Devra Denniston is a very successful (and very private) scientist and academic, who, as the story opens, is at her 75th birthday party. Her best friend, journalist Alison Mellows, wants to write Devra’s biography, which she proposes as a gift. Devra resists strenuously at first, but later she falls mysteriously ill with a malady whose severity fluctuates dangerously. Alison (whom Devra calls “Angela”) later discovers a cache of her friend’s writings. Devra is not only a respected scientist but a talented wordsmith, and the bulk of the book consists of selections of Devra’s writings, which serve as fodder for Alison’s research into her subject. Some are clearly fictional tales, others are transcriptions of dreams, and still others lie in a tantalizing gray area. Devra may, in fact, be a fabulist of the first order, and neither Alison nor the reader ever really knows the truth. The key term here is uncertain—a term that permeates everything. Devra never warmed to her parents, for example, which leads to questions: Did her father abuse her? Was she, in fact, adopted? Did she, a woman who never married, have a child whom she surrendered for adoption? Eventually, Alison is encouraged to write and publish her long-planned biography, and in a final, sardonic twist, the initially poorly selling book later becomes a bestseller for the wrong reasons.
Readers may wonder if the novel is intended as an honest exploration of its themes, or if it’s an elaborate put-on. Its main theme seems to hinge on the distinction, as it explores the boundaries between reality and imagination; Devra has been struggling with such duality all her life. Certainty and uncertainty also play a large part in the narrative—so much so that Alison eventually opts for uncertainty, because it leaves open possibilities that the other option closes off: “Uncertainty, like hope, leaves the door open for a miracle to slip through”—a fair point, and one of the easier ones to grasp. However, the book’s discussion of reality and imagination brings to mind familiar conundrums, such as the old Taoist story in which Zhuang Zhou dreams of being a butterfly and then wonders if he’s actually a butterfly dreaming of being a man. There are really only two characters in the story—“Angela” and Devra; later, the situation changes, and “Angela” can be Alison again. These symbolic nudges surface again and again, and one starts to wonder how close these “blood sisters” really are. There are a couple of points when it seems as if “Angela” and Devra have switched places in the narrative. In any other book, one might pass it off as a simple slip-up, but such is the atmosphere of deception and gaslighting in this story that readers can’t truly be sure; perhaps they are all part of the joke.
