I think I’m becoming a snob when it comes to fiction. So few works of fiction have really impressed me lately. Maybe it’s the result of reading fantastic classics for my various literature classes, but now I really expect a great work of fiction to tackle at least one important question in life.
The Crossroads didn’t do this. It brushed against some of them, but didn’t really hit on those conflicts that are a part of being human.
The protagonist was a young boy whose mother recently died. She was a terrible mom, blaming her son for ruining her life of ease. She smoked a lot, got cancer, and blamed him for both.
The dad re-marries, and the new “mom” in his life is amazing, but their relationship never truly develops. Granted, she covers for him, he feels affection for her, she truly accepts him for who his is, and he finally feels that she loves him, but that said, all the relationships feel very superficial-even theirs.
The plot was OK, there’s a bit of a mystery, but even that is fairly transparent. The book wasn’t terrible, but it was very much average. I was underwhelmed.