Often laugh-out-loud funny [but] Wells has carved a sincere and courageous portrait of a boy becoming a man.
Do yourself a favor and become acquainted with Emile LaBauve.. a cross between Huck Finn & Oliver Twist, with south Louisiana accent and a backwoods attitude.. There's a major talent at work here.
Wells makes a lively fiction debut with this affectionate slice of Louisiana bayou life.. Meely's Cajun-spiced charisma never flags.
New York Times Book Review
[A] short and expert first novel.. not only funny but infused with Wells's deep love of Cajun patois.
Washington Post Book World
[An] endearing debut. Wells makes a lively fiction debut with this affectionate slice of Louisiana bayou life.. Meely's Cajun-spiced charisma never flags.
Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
In his lean, nimble and wise first novel, Wells breathes life into an adolescent boy down on his luck in "the lonesome end of Catahoula Bayou" in Louisiana. The eponymous narrator relates the tale in a restrained, wry voice that is a mixture of Southern vernacular and Cajun phrasing. Meely's father--kindhearted, often drunk and always on the wrong side of the law--hunts gators in the swamp, which is also a great place to hide from the police. He has never recovered from the death of his wife, in childbirth, eight years before. Meely (short for Emile) dreams of his mother and his dead baby sister, but his waking hours are consumed with catching or shooting his own dinner, trying hard to steer clear of a gang of bullies led by Junior Guidry, avoiding school and occasionally hiding from the police in the woods. Wells manages to be graphic, sweet and funny in the scenes where Meely discovers the pleasures of sex with his black friend and neighbor, Cassie. There aren't too many other pleasures for Meely, who is attacked by Junior and his bunch and rescued by Chilly Cox, Cassie's ex-boyfriend. Meanwhile, his father is arrested for driving without a license, and his truck is confiscated by the police. Father and son steal the truck back and set out on a gator hunt, where Meely stumbles upon a grisly scene involving Junior, his racist uncle, a policeman and Chilly. Meely's father arrives and turns the tables, quickly rendering himself persona non grata with the authorities. An action-packed stretch that includes a chase, a spectacular accident and Meely's dad's flight into the swamp, culminates in Meely's arrest and trial for assault and battery and attempted murder. There are echoes here of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer, in the friendship between a white boy and a black, and in a faked death. But Wells puts his own distinctive spin on this affecting tale, depicting Meely's harsh life without sentimentality, and capturing, as any writer of a coming-of-age story should, the melding of innocence and wisdom. (Feb.) FYI: Wells is a veteran Wall Street Journal reporter who grew up in Bayou Black, La., where he helped with his family's snake-collecting business. Copyright 1999 Cahners Business Information.
This first novel is an ALA/YALSA best book of the year and has been critically hailed as an engaging work by a promising artist. Meely (Emile) has been compared with Huck Finn. He is a 15-year-old naÃ�f who lives in Louisiana's Catahoula Bayou with his alcoholic father, runs away from home periodically, is befriended by a giant of a black man, fights redneck bigots, skips school, and is taken in and "civilized" by a kindly teacher. Certainly there are points of comparison between Huck and Meely. But there are important differences. Meely's father poaches alligators, teaches his son the virtues of tolerance and honesty, and is buried before he dies. Unlike Huck, Meely discovers sex. He is arrested and tried, but truth prevails when his friends support him. And while there is humor in Huck's story, it is a savage and cynical kind of humor, the kind that finds humans mostly rotten. Meely fin ds humans mostly good and decent. Ken Wells's affection for his characters and the Cajun way of life is apparent. There is even a brief glossary for readers who don't know what a poule d'eau is. Issues of racism arise. This coming-of-age story will be a certain winner for older teens. KLIATT Codes: SRecommended for senior high school students. 2000, Random House, 250p., $11.95. Ages 16 to 18. Reviewer: Janet Julian; English Teacher, Retired, Grafton H.S., Grafton, M , November 2001 (Vol. 35, No. 6)
VOYA - Voya Reviews
