jsgoddess's Full Review: Larry Watson - White Crosses: A Novel
Years ago, when I was young and not very bright (now I'm older and not very bright), I used to finish reading every book I started. "It'll get better" was my mantra. Needless to say, it was a very stupid mantra.
Finally, I made a vow; I would not read any book that had not captured me within the first twenty-five pages. I would put it aside, perhaps to be picked up later, perhaps not.
Two weeks ago, I broke that vow. My sister had given me a book, White Crosses, by Larry Watson. The first twenty-five pages didn't inspire me. Neither did the last 350.
So this is what passes for literature, nowadays? Interminable meanderings in which nothing happens while obnoxious characters gaze incessantly at their navels and whine? Many "classic" novels involve even more introspection, but usually they have their introspection sandwiched between dialogue, character development, or (gasp!) plot.
Jack Nevelson is the sheriff of a northern Montana county. He is called to an accident scene where two people, a man Jack's age and a teenage girl, have been killed in an automobile accident. Leo Bauer and June Moss were apparently running away together, but Jack refuses to let that information out to the public and concocts a story involving Leo's teenage son and a weird plan for the two teenagers to be running away together with Leo's help.
The rest of the novel deals with Jack's obsession with keeping his version of the events unsullied by rumors to the contrary. That's it. Nearly 400 pages dealing with one neurotic sheriff attempting to keep a rather unimportant secret from the residents of a Montana county.
That's bad enough, but when you throw in Jack's thoroughly annoying sexual fantasies, mid-life crisis, and self-absorption, I am in hell.
The other characters, Jack's wife Nora, his daughter Angie, his deputy Wayne, are a bit less annoying, but they are given short shrift. The novel never swerves from Jack's point-of-view, never detours even slightly from his all-encompassing determination to mask the circumstances of Leo and June's deaths.
Perhaps reading murder mysteries (which this is filed under, for some bizarre reason) has spoiled me for Great Literature. The accident that kills Leo and June happens before the novel opens, and the next event of any significance doesn't occur until page 277. Hell isn't a strong enough word, really.
Am I supposed to care if Jack is successful? If so, why? Leo's perfidy is of the perfectly boring kind. So he's a middle-aged married man running off with a teenager! Are the citizens of Jack's county so fragile, so naive, that such a thing has not only never happened in their memories but it would destroy them? Sorry, but that's just silly.
This excerpt is from near the end. Jack is in the hospital after a strange character shoots him; his wife has brought him a milkshake:
Jack lifted its cover. Some time had obviously elapsed since the milk shake was prepared becase the ice cream had melted and the shake was not much thicker than milk. Thick, he liked them thick...
He dropped in the straw and sucked. Not much effort was required to bring up a mouthful of liquid. Thick, he liked them thick.
If I were Nora, I would have made sure the milkshake was thick enough that Jack's empty head would collapse as he sucked.
Is Larry Watson a poor writer? I guess not. I cannot even comment on his skills as a story-teller, since White Crosses makes no attempt to tell a story. Perhaps Watson needs the discipline of writing non-fiction, getting from point A to point C by passing through point B by detailing actual events.
Occasionally, when I'm reading a novel, I think "too bad this person is writing this novel. In the right hands, it could be great." In Watson's case, I was thinking "too bad anyone is writing this novel. I'm going to go stick my head in an oven."
Of course, I could be wrong. This could be the new face of literary fiction. If you like novels in which nothing happens and you wouldn't care if it did, this may be the book for you. As for me, either Watson is in over his head, or I am. This town ain't big enough for the both of us.
*****Major spoiler, do not read if you intend to read the book!*****
I shouldn't say nothing happens. At the very end, Jack does get shot in a completely unexpected way. Am I evil for feeling some glee at that moment? I know I am. I just can't help it.
From the bestselling author of Montana 1948 comes one of the most irresistible novels of the year ( The (Toronto) Globe and Mail ). After a mysterious...More at Buy.com
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