One simply does not marry men who are Siamese twins!"" But California divorcÃ‰es Nadine and Diane do--back in the early Sixties--and what begins as prurient interest in the ""simple academic matter of finding possible positions"" becomes, for a decade-and-a-half, a rather conventional mÃ‰nage Ã quatre (plus kids) in a New Hampshire farmhouse, rife with envies, jealousies, frustrations, and complaints about who's washing all the dishes. And the more familiar attachments-friendship, motherhood, marriage--gradually take precedence in Nadine's frisky diary of an ever-rising consciousness, especially after ""the Daddies""--Nadine's surly Amos and Diane's genial Eddie--undergo separating surgery in Boston and return with life-story contracts, altered personalities, but stronger ties than ever (""If I ever saw two people fucking each other with their eyes it was Amos and Eddie""). Orphaned underachiever Nadine and much-loved overachiever Diane. Best friends. Who's been using whom? Diane's runaway daughter Carly, who has been raised by home-bound Nadine while Diane's been lawyering--why is Uncle Amos the only one of the foursome she doesn't distrust? Through it all, while a documentary filmmaker and reporters invade their home with cameras and questions, while the taciturn twins devote themselves to a building project (Nadine calls it the ""freakoseum""), while the two households split apart and then crumble, Nadine wears her heart on her sleeve (""Pain is leaping from the page"") and keeps reminding us what year it is (""I wanted a bowl of Crunchy Granola but it hadn't been invented yet""). And, as she heads off into her own Seventies, Nadine wonders: ""How could I ever have believed it was possible to get into the space between them?"" That question can apply to a lot of attachments besides the Siamese variety, and Rossner has succeeded in hooking her feelings about relationships onto a metaphor-gimmick that's sure to attach itself to a substantial, if not Goodbar-sized, audience.