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Black Sheep Boy: A Novel in Stories
Winner of the 2017 PEN Center USA Award for Fiction
Meet Boo, a wild-hearted boy from the bayou land of Louisiana. Misfit, outcast, loner. Call him anything but a victim. Sissy, fairy, Jenny Woman. Son of a mixed-race Holy Ghost mother and a Cajun French phantom father. In a series of tough and tender stories, he encounters gender outlaws, drag queen renegades, and a rogues gallery of sex-starved priests, perverted teachers, and murderous bar owners. To escape his haunted history, Boo must shed his old skin and make a new self. As he does, his story rises from dark and murk, from moss and mud, to reach a new light and a new brand of fairy tale. Cajun legends, queer fantasies, and universal myths converge into a powerful work of counter-realism. Black Sheep Boy is a song of passion and a novel of defiance.
Meet Boo, a wild-hearted boy from the bayou land of Louisiana. Misfit, outcast, loner. Call him anything but a victim. Sissy, fairy, Jenny Woman. Son of a mixed-race Holy Ghost mother and a Cajun French phantom father. In a series of tough and tender stories, he encounters gender outlaws, drag queen renegades, and a rogues gallery of sex-starved priests, perverted teachers, and murderous bar owners. To escape his haunted history, Boo must shed his old skin and make a new self. As he does, his story rises from dark and murk, from moss and mud, to reach a new light and a new brand of fairy tale. Cajun legends, queer fantasies, and universal myths converge into a powerful work of counter-realism. Black Sheep Boy is a song of passion and a novel of defiance.
208 pages, Hardcover
First published May 10, 2016
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July 11, 2017I was lucky enough to interview Martin Pousson a few months ago and we became fast friends, but I’d only had a chance to read a few of the stories in this book at the time, and so I finally sat down with it properly. A novel in stories about a Cajun queer boy growing up in Louisiana, this book is a gorgeous piece of literature. I loved the writing, which swoops melodically around while also being totally coherent (hard to do), and the flavor of Louisiana and Creole and Cajun traditions and their slow loss were incredibly affecting.
–Ilana Masad
from The Best Books We Read In April 2017: http://bookriot.com/2017/05/01/riot-r...
–Ilana Masad
from The Best Books We Read In April 2017: http://bookriot.com/2017/05/01/riot-r...
August 28, 2016
Full disclosure: I've known Martin Pousson for a long, long time. Decades, in fact. It can be a little awkward having artists as friends: will I like their new work? What will I say if I don't? Thankfully, that's never been a problem with Martin. He's a master of language and a magnificent storyteller.
In some ways, Martin and I had similar upbringings. Our parents came from humble, country backgrounds. Our mothers strove to give us the best of everything: clothes, toys, an education, far more than they'd had growing up. Our fathers worked day and night to meet our mothers' demands, and as a result, they figured less into our lives.
But Martin's mother was ambitious in the extreme. In his writing, she's always pushing, nagging, coddling, scolding, concerned about appearances and keeping up. (She reminds me a little of Rebecca Wells' mom in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, but so, so much crazier. And more real.) Not surprisingly, his mother figures prominently in his first novel/memoir, No Place, Louisiana, and in his second, Black Sheep Boy.
You might wonder how someone could wring two memoirs out of one childhood, but in Martin's case, there's plenty of material to explore, and there's astonishingly little overlap between the books.
More importantly, they're written in dramatically different styles. They're companion pieces, best read together.
No Place, Louisiana is the fairly straightforward story of Martin's childhood. I'd describe it as creative nonfiction: a real-life, start-to-finish story laid out in stunning prose.
Black Sheep Boy is told through vignettes, 15 stories of events that took place over the first 20-ish years of Martin's life. They unfold, unravel, dip, and climb through chapters, paragraphs, and sentences comprised of pure poetry.
Put another way: in No Place, Louisiana, Martin goes from Point A to Point B to Point C, connecting the dots of his own story. In Black Sheep Boy, the connecting lines disappear, and Martin dives deep into the dots themselves, exploring and explaining how he's come to be who he's come to be.
As such, Black Sheep Boy doesn't have a conventional plot; Martin himself is the throughline. Each chapter brings its own story, its own mesmerizing turns of phrase, its own climaxes -- sometimes literally. It's a magnificent read for anyone, but for this gay man of a certain age, it wasn't just beautiful, it was a look at part of my own life.
In some ways, Martin and I had similar upbringings. Our parents came from humble, country backgrounds. Our mothers strove to give us the best of everything: clothes, toys, an education, far more than they'd had growing up. Our fathers worked day and night to meet our mothers' demands, and as a result, they figured less into our lives.
