<p>With novels like <em>Damballah</em> and <em>Hiding Place</em>， John Edgar Wideman began his career in an explicitly modernist vein--indeed， his chronicles of life in the Pittsburgh ghetto of Homewood had more than a trace of a Joycean accent. The autobiographical <em>Brothers and Keepers</em>， however， allowed the writer to find his own voice. Perhaps this dual portrait of the author and his brother Robby--serving， then and now， a life sentence for a murder committed during a bungled robbery--finally forced Wideman to fuse the modernist trappings of his earlier work with the storytelling traditions of African American culture. &quot;My memories needed his，&quot; the author recalls. &quot;Maybe the fact that we recall different things is crucial. Maybe they are foreground and background， propping each other up.&quot; In any case， the <em>Rashomon</em>-like result is a raw meditation on fate and family， as well as an indictment of our entire notion of crime and (especially) punishment.</p>