Can you imagine a combination of Oscar Wilde and Michael Harriot, with Mark Twain supplying period detail? I can’t either. Dennard Dayle is his own satirist, a sharp wit visited upon a woebegone Black regiment of Union soldiers in a vicious time, with a teenage flag-twirler (!?) as the hero. The novel had some problems, even for me, even slowing my reading pace so as not to miss any of the verbal twists, but anything that makes me laugh out loud twenty or thirty times in 300 pages deserves five stars, weaknesses or not. In the disastrous Trump Era that’s not a small accomplishment.
Dayle grounds the story in impressive knowledge of the period, but his narrative is so unlikely that your expectations may fly out the window. I think reviewers who recite the story’s outline are ill-advised, since that is not what’s impressive here. One of the main reasons to read this is the elegant, often economical phrasing and comic turns of phrase, sometimes devilishly understated. And the colorful, snappy dialogue, never begging plausibility. Never overmuch, anyway.
In the author’s thirty-something life, he’s sampled standup and ad copywriting, both of which show here. His first book proved he was great with aphorisms, featuring Devil’s-Dictionary-style updates, and fortunately that talent is deployed.
I wasn’t prepared for his talent to limn characters so immediately likeable and relatable. “Mole,” the tall, quiet former slave. Joaquin, the Haitian volunteer. Thomas, the wiseass, resilient freeman. Gleason, a playwright from New York’s “Theater Noir,” promoted to corporal. A both-sides arms dealer named Slade. Petey, aka Patricia. And many more.
Dayle has amusing ways of illuminating personalities:
Gleason exhaled sharply and turned away, which is what intellectuals did instead of hitting people.
* * *
“In the South, there’s an old paranoid conspiracy about Haitian revolutionaries infiltrating America to free slaves.
“Madness.
“Utterly. Since John Brown took his stand, however, Southerners have been willing to believe anything.
“What’s that have to do with Joaquin?
“He’s a Haitian revolutionary here to free slaves.
* * *
For me there were one-too-many turns of plot: the regiment gets moved out from the Civil War proper to Nevada, there to eventually join up with a would-be monarch, Columbia I, who intends to reign over the reconstituted U.S. I was sure this was a bridge too far until she was described as blonde, of German heritage, with a predilection for shiny metals, the color red, and had a person named “Baron” in her lineage. So I sat up with greater attentiveness. Columbia I (“You may bend the knee,” she condescends) was described as not particularly bright. The novel’s end was appropriately chaotic and didn’t disappoint.
Like, say, Frank Parkin’s Krippendorf’s Tribe, or Mel Brooks’ Blazing Saddles, the novel gets progressively unhinged until credibility gets stretched to the breaking point. That’s fine: satire can contain multitudes. Also, as you might guess, this 19th century novel makes implicit references to the 21st, with racism, political posturing, greed and self-delusion sounding very familiar.
And the minor annoyance: sometimes the phraseology stops the narrative flow for me.:
Curiosity earned silence and stillness, two things Anders seldom surrendered. The boy eyed his mother carefully, searching for a hint of the lies adults wove with ease.
The “curiosity” part was needlessly abstract, I thought, after my brain stumbled over it. Such phrasing may put off some readers and may account for some of the lower consumer ratings. Or maybe the title or cover art didn’t attract the readership Dayle deserves.
Dayle is a fan of Vonnegut, which I haven’t read in some time. I’d rank this only slightly below two of my favorite satires, Krippendorf’s Tribe and Shteyngart’s Absurdistan, and above Ishmael Reed’s Flight to Canada, good as that was. In all I was grateful dodging the Cannonball.