But Martin's mother was ambitious in the extreme. In his writing, she's always pushing, nagging, coddling, scolding, concerned about appearances and keeping up. (She reminds me a little of Rebecca Wells' mom in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, but so, so much crazier. And more real.) Not surprisingly, his mother figures prominently in his first novel/memoir, No Place, Louisiana, and in his second, Black Sheep Boy.
You might wonder how someone could wring two memoirs out of one childhood, but in Martin's case, there's plenty of material to explore, and there's astonishingly little overlap between the books.
More importantly, they're written in dramatically different styles. They're companion pieces, best read together.
No Place, Louisiana is the fairly straightforward story of Martin's childhood. I'd describe it as creative nonfiction: a real-life, start-to-finish story laid out in stunning prose.
Black Sheep Boy is told through vignettes, 15 stories of events that took place over the first 20-ish years of Martin's life. They unfold, unravel, dip, and climb through chapters, paragraphs, and sentences comprised of pure poetry.
Put another way: in No Place, Louisiana, Martin goes from Point A to Point B to Point C, connecting the dots of his own story. In Black Sheep Boy, the connecting lines disappear, and Martin dives deep into the dots themselves, exploring and explaining how he's come to be who he's come to be.
As such, Black Sheep Boy doesn't have a conventional plot; Martin himself is the throughline. Each chapter brings its own story, its own mesmerizing turns of phrase, its own climaxes -- sometimes literally. It's a magnificent read for anyone, but for this gay man of a certain age, it wasn't just beautiful, it was a look at part of my own life.
April 16, 2016
My daughter and I saw Martin Pousson speak at the LA Festival of books and we loved his vibe. We were so pulled into his authenticity we had to buy the book. It’s a fantastic read! It’s poetic and honest, painful yet beautiful. So many breathtaking sentences just made me stop, and I had to read them over and over. “Some secrets held such power they had to remain hidden, not in a closet or at the bottom of a chest, but out in the open, where no one would notice." As a novel in stories—some realistic, some laced with fantasy—the narrater’s life is broken up into powerful events. Detailed accounts of moments in his childhood, his school years, and his early years of adulthood come together in a fragmented yet intimate portrait. It’s the kind of book that leaves out a lot of pieces of the story, but the character is so complete, so real, the experience feels whole.
May 5, 2017
I had the great fortune to see Martin Pousson speak at a panel of LGBTQIA+ writers at the LA Festival of Books. His voice stood out in particular because he championed both an aesthetic and political queerness to me; some of the other writers seemed perfectly content writing without plan or purpose and some remained contentedly tone-deaf to the urgency of liberation in the current political climate. Martin stood true. I had a feeling he was doing something right when an audience member asked outright what "brand" he was because he seemed uncomfortably hard "to pin down." A white gay man, obviously, asking to pigeonhole another member of the community. Shocking, I know.
Black Sheep Boy has pages of perfection in it. The entirety of "Revelator", for lack of a better word, is revelatory. The prose from beginning to end for that story in particular is abjectly stunning. Likewise - for those with the hardcover edition - take a look at pages 112 through 114 for a stirring portrait of a mother's multi-valence not only in background or culture but in the evolution of her disposition, her attitude about a queer child.
Pousson's focus is laser-sharp on the queering of his writing: it is an internal story for its protagonist and therefore only depends on dialogue for the most crucial moments; its conclusion is one not borne out of a direct tracing of a hero's journey or any comfortable verdict to his narrative, even if emotionally fulfilling; much of the narrative blurs together the magical and the realistic not in a Rushdie or Marquez way, but in a deliberately queer way. Pousson imbues the unsung aspects of the Cajun experience with chameleonic qualities, hammering home the qualities of shape-shifting and metamorphoses that both its queer protagonist and its Cajun characters must perform. As a certain bayou culture falls prey to oil men and exploitation, Pousson's protagonist struggles to allow his eccentricities to prosper in either a Pentecostal or Catholic swampland. Sometimes this approach dangerously flirts with the more stigmatized aspects of "literary fiction," but nevertheless Pousson has fused these paradigms and made them his own, and for this I give him credit.
And yet I do find this laser-sharpness elicits plenty of myopia on other aspects of this novel in stories: how much it relies on objects being crawfish red, how much it clings to mentioning wings in moments of levity, how the stories are vignettes that only cohere by sharing an author or a certain mood. Black Sheep Boy is thankfully short because near the end of the book, the world Pousson creates exercises its own metamorphosis and becomes claustrophobic. The mystical bayou rife with religious fervor begins to narrow even as the protagonist's visions start to expand. Surreal improbabilities in Louisiana give way to real drug-induced hallucination. Sequential arcs that engage with sexual trysts and certain niches of the gay community are appropriately raw, but imbue the book with a less-than-magical familiarity. The style started to lose momentum.
