A story's kick often hinges on the author finding a certain pitch, just as one's enjoyment of music depends on the musician's ability to get the note exactly right.

The title of Thomas Averill's new novel - The Slow Air of Ewan MacPherson - refers to the forced air traveling through bagpipes to make the instrument's unique sound. It also hints at the protagonist's endeavors to tie up the loose ends in his life.

But ultimately, the author can't hit the perfect pitch. And while the story offers many rich moments, it never quite soars.

Averill brings his Scottish heritage home to Kansas for this story. The tale's authentic feel comes from his father's "rich love of all things Scottish" and his devotion to the memory of his father.

He frames his characters in the Scottish community of Glasgow, Kan. Rob MacPherson - Ewan's father - flees Scotland in 1952 and sails to the United States with his young, pregnant wife . . . or so Rob's recount goes. Ewan grows up believing his mother died mid-ocean during his birth and that his broken-hearted father chose to stay in the States and raise his motherless son on his own.

As Ewan ages, he asks questions about his mother and his Scottish relatives that are never fully answered, but addressed with vague accounts of family history or detailed sidelines into Scottish customs.

The MacPhersons' best friends in Kansas are the Cork family, a black farming family established and accepted within their small community. Together, the fathers of each household attempt to distill a perfect single- malt Scotch. The 10-year effort ends in a disastrous accident that kills the elder Cork and maims Rob MacPherson.

From that stage, the story jumps to Ewan's life and his 20-year plus pursuit of one woman's questionable commitment and love. Their passion is sparked when 14-year-old Ewan sees Shirley Porter for the first time at church. Shirley is wise beyond her years, but as time passes, she becomes contained and guarded while Ewan remains open and enthusiastic.

Their bond is like a frayed electrical wire with more moments of suspension than connection. By adulthood, that trend becomes entrenched, with any hopes of a mutual commitment dwindling.

Ewan lives another persistent struggle as he continues his attempts to please his father, who is driven by his fierce Scottish pride and relentless in his quest to keep his son Ewan tied to their heritage - often at the expense of Ewan's happiness. Ewan is an accommodating son, friend and lover, and he stoically endures everyone's demands. But he is stifled in the meantime.

Averill lavishes his story with descriptions of Scottish traditions. There are informative passages about the distilling of Scotch, the art of bagpiping, Highland Game competitions and the poetry of Robert Burns.

The author shapes his tale with dynamic, appealing characters - the Scottish-bred minister and his wife who eventually reveal an unsettling secret of Rob MacPherson's past; a young bagpiper prodigy who fills the shoes Ewan never could; Dillon Cork, the young black man who is Ewan's best friend and confidant.

Averill offers elements of mystery, surprise, self-discovery and passion with his good, solid prose, but the promising ingredients somehow fail to ignite. Midway, the tale is clouded by a tedious, heavy air. While Ewan is an appreciable, likable fellow, his tactics for realizing a full life become tiresome and uninspiring. The story gets stuck, and the unveiling of surprising family secrets seems a little late in the game.

The story is still strong, shored by good research and good heart. The novel's downfalls seem more like a few missed notes, rather than a song played in the wrong key.

Quinn Fitzpatrick is a freelance writer living in Denver.