The stories in ‘Black Rabbit’ range from the graphic violence of the title piece to stories of human despair, loss, and longing. Above all, Difalco exhibits a sure voice and a brave emotional range, not shying away from the provocative topics of drugs and violence, to the most banal aspects of failed relationships.

Despite the tone of many of the stories being street-wise and tough, Difalco cannot hide his literary leanings, although I suspect he might hate me for saying this. Think Joyce’s Dubliners, Selby’s Last Exit to Brooklyn, Raymond Carver, and even the American confessional poet, Robert Lowell. While the intention of this collection may be to appeal to the street wise, the best writing in the book tips a hat to these literary voices that resonate throughout the collection. The main character in his story, “Alicia” and the hapless mother and former druggy in “Miss Alligator” (one of the best stories in the book) made me think of Selby’s infamous prostitute, Tralala,, both in terms of temperament and circumstances, not just because of the graphic rape and beatings each character receives, but also in terms of their sad humiliation by the men in their lives.

I was taken by all of the stories, but the ones that stand out the most are “Rocco” and “The Skunk”. “Rocco” is the bitter tale of a father who has lost his son and goes to visit his gravesite. As we see his despair unfold through his relationship with his family and relatives, all of which is doled out in enticing snippets while pulling the reader into the story, the poignancy of this unflattering character’s suffering renders him profoundly human. The Italian working-class dialect is utterly authentic, the setting is realer than real, and the suppressed pain and longing of an initially unsympathetic loser is marvellously wrought by Difalco’s deft pen. Think of Joyce’s subtlest of characterizations in the ‘Dubliners’, and you have Canada’s own Hamilton (Ontario) as imaginary and spiritual hub. All done with postmodern nonchalance, no epiphanies, and, as Difalco would want it, totally devoid of cheap sentiment.

My personal favourite was “The Skunk”. This story reminded me the most of a Carver piece, yet it is also utterly original and beautifully written. Ralph, the protagonist, is having marital problems, big time. His wife is dissatisfied with her job, their life together, and their marriage. Ralph is holding everything in and things are about to come to a head. In the midst of it all enters a skunk that Ralph views in his yard as he is drinking at night. First, his dog is sprayed by the animal, and slowly Ralph too comes to fear it, as it becomes an objective correlative for his own emotional constipation and failure to feel. Nothing is stated, but there is great menace in the story, all implied. I read this story and thought of Robert Lowell’s great poem, “Skunk Hour.” Listen to how Lowell, the modernist, subtly conveys the loss of love:

I hear
my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,
as if my hand were at its throat. . . .
I myself am hell;
nobody's here--

only skunks, that search
in the moonlight for a bite to eat.
They march on their soles up Main Street:
white stripes, moonstruck eyes' red fire
under the chalk-dry and spar spire
of the Trinitarian Church.

I don’t know how I feel about it. (the death of the mother skunk Ralph has just been told of) On the one hand I’m gripped by a weird nostalgia for the events that have just passed, though few of them were pleasant. I admit I miss the skunk, and wonder what will become of the little ones. Will they stink up some other neighbourhood? On the other hand, my sentiment for the skunks falls short of true sadness. I mean, they were skunks.

Zsolt Alapi was born in Budapest, Hungary and grew up in Europe, the U.S. and Canada, where he now lives. He is the former editor of the little magazine, Atropos, (winner of the Pushcart Prize) and has published poetry and fiction in various magazines in Canada, the U.S. and Britain, most recently in Front and Centre. He recently published a chapbook of stories, ‘Three Stories,’ (Mercutio Press, Montreal, Quebec, 2004) and is editor of the anthology 'Writing at the Edge' (Siren Song Press 2007). Zsolt teaches at Marianopolis College and Concordia University and has completed a Ph.D. at McGill University (Montreal) on Robert Creeley and Postmodern Poetics. He also edited a collection of poetry and short fiction, ‘Vistas’ and has written on the poetry of Pound, Williams, and Olson. To read a selection of Zsolt’s fiction on the showcase section of this site, click here.