Pousson has dual muses in both geography and identity, as, I suppose, we all do. In some stories he fuses these two together spectacularly, and in others it seems that combination favors one too solidly over the other, or the recipe is effective but the focus could use more breath and breadth to be more exquisite. It's hard to "diagnose" a book that is so committed to evading all of the usual symptoms of queer literature, and that for the most part succeeds. Black Sheep Boy is perfectly enjoyable as a whole, admirable in its purpose, and dazzling at times.
Black Sheep Boy has pages of perfection in it. The entirety of "Revelator", for lack of a better word, is revelatory. The prose from beginning to end for that story in particular is abjectly stunning. Likewise - for those with the hardcover edition - take a look at pages 112 through 114 for a stirring portrait of a mother's multi-valence not only in background or culture but in the evolution of her disposition, her attitude about a queer child.
Pousson's focus is laser-sharp on the queering of his writing: it is an internal story for its protagonist and therefore only depends on dialogue for the most crucial moments; its conclusion is one not borne out of a direct tracing of a hero's journey or any comfortable verdict to his narrative, even if emotionally fulfilling; much of the narrative blurs together the magical and the realistic not in a Rushdie or Marquez way, but in a deliberately queer way. Pousson imbues the unsung aspects of the Cajun experience with chameleonic qualities, hammering home the qualities of shape-shifting and metamorphoses that both its queer protagonist and its Cajun characters must perform. As a certain bayou culture falls prey to oil men and exploitation, Pousson's protagonist struggles to allow his eccentricities to prosper in either a Pentecostal or Catholic swampland. Sometimes this approach dangerously flirts with the more stigmatized aspects of "literary fiction," but nevertheless Pousson has fused these paradigms and made them his own, and for this I give him credit.
And yet I do find this laser-sharpness elicits plenty of myopia on other aspects of this novel in stories: how much it relies on objects being crawfish red, how much it clings to mentioning wings in moments of levity, how the stories are vignettes that only cohere by sharing an author or a certain mood. Black Sheep Boy is thankfully short because near the end of the book, the world Pousson creates exercises its own metamorphosis and becomes claustrophobic. The mystical bayou rife with religious fervor begins to narrow even as the protagonist's visions start to expand. Surreal improbabilities in Louisiana give way to real drug-induced hallucination. Sequential arcs that engage with sexual trysts and certain niches of the gay community are appropriately raw, but imbue the book with a less-than-magical familiarity. The style started to lose momentum.
Pousson has dual muses in both geography and identity, as, I suppose, we all do. In some stories he fuses these two together spectacularly, and in others it seems that combination favors one too solidly over the other, or the recipe is effective but the focus could use more breath and breadth to be more exquisite. It's hard to "diagnose" a book that is so committed to evading all of the usual symptoms of queer literature, and that for the most part succeeds. Black Sheep Boy is perfectly enjoyable as a whole, admirable in its purpose, and dazzling at times.
January 12, 2019
The writing is so sensual that it's almost fantastical. Absolutely heartbreaking with no pity, either given or requested.
September 6, 2024
Brutal yet hopeful.
July 13, 2016
**4.5 stars**
This is a highly literary work, rather than the more common gay romance. It's a dense and somewhat difficult read, on the level of a college literature course. Readers need to bring their thinking game for this one.
After finishing it, I'm still not sure how I feel. It's extraordinarily well-written, and I definitely enjoyed reading something minus the usual tropes and plot devices. However, I'm not sure I can say I liked it, exactly.
What I loved: the beautiful prose, the Louisiana setting, and a story that wasn't a romance. I appreciated the almost tall tale quality to it all and the rich history and cultural flavor. Because it isn't tied with direct reference to a particular era, it has a timeless quality to it.
What I wasn't fond of: I didn't have strong feelings of any kind toward the story's first-person narrator. He was neither easy to like nor easy to dislike. He's unreliable in the way most literary first-person narrators are, so it's hard to tell how much of what he says can be taken as "fact." I actively disliked nearly every other side character, even the ones I suspect I was supposed to like. There was simply no one to connect to, which made it harder to enjoy at an emotional level. At the end, I really wasn't sure what the point of the story had been all along other than a somewhat voyeuristic look at this kid's life.
This was a tough read, and I found I could only appreciate it in an intellectual rather than an emotional way. I prefer stories which deliver both. However, I recognize that it is indeed personal preference and not at all anything the story failed to do.
