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One People
Evoking the culture and people of Jamaica, this amusing, lively tale of life in the small village of Angel Beach pays homage to the interconnectedness of all people in a small town. Reprint.
256 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 1997
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
March 25, 2016
This is a difficult review to write as the author happens to be my friend, neighbour and landlord (the order of that list changes depending on the day). Would this be a 5-star book if I didn't understand Guy and all his peccadillos, if it wasn't his voice that sounded in my head as I read it? That's not an answerable question, in one sense. But I suppose a review is an attempt to justify a rating, so here goes. (Oh, and by the way, I wasn't canvassed to read this book or write this review).
In telling the interlinked stories of the inhabitants of Angel Bay, Jamaica, the novel reminds me of John Steinbeck's most picaresque novel, Tortilla Flat. Kennaway makes the distinction early in the book that the people of Angel Beach are very different from their neighbours in Firefly.
'Firefly Bay was the prettiest village on the north coast of Jamaica, with the exception of Negril, whose picture postcard beauty was enough to damn it. It had the benefit of a sheltered beach, a breezy promontory, a fresh-water river, fertile, easily turned soil, and productive fishing grounds. But it was the people of Firefly Bay who were really remarkable. A tight-knit, determined community from the very beginning, they passed the desire for their village to prosper and grow from one generation to another. For this laudible ambition they suffered the derision of other less progressive villages on the coast, like their immediate neighbours, Angel Beach, but were never deflected from their purpose by the criticism of the unenlightened.
In Firefly Bay they learnt early the civilised art of enjoying themselves with moderation. They alone could meet in the wooden bar by the bend in the road, enjoy a few drinks, put the cork back in the rum, and go to bed sober. In other villages, like Angel Beach, when a cork was removed from a bottle of alcohol, it was flung in the sea. But the next night, when the improvident drunks of Angel Beach had nottin fi drink, the men of Firefly Bay still had nearly three-quarters of their bottle of rum left. And not only were they clever in Firefly Bay, but they were kind. If one of them began to lose more than he could afford to, playing dominoes, his friends refused to play any more with him, and more often than not escorted him to his yard to prevent him finding anyone else to whom to lose money. That was the behaviour of a community that really cared. In Angel Beach, if a man hit a losing streak at poker, word quickly got round, and friends would get out of bed and hurry to the game so they could strip him of his last dollar.
Unfortunately, Firefly Bay people got an undeserved reputation for being priggish and self-important. When a Royal Tour of the West Indies was made in 1984, the foolish people dem of Angel Beach joked that Mrs Queen was only coming to the Caribbean to see Firefly Bay. Firefly Bay easily rose above the criticism; they knew Angel Beach people to be lazy, irresponsible and incapable of taking the important things in life, like being a little mindful of what others thought of you, at all seriously. It is the lazy and irresponsible men, women and picknee of Angel Beach whose stories are told here.'
This is, of course, to the book's credit. Who wants to read of self-contained, sober people? What's the fun in that? And the Angel Beachers are funny. Chancers, hedonists, prostitutes, bar-keepers untroubled with custom, they long to get in on the tourist action but forever watch coaches of white westerners speed through their village without stopping on their way to and from the airport.
With chapters like 'Tree Bad Gal,' 'Drogs Biznis' and 'Yami Ave a Vision' the author shows an excellent way with his patois that studs the dialogue with realism, anchoring the characters in a world that is far-out to the point of delicious absurdity. The King of Scams U-Roy tries to pass himself off as a dancehall legend for the duration of a concert although he only knows the single lyric, "Cheek a bow, cheek a bow, cheek a bow wow wow." The ancient Wilbert finds bags of cocaine washed up on the beach and mistakes it for washing powder. The real deal rasta Yami has a vision to build a bar on the land of retired tax attorney, Brian, from New York, who is portrayed flawlessly as a twitching man on the edge of a breakdown, Kurtz-style.
'Brian was a tall, slender man of fifty who wore a bandana, combat fatigues and had an abiding interest in guerilla warfare and the art of survival in the jungle. He cut a clearing in the forest and erected a palisade of sharply pointed staves, as if at any moment he was going to be attacked.'
