Let me see if I can boil down Crossroads of Twilight’s 700-pages for you.
There you go.
I was warned. Many people warned me. Jordan writes. He doesn’t revise what he has written, and nobody edits what he has written. He writes a great fog of fretfully realised detail, very loosely bunched into clusters of pointless character interactions. Nothing else happens. Jordan writes many ill-formed and many more gangling, clumsy, clause-carcrash sentences of the ‘Sashalle was no taller than she, not to speak of, but she had to hurry to keep up, as the Red glided swiftly, along wide, square-vaulted corridors’ and 'Sheriam's shriek shattered the stillness in more ways than one' and 'the stream of people flowing the other way was mostly Seanchan, soldiers in ordered ranks, with their segmented armour, painted in stripes, and helmets that looked like the heads of huge insects, some marching and some mounted nobles, nobles who were always mounted, wearing ornate cloaks, pleated riding dresses and lace veils, and voluminous trousers and long coats' kind. But we’re used to that from previous books.
Jordan writes: ‘but then, who would have expected to see Bertholme Saighan walking peacefully with Weiramon Saniago, neither man reaching for the dagger at his belt?’ . And we read (for reading is in part a process of interpreting writing): ‘but then, who can honestly say they remember who Bertholme Saighan is, or why he should or shouldn’t be walking peacefully with Weiramon Saniago, or whether we’ve ever encountered either of them before, oh god when will this end, haven't we suffered enough?’
Jordan writes: ‘the odour of horse dung seemed strong.’  Well, quite.
Is there tea? There is tea. Even better than that, there is explosively detonating honey: ‘Without thinking Elayne picked up her teacup and took a sip. The tea had gone cold, but honey exploded on her tongue. Honey! She looked at Avienda in astonishment.’  Exploding honey would astonish me too.
Have you ever nodded to somebody? Ah, but have you ever nodded like this: ‘After a moment, his chin moved, the vestige of a nod’ .
Oh. You have?
‘Loial’s ears trembled with caution, now.’  That’s a neat trick.
Towards the end, Jordan writes in a way that might even betray that most un-Wheel of Time quality, ironic self-awareness (‘so many fabulations drifted out that telling reality from nonsense became difficult’, 363). But no; it’s all painfully earnest; he really thinks that we will be interested in all this clothing, and furnishings, and terrible terrible sentence constructions.
This is the conclusion to which I have come: Jordan is the Fantasy-writing equivalent of this Belgian man, rolling his marbles endlessly, happily round and round the same track. He’s enjoying himself. It’s not really for our benefit (although it's performed under the polite fiction that it is). It's for his own benefit, and does us no harm. Can’t we leave it at that?
Here’s the opening paragraph I originally wrote for this review:
The Wheel of Time does not turn, and books freeze and stall, leaving memories that become confused as to whom all these minor characters are, actually. Minor characters blur to one another, and even quite important figures are long forgotten when the series that gave them birth comes again. In one Book, called the Tenth by Jordan, a Book neither future nor past but interminably, tediously present, a wind rose at the Punkadiddle waterfall. The wind is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning. The wind says: I was warned. And yet, to encounter textual stasis of quite such magnitude is a staggering experience. My God, and I thought earlier books were slow.But riffling through some of the 1000 amazon.com readers' reviews of Crossroads of Twilight, I found this—which is the same gag, done not only first but rather better:
The Wheel of Time turns, and Books come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Book that gave it birth comes again. In one Book, called the Tenth Book by some, a Book yet to be written, a Book already burned, a yawn rose in the Crossroads of Twilight. The Yawn is not the beginning, there are neither beginning nor endings in the Wheel of Time (not if Jordan is still paid by the word.) But it is a beginning.…which busted my flush somewhat. I also liked Time Traveller’s review from the future:
Greetings Fellow Humans. I come from a thousand years in the future and have traveled back in time to tell all of you that the end is in sight and it is worth the wait. Robert Jordan, having his consciousness digitized has greatly increased his efficiency and is on Book 1452 and is now writing at a clip of 2 books per year. Each book now spans a time period of 1 minute, and he has introduced over 5 dozen new characters, none of whom (like Jordan) can die. But as I said before, the end is in sight. Robert Jordan X20485 has promised that he plans to end the series at Book 1500. So I urge all of you to stay the course. Be diligent and read the books. And finally, there is a twist in Book 438 that will simply blow your mind. It is so great that it was instrumental in brokering peace between Pakistan and India after WW4.