Ultimately, I'm giving this 4.5 stars only because it wasn't to my taste. It's otherwise a phenomenally well-written book which I believe readers who enjoy literary fiction will appreciate.
**I received a free copy in exchange for an honest review**
This is a highly literary work, rather than the more common gay romance. It's a dense and somewhat difficult read, on the level of a college literature course. Readers need to bring their thinking game for this one.
After finishing it, I'm still not sure how I feel. It's extraordinarily well-written, and I definitely enjoyed reading something minus the usual tropes and plot devices. However, I'm not sure I can say I liked it, exactly.
What I loved: the beautiful prose, the Louisiana setting, and a story that wasn't a romance. I appreciated the almost tall tale quality to it all and the rich history and cultural flavor. Because it isn't tied with direct reference to a particular era, it has a timeless quality to it.
What I wasn't fond of: I didn't have strong feelings of any kind toward the story's first-person narrator. He was neither easy to like nor easy to dislike. He's unreliable in the way most literary first-person narrators are, so it's hard to tell how much of what he says can be taken as "fact." I actively disliked nearly every other side character, even the ones I suspect I was supposed to like. There was simply no one to connect to, which made it harder to enjoy at an emotional level. At the end, I really wasn't sure what the point of the story had been all along other than a somewhat voyeuristic look at this kid's life.
This was a tough read, and I found I could only appreciate it in an intellectual rather than an emotional way. I prefer stories which deliver both. However, I recognize that it is indeed personal preference and not at all anything the story failed to do.
Ultimately, I'm giving this 4.5 stars only because it wasn't to my taste. It's otherwise a phenomenally well-written book which I believe readers who enjoy literary fiction will appreciate.
**I received a free copy in exchange for an honest review**
June 29, 2016
This really is an extraordinarily good piece of writing. Queer lit-fic, so not "MM" romance. I don't have enough superlatives for the writing and the story. There's 24 status updates attached here to give you an idea of the writing, if you're interested.
I'll add something more here later but a full review is on the blog. I can't spoil the book because it's too fluid yet complex to write a spoiler review.
I'll add something more here later but a full review is on the blog. I can't spoil the book because it's too fluid yet complex to write a spoiler review.
June 21, 2017
What started off as promising devolved into a nonsensical, self-indulgent mess. I had high hopes for this book based upon critical reviews, but was so disappointed. Rebellious *and* self-loathing is pathetic, not revelatory. Polluted with not even gay stereotypes, but homophobic caricatures that made me cringe. Lots of self flagellation with zero joy - would not recommend this book to anyone.
October 14, 2016
3.0 of 5 stars – Beautifully Prosaic, But Slow, Hard to Follow Story.
This story was beautifully written, but sometimes because of that and because of its structure, it ended up also being a slow and hard to follow story.
This was what I call high lit; and as is sometimes the case for me, the prosaic style at times got in the way or was too much, almost as if it was written that way just to impress. Sometimes I lost the meaning of descriptions that were so obscure that I couldn’t grasp the analogy or symbolism. And it kept going on with that symbolism so much so that I either got tired of it or I got tired of trying to figure it out. I do I’m not adept at reading this style, so this very well could be enjoyed and more meaningful to someone who loves poetry, hidden meanings, indirect language, and a lot of symbolisms and analogies to tell the story.
In a way, the style, the boy's story, the family, the cultural setting, and the gay aspects reminded me of Truman Capote's Other Rooms, Other Voices. That sets a high standard, but even so, this fell short of that. I will say that I enjoyed his descriptions of the Cajun culture and scenes. And I did sympathize with the MC (Martin) having to grow up gay in an oppressive environment – a “black sheep boy.” Pousson helped me feel and relate to that, which helped it along for me. Other than that, I don't think the first person POV of Martin worked out well. Seeing things through his eyes, I never grew to care much about him, and I didn't even like a number of the other numerous characters.
I observed but wasn't emotionally engaged; and with all that language in the way, the plot progressed slowly to the point of being boring in spots. Indeed, the first 40 pages mostly described Martin’s Mama and her past (not about him), which didn't interest me. And from there, the story was a bit convoluted. Even though this was intended to be (as the subtitle says) a series of "stories,” they were too disjointed, I wanted them to be tied together more smoothly. The ending was ok, if I understood it correctly; but then the Afterward threw me, presenting me with something the opposite of what I understood was previously said. Even the acknowledgements are muddled and a mystery in meaning.
This was a difficult, and at other times beautiful read, making it a hard one to rate. Ultimately, I went with how I felt, not how I think I should have felt because it was high lit; so I'd say it was ok. I enjoyed the language, and appreciated its creative approach, but it still didn't go further than that for me, especially when I compare it to similar kinds of stories.