Fifteen-year-old Emile LaBauve, nicknamed Meely, lives on Catahoula Bayou in the Louisiana swamps. His mother is dead, and his father disappears for days at a time, finding oblivion in alcohol and hunting alligators. When he is not roaming the bayou and living off the land, Meely attends ninth grade, plays baseball, fends off bullies, and tries to stay on the right side of the law as much as possible. The local authorities, however, are looking for Meely's dad for stealing his own truck from the police yard. Meely is pursued by his old nemesis, Junior Guidry, nephew of the cop chasing his father. After encounters with baseball bats, fire ants, a giant alligator, and a corpse, some quick thinking on Meely's part is required to save himself and his father. Justice, of a sort, does prevail, but one of the pleasures of this tale is that the outcome is never certain. Tough, sensitive, and matter-of-fact, this Cajun Huck Finn is a delight, whether he is experiencing his first sexual encounter with Cassie Jackson in a corn field, saving his dad from the granddaddy of all 'gators, or taking on the whole Louisiana legal system. By turns picaresque, poignant, and hilarious, this first novel will remain in the reader's memory as long as 'gators swim in the bayous and fifteen-year-old boys dream about "getting to heaven" with pretty girls. VOYA CODES: 5Q 3P S (Hard to imagine it being any better written; Will appeal with pushing; Senior High, defined as grades 10 to 12). 2000, Delacorte, Ages 16 to 18, 244p, $19.95. Reviewer: Jamie S. Hansen
Library Journal - Library Journal
Fifteen-year-old Emile "Meely" LaBauve is something of a 20th-century Huck Finn. He lives in a ramshackle house on Louisiana's Catahoula Bayou with his often-absent alligator-hunter father, fishing and exploring and only attending school when he feels like it (his father has asserted that school never did him any good). The novel revolves around a confrontation between Meely and local bully Junior Guidry on a day when he does attend school, a run-in that eventually escalates to property destruction, an attempted murder charge against Meely's father, and the jailing of Meely himself. With the backing of a respected local teacher, Meely fights to avoid the equally unpalatable options of prison and the orphanage. Wall Street Journal writer Wells has cooked up a zestful gumbo of a first novel, a rich and raucous coming-of-age tale redolent with the flavor of the bayou. Recommended for all public libraries.--Lawrence Rungren, Merrimack Valley Lib. Consortium, Andover, MA Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.
School Library Journal - School Library Journal
YA-"Us LaBauves need to be out under the sky, where the rabbits and the coons and the gators are. We just need to go fishin' sometimes." This has been a basic problem for both 15-year-old Meely and his father. The teen's mother died in childbirth seven years previously and since then his drink-prone father has been even more absent, sometimes hunting gators, sometimes womanizing, and sometimes in jail. Though unreliable by most standards, he has taught his son kindness and tolerance beyond that of most inhabitants of Louisiana bayou country in the early `60s. However, Mr. LaBauve's trust of Meely and the boy's good nature get them into a disastrous predicament involving seeming disregard for the law, a wild truck chase, and a gator. The resolution is satisfying, and Meely and the other characters are fully realized and original. This evocative coming-of-age story is redolent of Cajun culture; from the food, the fishing, the hunting, and the boating to the colorful language. Much like Huck Finn, this picaresque journey through another time and place is warm and funny and thought-provoking as Meely discovers the opposite sex and encounters racism and bullying with a natural aplomb.-Susan H. Woodcock, Chantilly Regional Library, VA Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.|
Anne Rivers Siddons
I don't know when a voice in fiction has connected so solidly with me. It's as particular as a thumbprint and as unmistakable as someone's laugh. This tough and wonderful child is going to stay with me.
Anne Rivers Siddons, author of Low Country
Though the coming of age novel has been done many times over, it's never been done quite this way – and seldom as well...."[t]hough the book is often laugh-out-loud funny, Meely LaBauve is no less poignant because of its honed sense of humor. Wells...has carved a sincere and courageous portrait of a boy becoming a man.
