When Crank first released in October 2004, I knew it was an important story. But I could not have predicted its phenomenal success. The story in Crank, and in its sequel, Glass, is shared by so many. But even those whose lives have never been touched by this particular monster are drawn to Kristina. Despite her many flaws, they come to care about her and her family. Especially her children.
Originally, I never planned a sequel to Crank. But readers wanted more of her story and I could probably write ten books about her fall from grace. But series tend to degrade over time, and I don’t want to give my readers progressively weaker books. Rather, I wanted the third and final Kristina book to be the most powerful of the three. And I believe I’ve done that with Fallout.
The book is written from the points of view of her three oldest children, now teens in the book, and dealing with their own lives, which are shaped by the choices she made when she was their age. At the time I write this description, the real “Hunter” is thirteen, but I write him at nineteen in Fallout. Which means I’ve written the future. Please remember it’s only one possible future, created from how I see these children’s lives now. And also please remember that, while these books are rooted in our real life, they are largely fiction.
I chose to write from her children’s POVs to give them a voice, and to give a voice to my readers who struggle with their own parents’ addictions. There are many. But I also believe the ultimate hope of these stories lies here, with the generation that can choose to break this cycle. You will get “the rest of Kristina’s story,” through different lenses because “the monster” doesn’t only destroy the addict. It tries to destroy everyone who loves him or her. Parents. Children. Partners. Spouses. Friends. If this describes you, stay strong. Get help if you need it. You might find a sense of peace and community in an organization like Al-Anon. You are not alone.
Video
Fallout Book Trailer
Fallout Excerpt
- We Hear
That life was good
before she
met
the monster,
but those page flips
went down before
our collective
cognition. Kristina
wrote
that chapter of her
history before we
were even whispers
in her womb.
The monster shaped
our
lives, without our ever
touching it. Read on
if you dare. This
memoir
isn’t pretty.
Hunter Seth Haskins
So You Want to Know
All about her. Who
she
really is. (Was?) Why
she swerved off
the high road. Hard
left
to nowhere,
recklessly
indifferent to
me,
Hunter Seth Haskins,
her firstborn
son. I’ve been
choking
that down for
nineteen years.
Why did she go
on
her mindless way,
leaving me spinning
in a whirlwind of
her dust?
If You Don’t Know
Her story, I’ll try
my best to enlighten
you, though I’m not sure
of every word of it myself.
I suppose I should know
more. I mean, it has been
recorded for eternity—
a bestselling fictionalization,
so the world wouldn’t see
precisely who we are—
my mixed up, messed
up family, a convoluted
collection of mostly regular
people, somehow strengthened
by indissoluble love, despite
an ever-present undercurrent
of pain. The saga started here:
Foreword
Kristina Georgia Snow
gave me life in her seventeenth
year. She’s my mother,
but never bothered to be
my mom. That job fell
to her mother, my grandmother,
Marie, whose unfailing love
made her Mom even before
she and Dad (Kristina’s stepfather,
Scott) adopted me. That was
really your decision, Mom claims.
You were three when you started
calling us Mama and Papa.
The other kids in your playgroup
had them. You wanted them, too.
We became an official
legal family when I was four.
My memory of that day is hazy
at best, but if I reach way,
way back, I can almost see
the lady judge, perched
like an eagle, way high above
little me. I think she was
sniffling. Crying, maybe?
Her voice was gentle. I want
to thank you, Mr. and Mrs.
Haskins, for loving this child
as he deserves to be loved.
Please accept this small gift,
which represents that love.
I don’t really remember all
those words, but Mom repeats
them sometimes, usually
when she stares at the crystal
heart, catching morning sun
through the kitchen window.
That part of Kristina’s story
always makes Mom sad.
Here’s a little more of the saga.
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