This story was beautifully written, but sometimes because of that and because of its structure, it ended up also being a slow and hard to follow story.
This was what I call high lit; and as is sometimes the case for me, the prosaic style at times got in the way or was too much, almost as if it was written that way just to impress. Sometimes I lost the meaning of descriptions that were so obscure that I couldn’t grasp the analogy or symbolism. And it kept going on with that symbolism so much so that I either got tired of it or I got tired of trying to figure it out. I do I’m not adept at reading this style, so this very well could be enjoyed and more meaningful to someone who loves poetry, hidden meanings, indirect language, and a lot of symbolisms and analogies to tell the story.
In a way, the style, the boy's story, the family, the cultural setting, and the gay aspects reminded me of Truman Capote's Other Rooms, Other Voices. That sets a high standard, but even so, this fell short of that. I will say that I enjoyed his descriptions of the Cajun culture and scenes. And I did sympathize with the MC (Martin) having to grow up gay in an oppressive environment – a “black sheep boy.” Pousson helped me feel and relate to that, which helped it along for me. Other than that, I don't think the first person POV of Martin worked out well. Seeing things through his eyes, I never grew to care much about him, and I didn't even like a number of the other numerous characters.
I observed but wasn't emotionally engaged; and with all that language in the way, the plot progressed slowly to the point of being boring in spots. Indeed, the first 40 pages mostly described Martin’s Mama and her past (not about him), which didn't interest me. And from there, the story was a bit convoluted. Even though this was intended to be (as the subtitle says) a series of "stories,” they were too disjointed, I wanted them to be tied together more smoothly. The ending was ok, if I understood it correctly; but then the Afterward threw me, presenting me with something the opposite of what I understood was previously said. Even the acknowledgements are muddled and a mystery in meaning.
This was a difficult, and at other times beautiful read, making it a hard one to rate. Ultimately, I went with how I felt, not how I think I should have felt because it was high lit; so I'd say it was ok. I enjoyed the language, and appreciated its creative approach, but it still didn't go further than that for me, especially when I compare it to similar kinds of stories.
September 19, 2017
Beautiful book. Surreal, engaging, imaginative, provocative. Weaves words like a tapestry and mesmerizes you like a spell.
Full disclosure, I was a student of Martin Pousson's at Cal State Northridge for two semesters. He is very kind, and very well-read; infinitely intelligent and compassionate. He's also a master word-smith, able to bend and stretch the meaning of every word every way it can go for as far as it can go while still having technically the correct meaning. And he is SOOO well-read. You can mention any book, written by any author, from any genre, and odds are, not only has he read it, but he can name-drop at least five other works just like it to give context.
And his mastery of words and language are put to good use in this book, where he paints such a breathtaking portrait. Despite it being 180 pages, I blew through it so quickly it felt like it was over in only eight page. I was so enchanted that I blew through the book in an afternoon, though it was by no means light or empty or mindless. It was so wonderfully engaging.
I would highly recommend this to anyone.
Full disclosure, I was a student of Martin Pousson's at Cal State Northridge for two semesters. He is very kind, and very well-read; infinitely intelligent and compassionate. He's also a master word-smith, able to bend and stretch the meaning of every word every way it can go for as far as it can go while still having technically the correct meaning. And he is SOOO well-read. You can mention any book, written by any author, from any genre, and odds are, not only has he read it, but he can name-drop at least five other works just like it to give context.
And his mastery of words and language are put to good use in this book, where he paints such a breathtaking portrait. Despite it being 180 pages, I blew through it so quickly it felt like it was over in only eight page. I was so enchanted that I blew through the book in an afternoon, though it was by no means light or empty or mindless. It was so wonderfully engaging.
I would highly recommend this to anyone.
August 13, 2024
Martin Pousson's novel in stories reads so much like a memoir I can't help but wonder how much of it is based off of events in the author's own life.
The narrative of this story is tied together through chapters and sections that are vignettes featuring the protagonist as he grows up in the bayous of Louisiana and comes to terms with his burgeoning sexuality.
I knew nothing about this book or author before diving into this book. I found it on a book donation shelf at my local library and thought it sounded interesting. I was really impressed with this novel that I'm still insistent reads like a memoir. Pousson has a powerful grasp of language, and his turns of phrase are beautiful and poignant. His depiction of life in the bayou is atmospheric and vivid. Place and culture play just as important of a role in this book as his main character.
This is a book whose text is so rich that it is definitely worth reading more than once. I'm glad I stumbled on it.
The narrative of this story is tied together through chapters and sections that are vignettes featuring the protagonist as he grows up in the bayous of Louisiana and comes to terms with his burgeoning sexuality.