It is true that the visitors to the village are as lampooned as much as the natives. American wives trust no-one, believing they are in a land of thieves, and have to back down in the face of a certain amount of contradictory evidence. Middle-class Brits buy property and award Vinton, perhaps the most warm-hearted native, the job of caretaker with the condition he is not to use the house or any of their possessions in their years of absence (he does). A man on the VSO scheme is snared by local prostitute made good Jackie, who already has a stream of undissolved marriages behind her to westerners who promised to get her off the island for good. In fact the clash of cultures offers some of the strongest writing in the book. When, after years of faithful service, Vinton is brought to London to stay with his employees and experience their way of life, the reader identifies with Vinton and his world more than with the people of the White Cube Gallery (Hirst and all) that he finds himself hanging out with. But it is perhaps the depiction of Shepherd Bush George that is my favourite. A retiree to his native Jamaica after decades working on London buses he is confident his experience gives him the cachet of a village elder who has seen the world and risen to mighty heights and cannot understand why the rest of the community does not see him the same way. He is the embodiment of a clash of cultures, never quite accepted despite his eagerness and tremendous good will.
Funny, warm-hearted and wonderfully written this book is testimony to the author's lifetime spent enjoying and exploring the Jamaica that begins where the resorts end. It is the type of love letter that rightly fits an enduring relationship: evidence of a realistic devotion that recognises nothing can ever be perfect; secure enough to enjoy a bit of ribbing alongside.
In telling the interlinked stories of the inhabitants of Angel Bay, Jamaica, the novel reminds me of John Steinbeck's most picaresque novel, Tortilla Flat. Kennaway makes the distinction early in the book that the people of Angel Beach are very different from their neighbours in Firefly.
'Firefly Bay was the prettiest village on the north coast of Jamaica, with the exception of Negril, whose picture postcard beauty was enough to damn it. It had the benefit of a sheltered beach, a breezy promontory, a fresh-water river, fertile, easily turned soil, and productive fishing grounds. But it was the people of Firefly Bay who were really remarkable. A tight-knit, determined community from the very beginning, they passed the desire for their village to prosper and grow from one generation to another. For this laudible ambition they suffered the derision of other less progressive villages on the coast, like their immediate neighbours, Angel Beach, but were never deflected from their purpose by the criticism of the unenlightened.
In Firefly Bay they learnt early the civilised art of enjoying themselves with moderation. They alone could meet in the wooden bar by the bend in the road, enjoy a few drinks, put the cork back in the rum, and go to bed sober. In other villages, like Angel Beach, when a cork was removed from a bottle of alcohol, it was flung in the sea. But the next night, when the improvident drunks of Angel Beach had nottin fi drink, the men of Firefly Bay still had nearly three-quarters of their bottle of rum left. And not only were they clever in Firefly Bay, but they were kind. If one of them began to lose more than he could afford to, playing dominoes, his friends refused to play any more with him, and more often than not escorted him to his yard to prevent him finding anyone else to whom to lose money. That was the behaviour of a community that really cared. In Angel Beach, if a man hit a losing streak at poker, word quickly got round, and friends would get out of bed and hurry to the game so they could strip him of his last dollar.
Unfortunately, Firefly Bay people got an undeserved reputation for being priggish and self-important. When a Royal Tour of the West Indies was made in 1984, the foolish people dem of Angel Beach joked that Mrs Queen was only coming to the Caribbean to see Firefly Bay. Firefly Bay easily rose above the criticism; they knew Angel Beach people to be lazy, irresponsible and incapable of taking the important things in life, like being a little mindful of what others thought of you, at all seriously. It is the lazy and irresponsible men, women and picknee of Angel Beach whose stories are told here.'
This is, of course, to the book's credit. Who wants to read of self-contained, sober people? What's the fun in that? And the Angel Beachers are funny. Chancers, hedonists, prostitutes, bar-keepers untroubled with custom, they long to get in on the tourist action but forever watch coaches of white westerners speed through their village without stopping on their way to and from the airport.
