The Crossing of History, Faith, and Life 
 Geraldine Brooks tends to base her novels on real events, transforming them with her imagination. Her starting point here is Caleb Cheeshahteaumauk, a young Wampanoag Indian from Martha's Vineyard, who in 1665 was the first Native American to graduate from Harvard, founded a quarter-century earlier. Comparatively little is known about him, other than a few dates and a letter in Latin from his own hand, so Brooks was free to fill out his story in any way she wished. So while this may not be the Caleb, he is certainly her Caleb, first seen as a bright, agile, and independent boy, the son of the sonquem (chief) of his tribe, later growing into an elegant, enigmatic, and self-contained young scholar, among the most distinguished in his graduating class. 
 This, then, is his Crossing, from one culture to a totally different one, the master of both. The word has other meanings too. It refers to the physical crossing from Martha's Vineyard, not then the easy ferry ride to Woods Hole but a day-long journey to Boston that was not without its dangers. In a world where death is commonplace and few children live to adulthood, it may also refer to the final crossing, and the faith or fears about what may await on the other side. And perhaps it also refers to the Christianization of the native people that was the necessary first step to any advancement in the colonial world. Like Marilynne Robinson (author of 
 Gilead 
 ), Brooks has always had a strong religious element in her novels. While she does not quite have Robinson's ability to convey religion as a radiant inner light, this is much more than an historical add-on; Brooks' characters live within a world shaped by belief, and measure their actions by those beliefs. Yes, beliefs plural, because Brooks is also an unusually ecumenical writer. The dominant creed here is Christianity; in People of the Book, it was Judaism; and 
 March 
 is illuminated by the Transcendentalism of Emerson and Thoreau. Even in this Puritan environment, beliefs are nuanced: the island community was set up in reaction to the stricter laws of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and the tension between liberalism and restriction runs through the book. As she had done in her first novel, Year of Wonders, Brooks stretches to include people whose practices (for example as herbalists or midwives) place them on the fringes of acceptable belief. In Caleb's Crossing, she goes further, to contrast Christianity with the animism of the Native Americans; one of the book's strengths is that she remains open to both belief systems, even in an historical context where Christianity triumphs. 
 Of course, Brooks runs the danger that her story will seem altogether too politically correct, becoming yet another variation on the old theme of the Noble Savage, counteracting historical guilt with a strong dose of cultural relativism. Her solution, I think, is brilliant. She tells the story through the mouth of young woman, Bethia Mayfield, the daughter of the Christian missionary on the island. Although the Mayfields are based on a real family, the Mayhews, Bethia is an entirely invented character, brilliant and headstrong, a perfect foil for Caleb whom she meets on one of her solitary rides around the island when both are about ten. Soon the two become fast friends. It is she who gives Caleb his English name; he in turn calls her "Storm Eyes." Bethia is also precociously intelligent. Eavesdropping while her father tutors her brother Makepeace for the ministry, she develops a good knowledge of Latin, some Greek, and even a little Hebrew. But these are all forbidden pursuits. Puritan custom held that once a girl had learned to read and write sufficiently to handle household accounts her education should cease, lest she shame her future husband by her superior knowledge. This seems so patently unjust that we are with Bethia all the way in her thirst for knowledge. Recruited so willingly as we are to the feminist cause, we take the parallel theme of racial equality in our stride. Although some other reviewers have felt otherwise, I for one never felt pandered to or manipulated. 
 Brooks' other great achievement is the discovery of Bethia's voice. Although it can be very direct and simple, it has a distinct 17th-century cadence: 
 They say the Lord's Day is a day of rest, but those who preach this are generally not women. Even on the Sabbath, a fire must be laid, water drawn, victuals prepared, infants washed and dressed in meeting clothes. Those in purse to have a cow must see to it, for no one has preached to the cow that she must not let down the milk that stiffens her udders.It it more than a scattering of unusual words: victuals, in purse, sennight, bever. It can rise to rich poetry, as when Bethia describes her delight in the Greek pastoral poet Hesiod: 
 It is his night sky I see now, through the seasons: Arcturus rising brilliant from the ocean stream at dusk, Pleiades like a swarm of fireflies, Sirius parching the hayfields on hot late-summer nights, and Orion striding across the winter sky.Taken together, this all creates a remarkably consistent envelope for the story, taking us not only into an historical mindset but also into the thoughts of a remarkable young woman. Her love of words becomes our love of words, and our delight in reading becomes a wish to see her succeed. 
 The novel is not flawless. Brooks has always been better at developing her stories than ending them, and her epilogue, though ultimately very moving, involves a temporary drop in tension. Earlier, when Bethia is faced with a romantic dilemma, I found myself understanding her choice without feeling it. Caleb himself becomes less central as a character as the book proceeds and he gets swallowed up by the cloistered world of Harvard. But Bethia only grows in strength and interest, combining a restless search of knowledge with a deepening understanding of her own place in the world; she is undoubtedly Brooks' finest female creation, and that world is a remarkably complete one. All in all, this is among the best of Geraldine Brooks' novels that have read, far better than People of the Book, and right up there with March, which remains one of my favorite novels of the past quarter-century.