Russ’s nemesis is Rick Ambrose, the church’s director of youth programming. Filling out the ranks of Russ’s haters are his children, the hot parishioner he lusts after, a large portion of his congregation, and, eventually, Russ himself. Nearly everyone dislikes him, including me. His mode of communication, both vocationally and recreationally, is the sermon. He’s a nurser of grudges, a misreader of signals, a dullard, a clown. Russ Hildebrandt, the head of the family and an associate pastor at the local church, is not a fun guy. In the case of Crossroads (out October 5), it is the first installment of a planned trilogy about the Hildebrandts, a unit consisting of a husband and wife who hate each other and four children who are, in descending order from the oldest: a brain, a princess, a basket case, and a 9-year-old who is too young to conform to the Breakfast Club taxonomy of humankind.
This could only be a Jonathan Franzen novel.
We are in New Prospect, a fictional suburb of Chicago. The cars are boxy, the coats are sheepskin, the lapels are yawning, the potatoes are served in a cream sauce, and the rec rooms are paneled in knotty pine.
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