Ken Wells' feet may be on Wall Street, but his heart, thankfully, is still in thebayou. Emile "Meely" LaBauve is a Cajun Huck Finn, full of fight and honor, who battles his way toward adulthood past 'gators of all kinds, scaled and otherwise. I found myself torn between laughter and tears. This is a terrific and moving read, the perfect elixir for a dot.com world.
Erik Larson, author of Isaac's Storm
A first-person novel, particularly one of a child in an exotic (to most readers) setting, is notoriously hardto pull off, but this one seems real and effortless.... Completely charming. I couldn't, as they say, put it down.
Frances Fitzgerald, author of Fire in the Lake and Cities on the Hill
[A] lean, nimble and wise first novel.. Wells breathes life into an adolescent boy down on his luck in 'the lonesome end of Catahoula Bayou' in Louisiana.... There are echoes here of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer...but Wells puts his own distinctive spin on this affecting tale, depicting Meely's harsh life wihthout sentimentality, and capturing, as any writer of a coming-of-age story should, the melding of innocence and wisdom.
MeelyLaBauve does for the Cajun bayou what Cold Mountain did for Southern Appalachia, bringing to life a wonderfully peculiar notch of the deep, deep South.
Tony Horwitz, author of Confederates in the Attic
Ken Wells was raised in a
snake-hunting family who lived
along the banks of the Bayou Black
in Louisiana -- he is now an editor at The
Wall Street Journal -- and his short and
expert first novel explores racial divides
back home in Cajun country... It's written in a casual,
Southern front-porch storytelling style; in other words, it's not only funny
but infused with Wells's deep love of Cajun patois.
The New York Times Book Review
Read an Excerpt
1Copyright 2001 by Ken Wells
Daddy’s gone off again to hunt gators. He says the police might come lookin’ for him ’cause of some problem with his ole truck. He says I can hide or not.
I’m not gonna hide this time. If they come they’ll ax me questions. But I won’t know where Daddy is any more than they do. I’ll say back in the swamp somewhere, which is close as I can come. They’ll go lookin’ but they won’t find him, not unless he wants to be found. Or unless he gits drunk, which is always possible with Daddy, and he comes roarin’ into town raisin’ hell. He might run right into the police station and bust up a couple of ’em till they throw him in jail.
It sometimes happens that way. That’s Daddy for you.
We live way down on the lonesome end of Catahoula Bayou. Our house is ugly and fallin’ apart here and there. Daddy won’t fix it. He says he’s give up on houses and when this one falls down he won’t have another. He’ll go live in the woods.
He don’t say what I’m s’posed to do.
When Momma was alive, she kept it up pretty well. She mopped and swept and got after Daddy to carpenter and paint and mow. He listened most times, as I remember.
But since Momma’s gone, Daddy don’t listen to nobody. He runs off into the swamps huntin’ alligators and just stays. Otherwise, he’s pretty much in town, drinkin’ in a saloon.
I myself have never tried to tell Daddy anything, though I might one day.
My name is Emile LaBauve, Emile comin’ from my great-grandpa Toups on Momma’s side. I never liked myname and people that know me, ’cept the teachers and Father Giroir, the bayou priest, call me Meely. I’m fifteen, small for my age everybody says. I tend to stay away from school and such. Every so often, the police come lookin’ for me instead of Daddy. And I run off, too, and hide in the woods. It’s amazin’ how poor the police are at findin’ people.
I hope I never git lost and need the police to find me for real.
The police come ’cause I live pretty well by myself and I don’t go to school unless I want to. Daddy, him, he won’t make me. He says I’m pretty near growed and got his hound dog ways and Momma’s brains. He says a hound dog is good at scroungin’ and will never starve and somebody with brains can always figger out what to do.
He says I don’t need much else, and anyway school never did him much good.
I don’t mind school sometimes, just like sometimes I don’t mind breakfast.
I wouldn’t mind it, actually, if Daddy bought groceries now and then.
But I’m doin’ okay. I’ve planted my own garden and there’s fish and frogs and crawfish in the bayou and swamps, and I take my twenty-two out and shoot me some birds and rabbits and such.
Blackbirds is good, though people don’t think so.
