Alligator Bayou by Donna Jo Napoli
By Donna Jo Napoli
An unforgettable novel, in keeping with a real tale, approximately racism opposed to Italian american citizens within the South in 1899.
Fourteen-year-old Calogero, his uncles, and his cousins are six Sicilians dwelling within the small city of Tallulah, Louisiana, miles from any in their countrymen. They develop greens and promote them at their stand and of their grocery store.
Some humans welcome the immigrants; so much don't. Calogero's relatives is stuck in the midst of tensions among the black and white groups. As Calogero struggles to evolve to Tallulah, he's startled and delighted via the risk of nighttime gator hunts within the bayou and by way of his robust emotions for Patricia, a sharp-witted, sweet-natured black lady. in the meantime, on a daily basis, and each false impression among the white group and the Sicilians, convey Calogero and his relations in the direction of a terrifying, violent confrontation.
In this affecting and unforgettable novel, Donna Jo Napoli's encouraged examine and spare, appealing language take the vintage immigrant tale to new degrees of emotion and searing fact. Alligator Bayou tells a narrative that every one americans should still understand.
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Vicksburg is four times the size of Tallulah; there’s plenty going on. All at once I’m blue, thinking about them. They’re lonely. At least Francesco is—saying all that to Joe. If I didn’t have Cirone, I don’t know what I’d do. ” asks Cirone as soon as we’re out of sight. ” “Aw, come on. ” My father was a fisherman. With thick arms from pulling in nets, and pocked cheeks from facing the salty wind all the time. He left for America to find his fortune, right after Rocco was born. We never heard from him again.
Giuseppe jams his fork in the salad. ” “Eat,” says Carlo. ” I stuff my mouth. Francesco pushes his empty plate away. He looks at me. ” I’m so startled, for a second I can’t answer. ” Rosario makes a monster face, wrinkling his big nose and putting his hands beside his cheeks like threatening claws. Then he laughs. “I saw a giant one roped up in the back of a wagon once. Long like you wouldn’t believe. The length of two men standing on top of each other. Still alive. ” He leans toward Cirone. “As if they’re smiling at you and saying, ‘Hello, dinner.
He’s been in America longer than me. He came with his big brother, Rosario, when he was only four. He’s thirteen; I’m fourteen; I edge in front of him now. The slaughterhouse sits on the outskirts of town, at the edge of the woods. The place is lit up and we can smell the rot and hear the men inside singing as they work. Cirone heads that way. “Shhh,” Cirone says, even though we weren’t talking. ” I don’t get why people here don’t like Sicilian. Our family supplies this town, Tallulah, with the best fruits and vegetables.