A novel about the crucial passage in the life of an aging actress who must confront the pain of looking backward - to old lovers, old values, old ways - in order to grow and go on.
Who knew? All these years I haven’t given Leslie Epstein a try until I read his obituary. A used copy of this novel has been sitting on my shelves for years, waiting for this time. It’s not at all what I expected: not another comic Jewish family story, but instead a serious character study of a woman who, yes, is Jewish, but it’s not at all central to who she is. What is central is who she is, who she was, and why this strange miracle worker has gotten so deep into her head (and other concerns). On the who she was front, one wonderful thing about this novel is how smoothly flashbacks are woven into the novel, so that they don’t feel like flashbacks at all. This is a conventional novel that sometimes feels like more. Epstein’s a master, and I don’t know why his work hasn’t lasted as well as some of his contemporaries.