With chapters like 'Tree Bad Gal,' 'Drogs Biznis' and 'Yami Ave a Vision' the author shows an excellent way with his patois that studs the dialogue with realism, anchoring the characters in a world that is far-out to the point of delicious absurdity. The King of Scams U-Roy tries to pass himself off as a dancehall legend for the duration of a concert although he only knows the single lyric, "Cheek a bow, cheek a bow, cheek a bow wow wow." The ancient Wilbert finds bags of cocaine washed up on the beach and mistakes it for washing powder. The real deal rasta Yami has a vision to build a bar on the land of retired tax attorney, Brian, from New York, who is portrayed flawlessly as a twitching man on the edge of a breakdown, Kurtz-style.
'Brian was a tall, slender man of fifty who wore a bandana, combat fatigues and had an abiding interest in guerilla warfare and the art of survival in the jungle. He cut a clearing in the forest and erected a palisade of sharply pointed staves, as if at any moment he was going to be attacked.'
It is true that the visitors to the village are as lampooned as much as the natives. American wives trust no-one, believing they are in a land of thieves, and have to back down in the face of a certain amount of contradictory evidence. Middle-class Brits buy property and award Vinton, perhaps the most warm-hearted native, the job of caretaker with the condition he is not to use the house or any of their possessions in their years of absence (he does). A man on the VSO scheme is snared by local prostitute made good Jackie, who already has a stream of undissolved marriages behind her to westerners who promised to get her off the island for good. In fact the clash of cultures offers some of the strongest writing in the book. When, after years of faithful service, Vinton is brought to London to stay with his employees and experience their way of life, the reader identifies with Vinton and his world more than with the people of the White Cube Gallery (Hirst and all) that he finds himself hanging out with. But it is perhaps the depiction of Shepherd Bush George that is my favourite. A retiree to his native Jamaica after decades working on London buses he is confident his experience gives him the cachet of a village elder who has seen the world and risen to mighty heights and cannot understand why the rest of the community does not see him the same way. He is the embodiment of a clash of cultures, never quite accepted despite his eagerness and tremendous good will.
Funny, warm-hearted and wonderfully written this book is testimony to the author's lifetime spent enjoying and exploring the Jamaica that begins where the resorts end. It is the type of love letter that rightly fits an enduring relationship: evidence of a realistic devotion that recognises nothing can ever be perfect; secure enough to enjoy a bit of ribbing alongside.
May 17, 2022
It’s not often that Eland publish a book of fiction but when they do it never fails to surprise me with just how caught up I get, temporarily forgetting that it is all made up. One People is set in a Jamaican hamlet, full of what I’m guessing are squatters, these people are living their lives as full as their circumstances will allow and they are some of the happiest you’ll ever meet. Kennaway has written this book in the local patois and it is this use of language that pulls you in, the sing-song flow of speech is almost mesmerising and your inner-voice instantly picks it up, what could have been a potentially difficult book to understand works perfectly. The book is not one story and neither is it really a collection of short stories, what has been put together here is an anthology of local lore, imagine a gathering of friends where you’re all reminiscing about the good old times and the crazy stuff you got up to.
The characters are so good, there are a lot and each of them appear on the pages so vividly you don’t lose track of who’s who. A few of my favourites were Yami a true Rastafarian living at a level of peace we can only dream of, U-Roy a wily chap that is far wiser than he realises as he can come up with a scam instantly and while it doesn’t always work out each scam just builds on his legend and then there is Vinton who is probably the poorest in the hamlet but due to hard work and a lack of fear he could become the most successful. This is one of those places where everybody knows everybody and gossip flows quicker than the actual events.
The book is one of the funniest I’ve read, there is a constant stream of humour and crazy situations, even the little things in the background had me laughing, the coach driver screeching to a halt at bar to neck a couple beers whilst the tourists look on. The scams the locals pull off, games of footballs, home-keeping, obsessions with TVs, road signs and the treatment of tourists, there is so much jammed into these pages.
This book is endearing, you’ll fall in love with the place and the people and before you know it you’ll be hopping on a plane to fall for a scam….yes I am currently writing this review as I fly over the Atlantic…..
Blog review: https://felcherman.wordpress.com/2022...
The characters are so good, there are a lot and each of them appear on the pages so vividly you don’t lose track of who’s who. A few of my favourites were Yami a true Rastafarian living at a level of peace we can only dream of, U-Roy a wily chap that is far wiser than he realises as he can come up with a scam instantly and while it doesn’t always work out each scam just builds on his legend and then there is Vinton who is probably the poorest in the hamlet but due to hard work and a lack of fear he could become the most successful. This is one of those places where everybody knows everybody and gossip flows quicker than the actual events.
