From The Inside Looking Out

After a month or two of reading the novel which made Jonathan Frantzen's reputation but whose name, it goes without saying, I've already forgotten, I am about a quarter of the way through his latest book called Crossroads. Both books carry the unmistakable hallmark of the author's extraordinary insight into the wellsprings of human action, but whereas I found the former very funny at times, the latter is striking me as sadder than before. At the same time I am acutely aware that the change is entirely within me. The world has become a darker place for me in a very short lapse and it has little to do with physical problems or outside circumstances. It is, I'm afraid, nothing more or less than the inexorable onward march of dementia.