Tom’s Crossing (Pantheon, October 28, 2025)

Every now and then I reach for a copy of Anna Karenina on my TBR bookshelf, but hesitate to wonder, “Do I really have time to get into this kind of heavy reading of some 800 plus pages right now?” So far, the answer has been, “No.” I really do intend to get to it at some point because, well, it’s Anna Karenina. Just not quite now.

Why then, did I pick up the 1,227 page opus by Mark Z. Danielewski, Tom’s Crossing?

Mainly because of the one and only blurb on the book jacket:

This is an amazing work of fiction. I absolutely loved it. At the heart you’ll find a blood drenched story of pursuit and two brave and resourceful children. But there’s so much more. I immersed myself in. Have never ready anything like it.

So, despite what we know about glad-handing you-blurb-my-book and I’ll blurb yours endorsements, this is the only blurb on a book by an author with a low profile and cult status, and the if it’s genuinely that great a read for Stephen King, it’s certainly good enough for me. (And, besides, I was going on a long trip where it made as much sense to take one big book rather than several. Sorry Tolstoy.)

So who is Tom and what is he crossing?

Tom is a Gatestone, a family that has a generational McCoy-Hatfield feud with the Porches. The story takes place in 1982  in Orvop (an anagram for Provo), Utah and neighboring Orem (i.e., Rome) amidst the mountains of Mt. Katanogos (Timpanagos) in the Isatch (Wasatch).  Why the need for a slightly alternative universe? Possibly to convey a heightened sense of the mythological. Add to this a mild dissection of the Church of Latter-Day Saints and some Native American folklore, but, most essentially, references to Homer’s Odyssey. For, indeed, this is a hero’s trails and tribulations quest in the classic  Joseph Campbell sense.

The crossing refers both to a treacherous mountain expedition to fulfill an oath as well as the transition from life to death — indeed, the eponymous Tom dies by page 37:

Tom always said he was gonna die young. The way he described it, with a glee his mother abhorred, he’d be hung up on some mighty bull, hand caught in the ropes tied by his own division, swung this way, that way, until he was broken, scraped off, gored, ground down, and finally stamped into an icy black dream, and in front of thousands too, maybe even on television, Gone like that and not even twenty-seven.

Gored by cancer rather than a bull, Tom is not entirely gone. Only his physical presence. Tom becomes a spiritual guide from the grave, albeit not all-seeing, a ghost to escort travelers to  safety, even while sometimes unsure of how to get there. (So while not strictly speaking a fantasy, the ghostly presence and narrative foreboding of horrors to come — “Hard to figure how so much awful horror could have started out” is the opening line — I think qualifies it as Black Gate adjacent. Plus if Stephen King likes it, Black Gate readers should.)

On his deathbed, Tom extracts a promise from his friend Kalin March, like Tom a natural equestrian, to rescue a pair of horses set for slaughter and take them across the mountains  to the safety of “the Crossin.”  (The omniscient narrator, possesses a sophisticated command of English mixed with hick slang and spellings, such as dropping the “g” in “ing” ending words; somewhere toward the last 100 pages or so you’ll begin to guess who the narrator is, though how the narrator knows as much about events to which they are not present only becomes evident at the end. Note that the title page identifies the “author” as E.L.M. and to an anonymous transcription.) This request reflects how Tom had earlier rescued Kalin from a bullying attack, and that “aside from Tom, no one else welcomed him into their fold.”

Kalin is the true outsider, neither Gaestone nor Porch, the archetypical, if even a teenaged one, Western hero (the novel’s subtitle is “A Western”). Kalin is also the naive protagonist in the tradition of Huckleberry Finn, eager to do the right thing despite societal pressures to do otherwise. Indeed, Tom’s indefatigable good humor is somewhat reminiscent of the mischievous Tom Sawyer.

Tom is Kalin’s literal spiritual guide from the grave, though not all-seeing, a ghost that helps escort Katlin and the horses across the mountains to “the Crossin,” even while sometimes unsure of how to get there. (So while not strictly speaking a fantasy, the ghostly presence and narrative foreboding of horrors to come — “Hard to figure how so much awful horror could have started out” is the opening line — I think qualifies it as Black Gate adjacent.)

Navigating steep mountainous terrain during winter is a challenging enough pursuit, but further complicating matters for Katlin is the unwanted addition to the treacherous journey of Tom’s sister, Landry, who serves simultaneously as sidekick, cheerleader, adolescent crush, and, ultimately, redeemer.  A rescue mission of another kind is also underway by the respective mothers of the two adolescents, who bond despite their different religious views and that Katlin is (falsely) accused of a murder and the kidnapping of Landry.

It wouldn’t be a Western without the bad guys, of which there are more than a few. The patriarch Old Porch, whose set-to-be-butchered ponies Kalin has “stolen” (it can’t get any more of a Western story than a horse rustling), in a fit of rage commits a murder he attempts to blames on Kalin. Old Porch and his for the most part equally no-good sons set out to follow Katlin, Landry and the horses ostensibly to gain vengeance and return of their property, though actually to cover up their father’s crime.

Further adding to the tales’ fabulism are constant references, sometimes including extensive description of their often unpleasant demises, to various local folks who’ve painted or sketched depictions of key events during these escapades. For example:

Both Marsha Taylor, a baker, and Lou Keele, a florist, would in 1985 admirably render this moment on thick sheets of cotton paper, watercolors for Marsha, colored pencil for Lou…

These works of arts at some point go on display, are destroyed in a fire, and somehow resurrected as part of a memorial art show. There are also re-enactment ceremonies of the Crossing events among the “many commentators”:

Not entirely on their own in the creative retellins, rants, iterative speculations, and musins regardin the events that transpired in and around the Isatch Canyon and Katanogos massif that late October in 1982.

These “musins”serve as a sort of Greek chorus, lamenting how fate dictates bad outcomes that could have been avoided, if only if:

Kay Shroeppel would many years hence, and in an empty theater in Helsinki, in 2028 in fact, declare to her friend Gaylene Zobell, who was just then visitin from Belgrade, Serbia… that if only Old Porch had embraced his thespian inclinations, he might’ve lived a more fulfillin life.

And because this is a Western, there is a stolen gun of seeming worth. And in keeping with Chekov, since there is a gun, it eventually goes off.

How the narrator somehow knows all these things and the way they are conveyed may prove annoying to some readers. And given that this is the proverbial doorstep of a book, these readers might be inclined to abandon the journey.

That would be their loss. Like another not always easy-to-read novel, Moby Dick, the hunt must be seen to its conclusion. As any worthy journey must.

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David Soyka is one of the founding bloggers at Black Gate. He’s written over 200 articles for us since 2008. See them all here.