The book is one of the funniest I’ve read, there is a constant stream of humour and crazy situations, even the little things in the background had me laughing, the coach driver screeching to a halt at bar to neck a couple beers whilst the tourists look on. The scams the locals pull off, games of footballs, home-keeping, obsessions with TVs, road signs and the treatment of tourists, there is so much jammed into these pages.
This book is endearing, you’ll fall in love with the place and the people and before you know it you’ll be hopping on a plane to fall for a scam….yes I am currently writing this review as I fly over the Atlantic…..
Blog review: https://felcherman.wordpress.com/2022...
July 12, 2022
On the northwest of the island of Jamacia is a tiny hamlet called Cousin Cove. It is alongside the sea and it is full of larger-than-life characters who are making the best of the life that they have there. There are no secrets in this place and as soon as anything of interest begins to happen people are drawn in to see what is happening.
There are eleven short interconnected stories in the book, with a rich array of characters in each. They are always on the lookout to supplement their meagre incomes but any means, fair or foul and had nothing to lose by taking a chance. Most people, especially tourists didn’t stop unless they happened to come unstuck on the road in. There were always lads waiting to help them out of the swamp in the hope of a few dollars.
Other stories concern those asked to look after tourists second homes and are quite surprised to find that they have returned without telling them they were returning. They have half an hour to reclaim the possessions that have been borrowed by other villagers. They all dream of getting of the island, something that they are very unlikely to ever have the chance of. Half of them have no idea where their birth certificate is.
My favourite story was Tree Bay Gyal. It is about three women who are using every trick they know to seduce a tourist. They, along with everyone else in Cousin Cove have plans for a money-making scheme and yet almost none get off the ground. Like all the other stories, there is always the scent of ganja in the background as they mull over their lives at the end of a spliff.
Kennaway has painted this evocative image of a tiny Jamaican village and I really liked this. It has a dark streak of humour that runs all the way through the story as we learn how the characters try to make money from the various schemes they concoct. The patois took me a little while to get used to, but it feels authentic. I can recommend this is you want a little insight into how life was in Jamacia in the 1990s.
There are eleven short interconnected stories in the book, with a rich array of characters in each. They are always on the lookout to supplement their meagre incomes but any means, fair or foul and had nothing to lose by taking a chance. Most people, especially tourists didn’t stop unless they happened to come unstuck on the road in. There were always lads waiting to help them out of the swamp in the hope of a few dollars.
Other stories concern those asked to look after tourists second homes and are quite surprised to find that they have returned without telling them they were returning. They have half an hour to reclaim the possessions that have been borrowed by other villagers. They all dream of getting of the island, something that they are very unlikely to ever have the chance of. Half of them have no idea where their birth certificate is.
My favourite story was Tree Bay Gyal. It is about three women who are using every trick they know to seduce a tourist. They, along with everyone else in Cousin Cove have plans for a money-making scheme and yet almost none get off the ground. Like all the other stories, there is always the scent of ganja in the background as they mull over their lives at the end of a spliff.
Kennaway has painted this evocative image of a tiny Jamaican village and I really liked this. It has a dark streak of humour that runs all the way through the story as we learn how the characters try to make money from the various schemes they concoct. The patois took me a little while to get used to, but it feels authentic. I can recommend this is you want a little insight into how life was in Jamacia in the 1990s.
April 20, 2022
Cousins Cove is a real village, but the stories in Guy Kennaway’s comic novel are fiction, gathered during his first ten years as an idle British expat in Jamaica.
“If you travel to the parishes of St James, Hanover and Westmoreland,” he writes, “you will not find the characters in these pages, but will find their joy, friendliness, strength and defiance in the people who live there now.”
Anyone who hadn’t grown up in a small town where everyone knows everyone’s business could be forgiven for thinking such characters are unbelievable. I can assure you they are entirely plausible, though I’ve never been to Jamaica and cannot speak Patwa. It’s the nicknames, you see, tied to fantastic exploits on a local scale; they are a hallmark of small town life.
The people of Kennaway’s Cousins Cove are “lazy, irresponsible and incapable of taking the important things in life, like being a little mindful of what others thought of you, at all seriously.”
