Francesca Woodbridge is spying on her former life -- a recent lover， a wounded husband， and a rapidly changing America. "One morning I stood on the back deck of our handsome house and I realized that my interior self， the self I did not present to the world or even to those closest to me， seemed to have burned out." So confesses Francesca Woodbridge， the narrator of Deirdre McNamer s remarkable new novel. As her feelings recede "from the visceral to the archival，" Francesca rekindles herself with plans for a garden， which lead to a lover -- her Russian gardener， an exile from Chernobyl. Now Francesca is supposedly in Greece with a tour group， but she is actually living in disguise just blocks from where her husband， Ren， and her teenage son await her return. Ren， a lawyer， is recovering from a gunshot wound inflicted some months earlier by a mysterious intruder. Francesca moves unnoticed through the town she calls home， seeing it with "the seizing eyes of a traveler，" as Cynthia Ozick once put it. Her memories have a similar hyperclarity. She tells a series of stories that traverse the past four decades， beginning with her childhood in a wheatlands town overlooking missiles aimed at Russia. Her voice is searching， specific， unsparing， and sometimes darkly funny. In the process of listening， we learn who shot her husband， a modest mystery that rests on a larger one: for a woman like Francesca Woodbridge， at the end of this particular century， what is a fully lived life?