I love Brian Doyle more with every book of his I read. This book's genesis was his own baby son's malformed heart and subsequent heart surgeries, which gives even more vulnerability than usual to the writing. And with Doyle, that's saying a lot, because he writes with his skin off normally.

I love his style, which is not quite stream of consciousness but certainly packs more words per sentence than the average. None of the words are superfluous or gratuitous and the sentences tend to pile emotion upon emotion till one is gasping and a little more filled with wonder than one was prior to traversing the long slope of Doyle's words.

His writing is informed by his spirituality and his deep connection with his Catholic faith. Interestingly, though I'm a dyed-in-the-wool unbeliever, this sincere and glowing religion serves to make me love Doyle all the more- again because he's so purely present, so achingly open and so triumphantly, blessedly human.

4.5 stars. ( )