Franglais Feminism 
 The title of Donoghue's latest novel has several layers. One, regrettably, is a pejorative national epithet. Most of the major characters of this story, set in San Fancisco in 1876, are recent immigrants from France; Donoghue sprinkles their dialogue liberally with French phrases, some translated, some not; unfortunately, it is one of the less successful aspects of the book.* A second layer is literal: one leading character, Jenny Bonnet (not the protagonist, but the most fascinating figure), catches frogs for a living to sell to restaurants, and scandalizes San Francisco by going around in men's clothing. And the third layer, music, is both literal and figurative; the novel is built around popular songs of all sorts--so many that there is an extensive appendix to talk about them --and is laced with the other kind of "music-making": sex. Only there is little lyrical about this sexual music at all; it is very physical and often raunchy. Blanche Beunon, the protagonist, is an exotic dancer and high-end prostitute; Donoghue is not reticent about describing either the services she provides for others or her own needs. 
 Indeed, that is the point. Readers familiar with Donoghue's work will recognize many of her abiding themes: the exploration of a woman's nature, independent of the ways it may be defined by men; the recognition of women's needs whether physical, mental, or social; the possibilities of friendships between women, including lesbian ones but by no means confined to them; and the complex feelings of mothers for their children, and the constant threat of child abuse and neglect. All these feature in this new novel--not without a little tub-thumping--through Blanche's gradual emergence from a set of female and maternal roles defined by others, to some sense of her own independence and, alas, vulnerability. Jenny Bonnet is such a fascinating character since, as a cross-dresser and independent entrepreneur, she flouts Victorian expectations for women. This is all the more remarkable in that she is shot in the first chapter, and spends most of the novel dead. 
 In her afterword, Donoghue remarks that this is the first time she has attempted a crime story, indeed a true crime. I must admit that I was slightly disappointed to discover that most of the characters really existed and that the major events in the novel are true. I guess I wanted to give the author full credit for her marvelous ability to capture place and period (San Francisco Chinatown in the midst of a smallpox epidemic), and invent incident. But the murder mystery makes a fine handle for the story (which at times resembles Eleanor Catton's 
 The Luminaries 
 ). It opens with the two women, Blanche and Jenny, in a run-down inn at San Miguel Station, south of the city. A shotgun blast through the window misses Blanche, who is bending down, but kills Jenny instantly. The questions of who fired the shot and who was the intended target will occupy the rest of the book, which alternates between two time-frames. One, going back about a month, tells how Blanche and Jenny met and describes the unpredictable progress of their relationship. The other going forward a few days after the shooting, shows both the official investigation, such as it was, and Blanche's own. But the real investigation is less a matter of finding the facts than a process of personal discovery which gives Blanche a deeper understanding of both herself and her always-enigmatic friend. And that is certainly worthwhile. 
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 * 
 A further word on the French. Like so many authors, Donoghue falls into that unrealistic pattern of having a speaker include foreign words in dialogue and then immediately translate them. Later on in the book, she translates less and less, but provides a glossary in the appendix. Unfortunately, in the review copy at least, this is organized on a chapter-by-chapter basis without page references, making it quite hard to use.