Entry 12: Fissures
Jonathan Franzen, Crossroads (2021)
I’m just a Franzen fan. His flawed people negotiate intimate domestic relationships, let each other down, are portrayed in ways that surprise and amuse, without cliche or sappiness — yep, Franzen’s the guy. He does whatever he wants. One chapter is 7 pages long, another is 100. He excavates the raw, twisted need that pulses through these characters at their core, and we root for them. Power dynamics shift over time; this is always interesting.
Crossroads opens in December, 1971, spanning the time before Christmas 1971 until Easter of 1972 — he chose these holidays intentionally. The novel follows the vicissitudes of the Hildebrandt family, who reside in the midwest, near Chicago. They live in New Prospect — when the prodigal son returns at the end, we’re given to understand that it’s a place that offers up second chances. But I’m skipping ahead of myself. At the beginning, we find:
- Russ, a pastor, is devoted to service — but was advised to step away from the youth ministry he formed three years ago. It seems he’s old-fashioned, unable to “connect” with the kids. Despite his profession, Russ is consumed by appetites and passions. Humiliated, he resents his youth ministry colleague. No longer attracted to his wife, he lusts after Frances, a female congregant. What would it be like, he wonders, to live with joy?
- Marion, his wife, is a smart cookie, but the whole 1970’s housewife schtick is dissatisfying. She writes her husband’s sermons and has, we’re told, let herself go. A youthful indiscretion haunts her past; she had an abortion and was institutionalized, becoming fervently (manically? self-flagellatingly?) religious as a result. Now she blames herself for her youngest son’s inclinations. She has guarded her secret from Russ — and when parts of the self are walled off, one can’t be truly known. In flashbacks, Marion is neurotic and self-punishing (and mentally ill) — but an ember burns bright within her. It will be interesting to watch her navigate her future. (Crossroads is the first installment of a trilogy).
- Becky, the popular, all-American girl, brims with promise. She’s her Aunt Shirley’s pet, and when the childless Shirley dies, Becky inherits everything. Becky dreams of traveling to Europe and attending a private college. At first she attends the youth group, Crossroads, because she has a crush on a boy. The group, led by its charismatic youth minister, is a mini cult beholden to his personality. Becky reflects “that safety, like passive aggression, was a dirty word in Crossroads. Safety was the opposite of risk-taking, without which personal growth could not occur….[But] She loved safety!” Soon enough, Becky undergoes a shift in her thinking and priorities.
- Clem is in college. He and his girlfriend indulge in high-falutin’ philosophizing and moralizing, as the young do. Mostly they indulge in marathon bouts of sex, which prickles Clem’s conscience. In a fit of rigid self-punishment, he drops out and notifies the draft board. “Giving up his student deferment was an insanely steep price to pay for being more consistent than his father, but…. his moral intuition was telling him to pay it.” The conflict between father and son is achingly real. Russ abhors violence and does not want to see Clem deployed to Vietnam.
- Perry is the highly gifted son, full of potential, who self medicates with drugs to treat his mental health issues. He’s so bright that he gets away with concealing his problems — not that the self-absorbed adults are paying attention. Inevitably, Perry implodes. He’s a poignant character. We worry for him. He’s a seeker, full of questions. “Perry wondered if… God was to be found in relationships, not in liturgy and ritual, and that the way to worship Him and approach him was to emulate Christ in his relationships with his disciples, by exercising honesty, confrontation, and unconditional love.”
Crossroads evokes a time when American values were shifting, when churchgoers, to appeal to the young, brandished guitars and belted “Kumbaya.” It’s the era just before Reagonimics and The Moral Majority swept the land. Of course, to find oneself at a crossroads is to confront the choice of which road to take. These characters are very much of this era, but they wrestle with universal themes. What is the good life? How do we lead it? At the end of the book, Clem is told, “[T]hat’s the way God works. That’s how he takes care of us — by having us care for each other.” Clem reflects that in his own family, “his mother and his father and now Becky, modern people of high intelligence, spoke of God as though the word referred to something real.” Clem, however, is the non-believer among believers, and it’s a lonely state. As the book ends, Clem visits his sister, Becky — she’s the person he loves best. She’s not in a forgiving mood, and has cut off the rest of their family. When she invites Clem to renounce the others and eat Easter dinner with her, Clem realizes she’s setting a trap. Will he choose her, or his Mom, Dad, and Perry? Becky has “become a dominating force,” but Clem understands she has veered from the path, that cutting people off precludes existing in relationship with them. The novel ends with Clem requesting time to ponder his decision. In his heart he knows what choice he will make. Despite being the professed “unbeliever,” Clem is actually the moral center of Franzen’s book. So I’m going with this prediction: He’ll agree to spend Easter with Becky — right now she seems to be the one most in need of his help. ****Highly Recommend
2. Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro (2020)
Klara’s a robot, an advanced artificial intelligence uploaded into humanoid form, marketed to affluent families as companions for their children. Each AF is somewhat different, and Klara’s an exceptionally empathic model. Ishiguro’s writing presents information from Klara’s POV — she perceives her world in pixels and blocks of light. Powered by sunlight, she personifies The Sun as a deity, attributing “him” with supernatural grace. She seeks the light.
