Nailah Folami Imoja's novel Pick of the Crop (Heinemann, 106pp., paperback, 0-435-98966-9) opens with a familiar, Bajan, boys-on-the-block scene, complete with spliff and tamarind tree. For a book geared toward young adult readers, this is somewhat surprising. There is the obligatory condemnation, which comes from our hero, Leroi Baines, even as the young offenders puff on. "I don't know why y'all always burning out wunna brains with that junk..." and "Wunna need to try and keep you mind and body clean. How you expect to get ahead?" But the first few pages resonate with other narrative imperatives. A book about calypso in Barbados, Imoja's novel opens as well in song—or, at least, to music of the night:
"The falsetto chirps of crickets and the shrieks of whistling frogs, the occasional shout...and the buzz of the high-power fluorescent streetlight created a soundtrack for the warm tropical night."
At last year's African & Caribbean Film Festival in Barbados, filmmaker Gladstone Yearwood expressed an immediate desire to capture and convey in his work "A Bajan aesthetic"—that sound, feel, taste, touch, or smell that is uniquely his people's. The mention in Pick of the Crop of local personalities like comedian Tevor Eastmond; of popular musicians Li'l Rick, Alison Hinds, Edwin Yearwood, Rupert "Rupee" Clarke, The Mighty Gabby, and Red Plastic Bag; of fast food hangout Chefette, is refreshing in a way.
Imoja is the first Barbadian to be published by Heinemann, although Pick of the Crop is not her first novel. She is the author of romance books in her Caribbean Passion series. She also puts her skills as a poet (First Impressions) to superior use in her characters' calypso compositions and dialect. Her nation language is virtually pitch-perfect. There are times during these brisk chapters when information could be better or more accurately provided (the "Garfield Sobers Gymnasium" should be referred to either as the Wildey Gymnasium or the Garfield Sobers Sports Complex). Otherwise the story, like Imoja's prose, is rather straightforward.
Leroi, a would-be musician, is discovered on the night in question by one-time calypso contender Bernard "Berns" Castle. Berns invites Leroi to audition for his calypso tent. Leroi's sweet voice and conscious lyrics are an instant hit. Berns renames him the Mighty Roy, and both men set their sights on winning the crown at the annual Pic-o-de-Crop calypso competition. Their names are obviously loaded: Leroi's translates into "the king," it is Berns' domain the younger man enters.
Leroi's love interest is Vanessa Parris, a rootsy gal from a somewhat protective, upper-middle-class family. He is joined on his quest by childhood friend Ritchie (who has a wealth of talent as a comedian). There's some affecting and comical support from Ma, Leroi's mother, and Mr Parris, Vanessa's father, repsectively, but the best drawn characters remain Leroi and Berns. This is understandable: the novel is really about how music (or any artistic pursuit) can consume an individual, particularly in the arena of calypso.
If Leroi and Vanessa are never quite as engaging as they should be as a couple, that might be because of what Selena, Vanessa's best friend, observes: "Two of them too perfect though." It isn't that their love at first sight isn't credible, it's just that Berns' years-long melancholy over losing his bid for the calypso crown is more real. We've all known or heard of caring, industrious, struggling West Indians—men and women down on their luck but not on their life; alone, estranged from family and loved ones, but trying hard not to be lonely; self-sacrificing to the point of self-destruction.
Fame comes quickly to Leroi: he is crowned king of calypso early on, it seems. At a little over a hundred pages, you suppose it would have to be so. Despite an evocative opening, the novel does feel as if it starts in the middle of somewhere or something, except without all the tension that usually implies.
A novella can be a powerhouse of a work when its author discovers how less is more. A number of books come to mind: A Month in the Country, The Catcher in the Rye, Things Fall Apart, The Lonely Londoners, any long short story by Alice Munro. In Pick of the Crop, a sense of urgency is largely missing, a sense of there being much at stake for any or all of the characters. Turnarounds, like Ritchie's convincing an ever hesitant Leroi to remain in competition, come too easily.
On the other hand, there is much of concern. On the big tent/small tent debate in Barbados, Imoja writes: "What had started out as a creative community rivalry had evolved into big business," with all the disdavantages and underhandedness that entailed at government and corporate levels. "In the ocean of funding there were big fish, little fish and sharks." The politics of the competition are well voiced.
Pick of the Crop stops rather than ends when the competition is over. There is an Epilogue, bit it could have focused on Leroi alone without loss of effect. The outcome for all of the characters is hardly ever in doubt. The results, by one of Barbados' most promising young novelists, are actually like those of a calypso competition: not entirely satisfying even though the performance is an enjoyable one.
This review first appeared in the Montreal Community Contact of May 6, 2005.