They’re filled with lofty plans they have no intention of attempting, but that doesn’t matter in a place so forgiving of low achievers:
“You could be the best, or at the very least brilliant, in your chosen field, without achieving a thing. It was enough simply to talk about it. Dreams were as highly regarded as actions; words were as valued as deeds. Everyone had a money-making scheme in the planning stage, and no-one felt any pressure to get it off the ground.”
Those who tried were nearly always undone in the process, like the guy who bragged about knowing a singer from Kingston and sold tickets for a concert without the star performer. He was caught in the end, but it didn’t matter because he got away with the cash and a girl, and built his legend — and his nickname — on the story.
The world of the Cove — a blessed place, “a little Eden made more interesting by the Fall” — is populated by wannabe drug dealers, resourceful beach prostitutes and rental dreads who nurse warm bottles of Red Stripe beer and seduce overweight tourist spinsters in Negril for a little extra cash and a good time.
Originally published in 1997, Kennaway has described One People as “a love letter to a little Jamaican fishing community”.
It is funny, endearing and deeply human, and it made me want to go there.
“If you travel to the parishes of St James, Hanover and Westmoreland,” he writes, “you will not find the characters in these pages, but will find their joy, friendliness, strength and defiance in the people who live there now.”
Anyone who hadn’t grown up in a small town where everyone knows everyone’s business could be forgiven for thinking such characters are unbelievable. I can assure you they are entirely plausible, though I’ve never been to Jamaica and cannot speak Patwa. It’s the nicknames, you see, tied to fantastic exploits on a local scale; they are a hallmark of small town life.
The people of Kennaway’s Cousins Cove are “lazy, irresponsible and incapable of taking the important things in life, like being a little mindful of what others thought of you, at all seriously.”
They’re filled with lofty plans they have no intention of attempting, but that doesn’t matter in a place so forgiving of low achievers:
“You could be the best, or at the very least brilliant, in your chosen field, without achieving a thing. It was enough simply to talk about it. Dreams were as highly regarded as actions; words were as valued as deeds. Everyone had a money-making scheme in the planning stage, and no-one felt any pressure to get it off the ground.”
Those who tried were nearly always undone in the process, like the guy who bragged about knowing a singer from Kingston and sold tickets for a concert without the star performer. He was caught in the end, but it didn’t matter because he got away with the cash and a girl, and built his legend — and his nickname — on the story.
The world of the Cove — a blessed place, “a little Eden made more interesting by the Fall” — is populated by wannabe drug dealers, resourceful beach prostitutes and rental dreads who nurse warm bottles of Red Stripe beer and seduce overweight tourist spinsters in Negril for a little extra cash and a good time.
Originally published in 1997, Kennaway has described One People as “a love letter to a little Jamaican fishing community”.
It is funny, endearing and deeply human, and it made me want to go there.
April 21, 2024
Sorely tempted to give two stars, but will round up to three as my issues here aren't related to the writing, which wasn't bad.
Another reviewer used the term 'patronising', which works for me. That almost everyone loves this story I find troubling. Stereotypes come from somewhere, as they say. However, the glorification, almost adulation, of cheating people, stealing, violence, etc. seemed a mockery of the many Jamaicans I have met here in the States. I don't want to say more, but I'm amazed at the reports that (most) Jamaican readers found the story ... amusing.
As a farce, it has it moments. The final piece was probably the best part. Overall, I disliked the story. Maybe, I'll run across a story about honest, non-violent Jamaicans to balance out this one?
Another reviewer used the term 'patronising', which works for me. That almost everyone loves this story I find troubling. Stereotypes come from somewhere, as they say. However, the glorification, almost adulation, of cheating people, stealing, violence, etc. seemed a mockery of the many Jamaicans I have met here in the States. I don't want to say more, but I'm amazed at the reports that (most) Jamaican readers found the story ... amusing.
As a farce, it has it moments. The final piece was probably the best part. Overall, I disliked the story. Maybe, I'll run across a story about honest, non-violent Jamaicans to balance out this one?
January 23, 2023
A fun read, very thought provoking
August 28, 2023
Well written and fun, but at times patronizing. Surely a product of its time.
December 1, 2010
I loved this book!
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews