Jonathan Franzen Thinks People Can Change

Even if his new book suggests it’s nearly impossible to make it stick.

- By Merve Emre

In the first pages of his new novel, Crossroads, Jonathan Franzen introduces us to Russ Hildebrandt, a man who, soon after, berates himself as a “fatuous, obsolete, repellent clown.” Three years earlier, Russ, an associate minister from a Mennonite background, was expelled from his church youth group— for his uncoolness, he claims. Now, two days before Christmas 1971, he is nursing his wounded pride by lusting after a sexy parishioner. Over the next several hundred pages, naïve and self­deceiving Russ remains insensible to the desires of his wife, Marion, who makes plans to reunite with her old flame and rediscover her former uninhibited self. Both parents, in turn, are oblivious to their four children, as the eldest three begin to fall into disrepair in various historically appropriate ways.

The first book of a three­part “supernovel,” Crossroads (see “Critics,” p.74) is preoccupied with not only the difficulty of wanting to be good amid the rising tides of temptation and doubt but whether being an essentially good person and wanting to be perceived as one are incompatible desires. Perhaps because I had just finished the book, there were moments during my interview with Franzen when I couldn’t dispel the disapproving, combative feeling that Franzen himself was intent on coming across as a good man. But my suspicions were dissolved by his humor,his thoughtfulness, and his impassioned defense of novels and their enduring ethical function. “I hope this has been moderately fun for you,” he said as our call neared its end. “God bless you for doing this.”