I knew nothing about this book or author before diving into this book. I found it on a book donation shelf at my local library and thought it sounded interesting. I was really impressed with this novel that I'm still insistent reads like a memoir. Pousson has a powerful grasp of language, and his turns of phrase are beautiful and poignant. His depiction of life in the bayou is atmospheric and vivid. Place and culture play just as important of a role in this book as his main character.
This is a book whose text is so rich that it is definitely worth reading more than once. I'm glad I stumbled on it.
January 19, 2021
This definitely isn't a book for everyone, but I loved it. Pousson's writing is lush and beautiful, the plentiful metaphors are effective and strongly evocative of the setting, and his style clearly supported the story he wanted to tell. This is a novel about one boy's life told through short stories, so the picture is fragmented and frustrating at times, but in a way that I found actually made the story feel clearer and more complete. I purposely took my time and savored this book because I loved the writing so much.
That said, I did prefer the first two-thirds of the book, in part because despite the content being equally difficult throughout, the tone felt a little lighter when the protagonist was younger.
Major content warnings:
That said, I did prefer the first two-thirds of the book, in part because despite the content being equally difficult throughout, the tone felt a little lighter when the protagonist was younger.
Major content warnings:
September 27, 2017
A good candidate for my best-ever fictionish shelf this "novel in stories" absolutely stunned me. I highlighted entire chapters because the writing is just that good and Pousson makes words come together into unforgettable images... written with a level of vulnerability that reminds me of Justin Torres, these stories transport the reader deep into a world where real and unreal, true and untrue lose all sense of meaning.
March 14, 2018
Black Sheep Boy by Martin Pousson is a novel in the form of a short story collection. This vivid story, rich with imagery & magic, creates a dreamlike narrative for the reader. This coming-of-age story seamlessly tackles topics of home, sexuality, abuse, and the city of New Orleans. One of my favorite books of all time.
I purchased this book through L.A.'s fabulous book mobile, twenty stories. You can find them on Instagram @twentystoriesla.
I purchased this book through L.A.'s fabulous book mobile, twenty stories. You can find them on Instagram @twentystoriesla.
April 9, 2018
Breathtaking.
May 16, 2018
Eh. Moody, atmospheric queer fiction that does an excellent job of elevating familiar storylines in queer (gay male) lives. A pretty echo.
August 13, 2018
This isn’t so much about story, more about the language of feelings, language of place. It’s beautiful.
June 29, 2022
Really 3.5 stars.
June 7, 2016
A Joyfully Jay review.
4.25 stars
Full disclosure: I am probably not smart enough to have read this book, let alone provide a worthy review, but a promise is a promise…
Pulp fiction this book is not. It’s firmly in the literary vein PLUS it’s not a romance novel, so the structure is far removed from the Bob-and-Larry-wind-up-falling-in-love-and-here’s-how-it-happened form. What it lacks in familiar tropes, it makes up for with the stunningly rich backdrop of Louisiana bayou starring a hodge podge cast of characters that mirror the kaleidoscope of individuals that might crop up in anyone’s life.
We see our main character at ages 7, 13, 16, and 18ish. Each juncture showcases him in the kinds of situations that, were I him, would make me ask myself how I ever got myself into that situation in the first place. Over each installment, our MC is shows how unapologetically him he is, from when he’s a little kid, straight through to the end of his teenage years where the story ends. The earliest phase we read about juxtaposes the swishy walk and lisping talk the 7-year old MC shows with his mother’s passionate desire to have a “normal” boy. Yet even at such a young age, there’s not denying he’s anything but what Louisianians call a “Jenny Woman.” (Note to reader: there is a scene where he performs a sexual act on an older-but-still-underage neighbor boy. It’s not graphic, it’s not even overtly described, but it clearly happens on-page…Note on the note—this is part of what solidifies the character’s self of self, I’d argue. I’m not trying to defend anyone’s actions in this fiction’s accounting, but I found the MC’s initial reaction telling: he shrugs off what just happened in favor of picking his reward, a comic book from the older boy’s collection.)
Read Camille’s review in its entirety here.
4.25 stars
Full disclosure: I am probably not smart enough to have read this book, let alone provide a worthy review, but a promise is a promise…
Pulp fiction this book is not. It’s firmly in the literary vein PLUS it’s not a romance novel, so the structure is far removed from the Bob-and-Larry-wind-up-falling-in-love-and-here’s-how-it-happened form. What it lacks in familiar tropes, it makes up for with the stunningly rich backdrop of Louisiana bayou starring a hodge podge cast of characters that mirror the kaleidoscope of individuals that might crop up in anyone’s life.
