Book review: Jack Kohl's 'That Iron String' puts pianists in peril

Jack Kohl begins his debut novel, the thriller That Iron String, by observing that playing the piano puts one as physical risk — not in terms of carpal tunnel, but the "threat posed by the great weight of the grand piano as a whole." So begins the tale of two cousins, two concert pianists, who are probably brothers.

Portsmouth (Port) and his cousin Boston (named after port towns) have been apart for years studying piano. Port decides to stay in Pauktaug to earn his master's degree, and Boston, the more gifted of the two, leaves home. The cousins share a gruesome past: As small children, Port's mother (and maybe Boston's) and father were found dead on their boat, but both Boston and Port were left unharmed (Boston's thought-to-be mother already disappeared without a trace).

The boys are put under the care of two sets of aunts and uncles who run a funeral parlor out of their home, and Port and Boston live a standard childhood despite being gifted classical pianists. Save for seven letters that Boston sent his Aunt Elizabeth (Port's caretaker), Boston doesn't stay in touch while he's away and it isn't until several years later that Boston returns to Pauktaug; the novel begins on the threshold of Boston's imminent return.

The premise of Kohl's novel is intriguing (Kohl is himself a pianist). You can't help to think — in fact, to hope — that tensions will run high between the two cousins striving to be concert pianists (who are going head to head in a regional piano competition) and that the mystery of Port's parents' demise will be rehashed. But Port, the narrator, insists that there's never been anything but friendly competition between the two and except for one vague mention of the deaths, Port and Boston never talk to each other explicitly about it.

In fact, Port shows little to no emotion throughout; he intimates just a marginal annoyance at times when he learns about Boston's plans from someone else. But does he feel jealous that Port wrote Aunt Elizabeth and not him? No. When Port reconnects with Lana Paw, a high school crush, and they form a relationship, his response when she breaks it off with him to give her ex-husband another shot is one of indifference. It's frustrating as a reader when you can't connect to the characters you're vicariously living through.

Port pores through Boston's letters when he finds them unopened and unread. They offer a peak into Boston's inner struggle he has with Music (with a capital M), and they are both philosophical and disturbing. When we switch back to Port's POV, he writes them off as simply Boston playing a joke on his aunt. Why does Boston send Aunt Elizabeth the letters and not Port, even though he tells Port that they understand each other on a deep level? Boston answers this in a very convoluted way, with no clear answer. When we meet Boston for the first time, he's disappointingly dull.

Kohl leans heavily on his erudition, but his high diction can be off-putting. The characterizations of Neil Silver (Port's piano instructor) and Lana are unrealistic; the most we learn about Lana is how beautiful she is, even if she's been crying or coming home from the gym. We learn even less about Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Harry.

I was hoping to be drawn more deeply into this tale — both its plot and its musical milieu. The book's back cover features a quote from pianist David Dubal, who says, "Mr. Kohl has certainly grappled with the inner life of an aspiring pianist, in which all of us can relate." Not being a pianist myself, unfortunately I found that I had to take Dubal's statement on faith.

Morgan Halaska is the assistant editor of Minnesota Meetings + Events magazine and arts editorial assistant at the Twin Cities Daily Planet.

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