A family saga considers the issues of national and religious identity and how they impact one Jewish-American family, from Charles, who hopes to become a Supreme Court Justice, Zipporah-Zoe, who cannot let go of her past, and Bert, who becomes a rabbi despite his ambivalence toward Jewish institutions. 25,000 first printing. (*Starred Review*) Calisher, Jamesian in style and intent, traces the meshing of inner and outer worlds with voluptuous precision. Truly a grande dame of letters, she remains intrepid, demanding, and indefatigable in her fifteenth novel, a riverine family saga. Its source is the loving marriage of Zipporah Zangwill, a Jewish anthropologist, and her lapsed Catholic philosopher husband, Peter Duffy. Their large and elegant old New York apartment has been home to six children and the scene of ever-swelling Sunday family gatherings as these complicated individuals--some tall and blond, others short and Brillo-haired, some gay, some straight, some artistic, some theological, some professional--extend the family circle with friends, lovers, spouses, and children. Calisher's approach is spiraling rather than linear, and much is conveyed through brilliantly witty conversations performed in scenes as beautifully composed as paintings. Marvelously piquant, Zipporah, the heart of the novel, is fluent in the deep meaning of ritual and family ties, and as she and her colorful progeny make their improvised way in the crazy world, Calisher offers profound reflections on religion, identity, sexuality, age, illness, and our tenacious attachment to life in all its misery and joy. Subtly and incrementally powerful, this phenomenal work astutely illuminates the myriad dualities of existence. Donna Seaman Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Hortense Calisher is past president of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and of PEN. Three-time finalist for the National Book Award, she is the author of many novels and short stories. She lives in New York City. Hortense Calisher is past president of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and of PEN. Three-time finalist for the National Book Award, she is the author of many novels and short stories. She lives in New York City. In her mid-sixties, Zipporah Zangwill, born in Boston to longtime residents of that name, for over forty years married to Peter Duffy, who teaches philosophy in New York, and herself well-known as a "social" anthropologist, has informed her family, a large clan, that from now on she wishes to be known as Zoe-sending out cards to that effect, along with an invitation to a celebratory party. To Peter, who has perhaps been aware of her progress toward some decision that will mortally affect their lives, if not this one, she has merely shown the cards, ordered from the same stationer who had always supplied the formal announcements the years had required: engagements and weddings of the children, anniversaries of all kinds, plus bids to those coveted "theme parties" she threw when some professional or affectionate interest erupted. And of course the two change-of-address announcements, of yore. These newest cards, thinner than any of those and modest in size, say simply "One of our Sundays," giving the date. The time would be known by custom as afternoon, the eats to straggle along with individual noshing, and focus hard as dusk falls. A footnote, lower left, in small but legible print, says: "From now on Zipporah asks to be known as Zoe..." It's not certain whether the reason for the party is this. Few phone to inquire. For some grateful elders in the circle, she is their only fount of surprise. The Duffy children-Gerald, Charles, Nell, Erika, and Zachary, all grown now-do mildly mention it, in no order of age status except whoever had the smarts and the sass to speak up first. They chat constantly, over a sibling network maintained either coast to coast from their homes or now and then from sites no longer as strange as those their mother had all their young lives gone to. Their feeling on her travels had long since been expressed by Mickey, a former youngest son, whose age was fixed, he having died at twelve: "She never really leaves us. And she always comes back." The network isn't kept out of duty. All the Duffys have the kind of family feeling that filches away their attention even from those they are married to. Charles, an academic always somewhere in the middle of the country, is also their median voice. "They're so close a pair. They never skimped us. But it helped us close ranks." His puns, as a part-time lawyer as well as a physicist, make Nell sigh. "A pun should be more illegal, Chuck. But I hear you." Nobody in their immediate family is a naysayer, though Erika tends to marry them. "Maybe Ma just wants to shed her identity. I do now and then." Gerald, who has a wife who does that constantly, keeps quiet. Zach, now the youngest, speaks for all of them. "Hope not." Peter, when shown