Klara is purchased as a companion for Josie, a pre-teen. Affluent families routinely subject their children to genetic tinkering to make them smarter — but it’s a risky decision, with medical implications. In fact, we learn that Josie had an older sister, Sal, who died. Josie herself, we come to realize, has “good days and bad” — and her mother is worried.
Genetically altered children— “lifted” children, in the parlance of the book — don’t attend school; it’s a lonely existence. But Josie has befriended Rick, the boy next door, who lives with a lower class single mother. Subsequently Rick hasn’t been lifted. There’s real affection between Rick and Josie; they’ve discussed a future together. But Rick believes Josie changes whenever the genetically altered children and their mothers meet for social interaction. Josie invites Rick to one such gathering. When a subset of kids pick on Klara, she holds her ground. Ishiguro has said that a recurring theme in his work is the concept of service. As an AF, Klara is in service to Josie — but this doesn’t mean she’s a pushover. Sometimes the best way to serve is to maintain one’s boundaries and dignity — to resist indulging the baser instincts of those we care for. When Josie tells her friends that Klara has a great memory, the kids decide to test her. Klara simply refuses to engage. A couple of boys discuss throwing her across the room, until Rick intervenes. He may not be genetically altered, but Rick’s gift, like Klara’s, is emotional intelligence. Rick confronts Danny, until Danny’s mother steps in, ordering Rick to leave her son alone.“You shouldn’t be here at all,” the mother scolds Rick. The other mothers coax her down. “Come on, Sara…. We don’t interfere, remember?” This scene illuminates a common shortcoming in modern snowplow parenting. By removing all obstacles from the paths of children, we do them a disservice.
Josie grows increasingly frail. The mother grows fretful. Klara discovers what will be asked of her. To me, the most poignant exchange in the book is between Rick and Josie’s mother. Devastated by grief, having lost one daughter and now informed by Josie’s doctor that she may lose another, Josie’s mother turns cruel. She asks Rick if he feels smug, like a winner.
“Take a look at your future,” she tells him. “What you’ve won is small and mean.” Klara describes what happens next:
While the Mother had been speaking, something had ignited in Rick’s face, something
dangerous, till he was looking very much as he’d done during the interaction meeting
when he’d challenged the boys wanting to throw me across the room. He now took a
step towards the Mother, and suddenly she too seemed to feel alarm.
“…[L]ast Thursday, [Josie] had a good day.… And… she wanted to give me a message…. for
you, Mrs. Arthur, but one she wasn’t ready for you to hear…. [S]he was asking me to hold this
message for her till the correct time. Well, I’m thinking perhaps now’s the correct time.” The
Mother’s eyes became large and filled with fear, but she said nothing. “She…. will always love
you. She’s very grateful you’re her mother and she never even once wished for any other.
That’s what she said. And there was more. On this question of being lifted. She wants you to
know she wouldn’t wish it any other way….[S]he says she’d do exactly what you did and you’ll
always be the best mother she could have.”
Did Josie truly confide in him, or did Rick invent this exchange? It doesn’t matter. If each of us, at our darkest, lowest moment, embittered and undeserving, could encounter a Rick to offer solace and grace, there might be hope yet for the world. Empathy. Ishiguro seems to suggest there’s no greater service we could receive. The burnished light, the light that truly touches the heart, is kindness. All other accomplishments — even high intelligence — pale in comparison. ****Highly Recommend
3. The Devil House by John Darnielle 2022
From “Criminal Minds” and murder podcasts, to books on the Manson murders, to Amanda Knox’s name-check in Other People’s Clothes, murder is entertainment. That’s the problem Darnielle addresses in The Devil House. For every victim, for every Last Girl whom we tsk over while devouring the grisly details of her demise, there is a family left devastated as unspeakable visions loop through their heads. Our frisson for an hour or an afternoon is their life-altering trauma.
The Devil House tells the story of a true-crime writer and the lengths he subjects himself to in order to access his story. When he reads a letter from a victim’s mother, her words alter his work.
Darnielle’s author uncovers the scene of a grisly murder, but as a writer, Darnielle doesn’t stoop to cheap thrills, the style here is understated, in contrast to the lurid subject matter. This book is all the more powerful for its restraint. Darnielle’s writing is rich with quiet observation and psychological insight: “He smiles when he speaks, a smile that seems to come from a deeper place than the smiles you sometimes see when you’ve only just met someone.”
Darnielle’s Wolf In White Van was on my radar but somehow never made it to my reading cue, but I’ve ordered a copy and can’t wait to dig in. I give The Devil House my personal highest rating, it’s a gripping reading experience and it moved me. Five stars: *****