By the end of Tom’s Crossing, the maximalist epic western by Mark Z. Danielewski, of House of Leaves fame, a bittersweet feeling manifests. On the one hand, I lamented that my time with the vast array of tremendously detailed characters was at an end. I would no longer spend any time with Kalin and Alison March, nor Landry and Sondra Gatestone. Navidad, Mouse, and Jojo, the only horses I’ve ever loved, have exited my life for good. Even the cantankerous Orwin Porch and his brood of violent children have left a hole in my heart.
On the other hand, after nearly 1300 pages of dense prose, I was ready for this weighty tome to end. This feeling was not based in boredom or irritation, but in a way similar to when one reaches the last day of a vacation: a good time was had by all, but it’s time to get back to the grind.
What I mean to say is that Tom’s Crossing is undoubtedly an excellent book, but casual readers beware. This is not a story to consume with the rapidity of a book club selection. No, this is fiction specifically designed for those who wish to luxuriate in the prose of a writer at the peak of his talents. In a world where we’ve taken to binging, finishing, and logging every piece of media we consume, an opportunity to be here now with a book that isn’t in any rush to finish its tale might be just what the doctor ordered. If you’re into such things, you’re in for a treat.
Set in Orvop, Utah (get it?) in the early 1980s, Tom’s Crossing follows Kalin March, a teenaged outsider to a tightly knit, gossipy Mormon community. Kalin is neither popular nor unpopular, nor is he concerned with the opinions of others. He and his single mother arrived in town a few years back after the family patriarch landed himself in jail. Kalin is notable due to the level of grace he exhibits in his day-to-day life. This is noticed by Tom Gatestone, an affable young man with a hearty laugh and a love for horses. It’s a shared love of these majestic creatures that forges a friendship between Tom and our hero. You see, the two boys have been spending their after school hours breaking into the barn of Orwin Porch and taking two of his horses, Mouse and Navidad, out for joy rides. “Old” Porch keeps his mostly neglected beasts in Paddock A — Paddock B is where his animals go when they are selected for slaughter.
Kalin and Tom make a pact: if ever Navidad and Mouse are moved to Paddock B, the two friends would set the horses free. Just beyond the mountains is a verdant crossing where the equines could live out their days in peace.
Clop-clop-clip-clop.
Tragedy strikes when Tom dies from a quick and brutal bout of cancer, and it’s up to Kalin to complete his end of the pact. It’s a difficult task on its surface, but add in inclement weather, a pissed off Orwin Porch, and a series of compounding natural/social disasters, and Kalin has his work cut out for him.
The bulk of the story takes place over the five days leading up to Halloween, and Danielewski makes sure we are party to every last second of it, almost literally. The tale is largely told in omniscient flashback by an unlikely narrator revealed in the final act. It’s an implausible reveal, purchased by another layer to the framing device: it seems that in the present day, the story of Kalin March’s quest has become the stuff of legend. The author frequently spares a few lines to check in with the thoughts and opinions of the citizens of Orvop in the years after the events, all the way to the present day (and in a few cases, beyond), all of whom have their own read on the minutiae of the adventure. Our narrator frequently expresses knowledge of the ultimate fates of each of these extraneous characters. It’s as if our narrator has a connection to a greater knowledge beyond that of mortals. That said, by the time the full breadth of the tale comes together, the near omniscience of the narrator can be explained by worldly, if unlikely means. It’s through these asides that another headier, more surreal level of storytelling is purchased. Namely, there are ghosts. Well, maybe there are, maybe there aren’t, but Tom remains an active character well beyond his unfortunate passing, and he has the ability to commune with the many spectral legends of Isatch Canyon, the geographical precursor to the titular crossing.
If you’re like me, however, you get so lost in the sauce of the Herculean writing effort that questioning the thoroughness of the framing device starts to feel like a nitpick. Your mileage may vary.
Bringing the tale back down to earth (and driving home Danielewski’s ostensible mission to defy passive readers), the entirety of the tale is told in a sort of slang. “Fer” instead of “For,” with not a single terminal G to be found at the end of any participle. If you don’t like double negatives, well, you ain’t never gonna jibe with this one. But if you can catch its rhythms, and are willing to bathe in the craft rather than check your watch, you may fall under its spell.
Contained within the flowery prose and purposefully ornate wordplay is a rather straightforward western about the myriad events leading to an inevitable and violent showdown (one which is frequently and cruelly telegraphed by an author that loves to tease). The slow burn and expansive cast all contribute to the steadily increasing weight of the drama that fuels this final showdown. And when it finally arrives, whoooooa Nelly, it’s one of the most satisfying and cinematic denouements to any western you’re apt to come across in all of film and literature. After 1000 pages of sparks tittering around gasoline, the fire catches and the resulting explosion cannot be stopped.
As a result you get a book with a plot that could appeal to everybody, in a shell so literary and obtuse, so filled to bursting with scholarly allusions, that it’s hard to recommend to anybody. Personally, I think that the juice is more than worth the squeeze, but I can also see why someone might throw this one across the room (which, given its size, is a dangerous idea).
To put it simply: the next book I read was The Housemaid, because I desperately needed an easy, thrilling, simple palate cleanser (I recommend that book too!). Even so, Tom’s Crossing has earned its place on my trophy shelf. There’s a high chance I’ll read it again.