Heck, I roasted a mockin’ bird in the oven once.
It cooked up itty-bitty but was all right. Sweet it was.
Junior Guidry says only a moron would shoot a mockin’ bird ’cause the law is against such things and they could put you in the jailhouse. I don’t say nothin’ to Junior Guidry, usually, as I know he’s plannin’ to bust me up good one day. He’s tried a few times already. Sometimes I look at him the way Daddy says I should, with the Evil Eye.
Junior’s a big ole s.o.b. and mean as a gut-shot gator. He’s been in eighth grade a long time. I keep hopin’ he’ll just quit school but he won’t ’cause his momma makes him go.
Junior don’t like the Evil Eye.
I don’t know what the Evil Eye is all about. It comes from Daddy’s side of the family. His ole Tante Eve knew all about it and put the gris-gris on lots of people and they took it serious. Daddy taught me how to look just like Tante Eve looked but it don’t mean nothin’ to me. But I guess I look like one scary booger when I do it.
That’s what Daddy says.
Don’t matter what it means, Meely, just what it looks like.
Junior thinks I’m crazy, which is prob’ly a good thing for Junior to think.
I got one real friend far as I know, Joey Hebert. He lives up the bayou in a big ole house kept nice. It’s white and once, Joey says, slaves tended it. The yard’s bigger than the grounds at school and the oak trees are so big and old that the slaves tended them, too. Mr. Hebert mows the grass hisself with a big tractor, though the Heberts, Joey says, got all the money in the world. His daddy could hire twenty people to cut the grass but he don’t want to, Joey says. He just likes sittin’ up on that tractor mowin’ away. He don’t work much anymore, otherwise.
The Heberts got all that cane land and people tend it and give Mr. Hebert the money. They got two Cadillacs, one black for Mr. Hebert and one white for Miz Hebert, and a pretty new red 1961 Ford pickup truck and a colored maid who dresses like a nurse, and a colored cook who does too.
Mr. Hebert mows the grass and drives his truck up and down the bayou lookin’ at his cane land. He drives the Cadillac to church on Sundays.
He don’t like me much, though Joey does.
Joey says I’m smart, which I think I am, and he says I’m lucky ’cause I git to do just what I want when I want to do it. He says he would love to skip school ’cept he cain’t. He says I’m lucky I don’t have a momma ’cause he has a momma and she gits on him every day about this or that. He says Daddy is a character and he wishes his daddy was. He says Daddy’s right when he says a boy with hound dog ways and brains is about as good as a boy gits.
I agree with most of that and, anyway, Joey’s the only person I know who’s ever agreed with anything Daddy’s said.
Me and Joey do things sometimes when he can slip away. We go swimmin’ down at Poule D’eau Curve and I take him out in the woods and show him things I know about that Daddy’s showed me. We catch garter snakes and frogs and we tease cottonmouths with willow switches, which ain’t dangerous provided you use a pretty long switch. We track deer. We’ve never got close enough to shoot one, though we’ve seen the backsides of a few.
Once we shot a rabbit with my twenty-two. I skinned it and dabbed it with Tabasco sauce, which I carry in my huntin’ vest, and we roasted it on a spit out in the woods over a fire I made. It was tender and good. We shot it out of huntin’ season and Joey was afraid we’d git caught. But I laughed.
I told him I knew all about the police and game wardens, too. If they come to chase us, I knew just where to run.
Anyway, what do the police care if I eat me a rabbit?
Daddy says the woods and what’s in ’em are free to a hungry man.
Joey says he agrees with this, too.
Joey is popular down at the school with the teachers and girls and such. He says he’s gotta go to a college called Tulane—he cain’t git out of it. His momma would have a fit ’cause her own daddy went there. He says he’s gotta be a lawyer or else his Daddy will leave him out of his will. He says there’s lots of money in that will, Meely, so you wouldn’t wanna be left out of it.
After we ate that rabbit in the woods, he said he was gonna invite me to supper. But he ain’t yet.
I’m interested in that big ole house. I think about slaves and ghosts and such.
And supper, sometimes.