We see our main character at ages 7, 13, 16, and 18ish. Each juncture showcases him in the kinds of situations that, were I him, would make me ask myself how I ever got myself into that situation in the first place. Over each installment, our MC is shows how unapologetically him he is, from when he’s a little kid, straight through to the end of his teenage years where the story ends. The earliest phase we read about juxtaposes the swishy walk and lisping talk the 7-year old MC shows with his mother’s passionate desire to have a “normal” boy. Yet even at such a young age, there’s not denying he’s anything but what Louisianians call a “Jenny Woman.” (Note to reader: there is a scene where he performs a sexual act on an older-but-still-underage neighbor boy. It’s not graphic, it’s not even overtly described, but it clearly happens on-page…Note on the note—this is part of what solidifies the character’s self of self, I’d argue. I’m not trying to defend anyone’s actions in this fiction’s accounting, but I found the MC’s initial reaction telling: he shrugs off what just happened in favor of picking his reward, a comic book from the older boy’s collection.)
Read Camille’s review in its entirety here.
October 5, 2016
Black Sheep Boy was a prosaic and personal story about one boy’s experiences in the Cajun culture of southern Louisiana.
Martin Pousson had a literary style, following in the steps of more famous Southern story tellers. Those are big shoes to fill, and this does at least a decent job of emulating them with its prosaic images of people, places and culture. Although the prose seemed forced at times, not natural to the story, it would still appeal to those who, like me, are willing at times to set aside the story to enjoy the creative turn of phrase or get lost in the vividly painted descriptions just for their own sake (such as a memorable one for me, the Cajun man at Mardi Gras).
Being a southerner myself and fond of the bayous of southern Louisiana, I enjoyed the colorful Cajun setting and colloquialisms. It was constructed basically as a set of roughly chronological stories that progressed well enough through the main character's (Martin’s) young life, but it seemed a little too slow and choppy at times, even for a slowed-down southern pace. And again with my southern experiences, I sympathized with those that Martin had as a gay boy and young man growing up in that rural, Cajun country; and I enjoyed the “characters” he met along the way.
I imagine this is the second of a long of series of books yet to come from this talented writer, deserving 4 stars.
[I'm excited to have won this as a Goodreads First Read – so thanks, Rare Bird Lit!]
Martin Pousson had a literary style, following in the steps of more famous Southern story tellers. Those are big shoes to fill, and this does at least a decent job of emulating them with its prosaic images of people, places and culture. Although the prose seemed forced at times, not natural to the story, it would still appeal to those who, like me, are willing at times to set aside the story to enjoy the creative turn of phrase or get lost in the vividly painted descriptions just for their own sake (such as a memorable one for me, the Cajun man at Mardi Gras).
Being a southerner myself and fond of the bayous of southern Louisiana, I enjoyed the colorful Cajun setting and colloquialisms. It was constructed basically as a set of roughly chronological stories that progressed well enough through the main character's (Martin’s) young life, but it seemed a little too slow and choppy at times, even for a slowed-down southern pace. And again with my southern experiences, I sympathized with those that Martin had as a gay boy and young man growing up in that rural, Cajun country; and I enjoyed the “characters” he met along the way.
I imagine this is the second of a long of series of books yet to come from this talented writer, deserving 4 stars.
[I'm excited to have won this as a Goodreads First Read – so thanks, Rare Bird Lit!]
February 14, 2017
Sometimes the setting and atmosphere takes on a most wonderful revelation into another world. Pousson exposes the world of the Acadiana in the bayou of Louisiana. This story of family (dysfunctional) and growing up in this world is illuminating. Told in short story format, one learns about Cajun life, customs, superstition. It bounces into dream world at times.
October 16, 2016
I received this book as a First Read. It's a nice collection of stories. The pace is slow. The book is strange and well suited for those who like oddball or quirky stories. It provides a nice glimpse into Cajun culture. It also makes readers ponder the loss and preservation of culture as different cultures mix.
June 29, 2016
Stories of very unique childhood told in an entirely unique and charming way.
July 24, 2016
Deeply emotional. Disjointed and disturbing. Growing up knowing who you are and living in the only world open to you. I was moved.
Received as a Goodreads giveaway
Received as a Goodreads giveaway
April 21, 2017
Full disclosure: I've known Martin Pousson for a long, long time. Decades, in fact. It can be a little awkward having artists as friends: will I like their new work? What will I say if I don't? Thankfully, that's never been a problem with Martin. He's a master of language and a magnificent storyteller.
