There are three aspects to this debut novel that are probably going to make or break the average reader's reaction to it. The first is that it is largely plotless -- instead it follows an 11-year-old immigrant from Ghana as he makes his way around the impoverished London estate new home. The second is that it is narrated in his broken, or "pidgin" English. And the third is that at the start and end of some chapters, it also features some first-pigeon narration from, well, a pigeon.

Personally, while I tend to prefer plot-driven fiction, I can live with minimal or no plot if there is something to connect with. And in this book, 11-year-old Harrison (aka "Harri") Opoku is such a lovable, naive, child that I couldn't help but connect with his irrepressible spirit. Like Harri, moved from Africa to an alien first-world country at around age 10-11, and found it to be a similarly bewildering and hostile place. Others may find Harri to be too precious or unbelievably innocent, but I fell for him hook, line, and sinker. And to be fair, the book is not entirely plotless, there is a murder mystery to propel things, along with a minor romantic subplot.

I tend to really like writing that has a distinctive sound, from the thick Scots of Irvine Welsh's work to the Edwardian slang of P.G. Wodehouse to the Nadsat Anthony Burgess concocted for A Clockwork Orange. I found the Ghanaian-inflected English that peppers the book's description and dialogue (my favorite is the admonishment "advise yourself!") to be neither overwhelming, nor labored. It appears in just the right dosages and just the right times, and carries enough nuance to remind the reader of Harri's outsider status.

I will admit that much as I liked this book, that the bits involving the pigeon just didn't work at all for me. About a third of the way in I just starting skipping the pigeon's narrative portions (which is easily done as they appear in italics). It feels like a strained gimmick, and the only justification I can think of is that the author was attempting to invoke the classic English novel A Kestrel for a Knave.

Ultimately, the book fits securely into that mode of storytelling that uses immigrant eyes and voices to reveal the flaws of their host society. In that sense, it functions as effective critique of contemporary Britain, one clearly drawn from the author's own background and experiences. Some of these themes and setting are similar to Peter Akinti's recent book Forest Gate, albeit with a very different tone. I am not at all surprised to see that the BBC has commissioned a script from the book and a screen adaptation appears likely.