Holy Matrimony

Beyond figuring out how to live with Mike's daily retreats, Rebecca is alarmed to discover that her young daughter wants to learn about God, too. Mike confesses to a friend, "I think [Rebecca] is resigned to the notion that Catholicism may just skip a generation sometimes, like male-pattern baldness."

Hear that tone -- that touch of Anne Lamott, the comedy of devotion mingled with the frustrations of domestic life? Even though it sometimes risks being too cute, it's consistently witty and utterly charming.

But there's nothing silly at the heart of the novel. With a blank resume, the only real job Mike can get is working at a hospice for homeless men. He's good at it, but it means sitting with lonely people as they experience excruciating deaths. And at home, Rebecca's mother hasn't bounced back from a stroke as quickly as everyone had hoped. Once a charismatic woman full of life, Phoebe feels that it's time for her to move on, but Rebecca is terrified by the thought of losing her.

No one here is touched by an angel, there's no shaft of white light at the end of a tunnel, but for these characters there's always the solace of their affection for each other. "This is not the drama that I wanted for us," Rebecca tells her husband after a particularly discouraging day. "When we married, I thought maybe we'd have to have a bunch of theatrical fights about God, or the practicality of the New Testament in an Old Testament world, or something like that. Instead, we're moving toward having to change my mother's diapers."

"If it's not one thing, it's another," he reminds her. "Love is still just love."

Mike makes it sound easy. Farrington makes it sound irresistible. ·

Ron Charles is a senior editor of Book World.