By Donna Jo Napoli
An unforgettable novel, according to 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 residing 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; such a lot don't. Calogero's relatives is stuck in the course of tensions among the black and white groups. As Calogero struggles to evolve to Tallulah, he's startled and delighted via the risk of dead night gator hunts within the bayou and by way of his robust emotions for Patricia, a sharp-witted, sweet-natured black lady. in the meantime, each day, and each false impression among the white group and the Sicilians, carry Calogero and his kinfolk towards a terrifying, violent confrontation.
In this affecting and unforgettable novel, Donna Jo Napoli's encouraged study and spare, attractive language take the vintage immigrant tale to new degrees of emotion and searing fact. Alligator Bayou tells a narrative that each one americans may still comprehend.
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Extra resources for Alligator Bayou
See? ” “Oh, yeah? He said we’re criminals. Like all Sicilians–that’s what he said—all Sicilians are Mafia. ” I jerk back at the word Mafia. Back in Italy the Mafia men used to offer boys money to knock over a fish cart or break a window. Little jobs—warnings before the Mafia men did something more drastic to ruin anybody who didn’t do things their way. Mamma said that’s how boys got corrupted into joining them—she told me to run when they came near. We’re nothing like Mafia. How could anyone say that about us?
I walk up beside him. “Hear that? ” Charles drops his head toward me. ” “Colored folk ain’t allowed in that ice cream saloon. ” My face goes hot. It’s those Jim Crow laws again—whites and Negroes can’t be served food in the same eating establishment at the same time. How could I forget? But I work all day, every day but Sunday. I go to bed early, except Saturday. I don’t really see how this town works. I wonder what Cirone’s thinking as we pass by the laughter of those families around the piano.
I stop and catch my breath. I’m in a hurry; still, it’s important to show respect. Blander knows I speak English. Besides, he’s always nice to me. ” He leans against the door frame. “You don’t show your face hereabouts except on Sundays. You’re acting like someone done something to you. ” “My mamma didn’t raise no idiots. ” One side of his mouth turns down. ” “I just need to talk to Frank Raymond, sir. ” “Quick, huh? Mr. ” My cheeks go slack. Blander smiles and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Just pulling your leg, boy.
Alligator Bayou by Donna Jo Napoli