I've decided that while I'm quite a fan of Anne Lamott's non-fiction work, I don't tend to like her fiction books, and this one is no exception. Lamott is at her best when she's writing about her own struggles with faith and her writing, but while reading this book I was conscious the entire time that I was reading her writing. The story itself was decent enough, but I never had a moment where I was able to be absorbed into the story. I was quite aware the entire time I was reading words printed on a page, instead of being told a story. I'll look forward to Lamott's next non-fiction work, but I think I'm not going to try any of her stories again for awhile.