Last year Swank-mo-tron highlighted an indie author in Dorian Dalta. In his first book, The Bonesaw Trail, I reviewed a moving but troubling short story, a story with a few beginner’s faults but much promise. Dalta’s sophomore effort, An Exceptional Zephyr, starts to deliver on that promise.
Once again, Dalta follows a format of alternating the narrative between the first-person Rahja and the third person story of Padre Pauly. Both characters are fairly despicable people, but both are oddly endearing. The tale of death and life is at once heartbreaking and joyous. This dichotomy may prove to be Dalta’s trademark. It was certainly a strength in his first book, and proves to be in this one as well.
We meet Rahja as an old man on his final journey. He is plagued by a weak heart, diabetes, a form of Parkinson’s disease, and a lifetime of alcoholism. His thoughts in his final days rest heavily on his ruined relationship with Rose and the years he spent separated from his son, Junior. Rahja is tended by his nephew. Dalta plays an odd trick with the nephew. While Rahja occasionally refers to him as Son, he is mostly just Nephew. Why does he never credit the man with a proper name? Nephew has left his own family behind in South America to take care of the ailing uncle, as tradition requires. The old man seemingly appreciates Nephew’s sacrifice and care, but also seems not to afford him respect or love. Those emotions are reserved for an estranged son, one who doesn’t seem to care much for his father or their shared past.
Interspersed with the tale of Rahja’s failing health is another story of another relationship, this one obviously inappropriate. Padre Pauly is, as you’d expect, a Catholic priest. In recent years the media has had an easy time with the failings of priests. Pauly is not, thankfully, interested in children. He does, however, forsake both his vows as a priest and his righteousness as a decent human being by taking up with another man’s wife. Pauly does not shy away from his own culpability in this relationship, though the woman in question, Vicka, is clearly something sinister in her own right. Pauly’s growth into a life he shouldn’t have is an intriguing counterpoint to Rahja’s exit from the life with which he’s cursed himself.
Both characters have their fair share of finger-pointing and self-doubt. Dalta does a sufficient job with expressing very human characters filled with doubts, (un)righteous indignation, their own culpability, and blame for others. Like The Bonesaw Trail, An Exceptional Zephyr has strong symbolic imagery that works incredibly well when it works, which is most of the time. Unfortunately, Dalta tends toward some excessively flowery language that feels too trapped in its own importance. The writer also seems to recognize this as he occasionally belabors a point that he obviously doesn’t believe is being adequately addressed. The recurring image of the barber’s pole is an intriguing metaphor, at least until Pauly painstakingly explains it to Rahja. It sort of loses the magic when Dalta spells it out in such a way. Does he think he didn’t do a good enough job with it already? Or does he think the reader isn’t savvy enough to catch it?
As a whole, this is a strong second effort from Dorian Dalta. It is a clear growth for him as a writer, while also showing us what we can expect from him in a continued career. This book weighs in at about twice the length of his first, feeling more like a novel than a short story. At about 200 pages it would still be considered short by some, but it’s brevity is vital; as the barber pole metaphor makes clear, some things don’t need excessive detail. Creating a cast of characters in which no one is truly likeable, yet still creating a sense of concern for them, is no small feat. There are a few hiccups, but if you’re feeling like a book that’s physically light and emotionally heavy, this fits the bill nicely.
For more information on Dorian Dalta, follow him on Facebook, @doriandalta on Twitter, or on his website. An Exceptional Zephyr is available now.