—is crisp and mirthful, the perfect match to his at once naïve and revealing views on things like religion and race. The main flaw is also a feature: Harri's a very well-drawn 11-year-old, and no matter how cute he and his worldview are, it's sometimes tempting to want to pat him on the head and send him along his way. (July)