In some ways, Martin and I had similar upbringings. Our parents came from humble, country backgrounds. Our mothers strove to give us the best of everything: clothes, toys, an education, far more than they'd had growing up. Our fathers worked day and night to meet our mothers' demands, and as a result, they figured less into our lives.
But Martin's mother was ambitious in the extreme. In his writing, she's always pushing, nagging, coddling, scolding, concerned about appearances and keeping up. (She reminds me a little of Rebecca Wells' mom in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood: A Novel (The Ya-Ya Series), but so, so much crazier. And more real.) Not surprisingly, his mother figures prominently in his first novel/memoir, No Place, Louisiana, and in his second, Black Sheep Boy.
You might wonder how someone could wring two memoirs out of one childhood, but in Martin's case, there's plenty of material to explore, and there's astonishingly little overlap between the books.
More importantly, they're written in dramatically different styles. They're companion pieces, best read together.
No Place, Louisiana is the fairly straightforward story of Martin's childhood. I'd describe it as creative nonfiction: a real-life, start-to-finish story laid out in stunning prose.
Black Sheep Boy is told through vignettes, 15 stories of events that took place over the first 20-ish years of Martin's life. They unfold, unravel, dip, and climb through chapters, paragraphs, and sentences comprised of pure poetry.
Put another way: in No Place, Louisiana, Martin goes from Point A to Point B to Point C, connecting the dots of his own story. In Black Sheep Boy, the connecting lines disappear, and Martin dives deep into the dots themselves, exploring and explaining how he's come to be who he's come to be.
As such, Black Sheep Boy doesn't have a conventional plot; Martin himself is the throughline. Each chapter brings its own story, its own mesmerizing turns of phrase, its own climaxes -- sometimes literally. It's a magnificent read for anyone, but for this gay man of a certain age, it wasn't just beautiful, it was a look at part of my own life.
In some ways, Martin and I had similar upbringings. Our parents came from humble, country backgrounds. Our mothers strove to give us the best of everything: clothes, toys, an education, far more than they'd had growing up. Our fathers worked day and night to meet our mothers' demands, and as a result, they figured less into our lives.
But Martin's mother was ambitious in the extreme. In his writing, she's always pushing, nagging, coddling, scolding, concerned about appearances and keeping up. (She reminds me a little of Rebecca Wells' mom in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood: A Novel (The Ya-Ya Series), but so, so much crazier. And more real.) Not surprisingly, his mother figures prominently in his first novel/memoir, No Place, Louisiana, and in his second, Black Sheep Boy.
You might wonder how someone could wring two memoirs out of one childhood, but in Martin's case, there's plenty of material to explore, and there's astonishingly little overlap between the books.
More importantly, they're written in dramatically different styles. They're companion pieces, best read together.
No Place, Louisiana is the fairly straightforward story of Martin's childhood. I'd describe it as creative nonfiction: a real-life, start-to-finish story laid out in stunning prose.
Black Sheep Boy is told through vignettes, 15 stories of events that took place over the first 20-ish years of Martin's life. They unfold, unravel, dip, and climb through chapters, paragraphs, and sentences comprised of pure poetry.
Put another way: in No Place, Louisiana, Martin goes from Point A to Point B to Point C, connecting the dots of his own story. In Black Sheep Boy, the connecting lines disappear, and Martin dives deep into the dots themselves, exploring and explaining how he's come to be who he's come to be.
As such, Black Sheep Boy doesn't have a conventional plot; Martin himself is the throughline. Each chapter brings its own story, its own mesmerizing turns of phrase, its own climaxes -- sometimes literally. It's a magnificent read for anyone, but for this gay man of a certain age, it wasn't just beautiful, it was a look at part of my own life.
April 18, 2017
Richly described in poetic imagery, Pousson evokes the bayou south of Louisiana in each of these related stories of his growth from abused sissy boy to out gay man. Family stories are retold as mythic folklore. Painful abusive events, some sexual and violent, are given the stature of rites of passage, making for an odd, unusual, unique and musical style.
April 23, 2017
Martin Pousson's musical voice plays its way across the page in a style that is all its own. With bold strokes and key moments, he paints his narrator's life near the bayous of Louisiana, in a country and culture that was learning to accept its queerness as much as the narrator himself does. There is so much in this book, so many key moments, so much to unpack from the smallest of utterings, that I emerged feeling as if the book must have held far more pages than it did - not because it felt lumbering, but because it's hard to believe the sheer amount I felt i got from it.
October 3, 2018
A lyrical novel about gay life in rural Louisiana, where gay is clearly counterculture, not marrieds living in suburbia and adopting children. On 10/20/17 I interviewed Pousson about Black Sheep Boy at https://latelastnightbooks.com/2017/1....
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