One of the things I like about Donofrio is that she makes me look like a good mother by comparison. In this memoir about her obsession with Mary, mother of Jesus, she's no less self-absorbed or narcissistic than she was in Riding in Cars with Boys. She still doesn't have a lot of clues, but to her credit she went looking for some. Lots of interesting Marian detail here. Donofrio is a believer in the miraculous and has enough money to go on pilgrimages all over the world. Reading about it is as close as I think I ever want to get, but I'm glad I read this book. Religious fervor wherein one voluntarily allows one's self to be caressed with a glove covered in a dead priest's blood strikes me as best observed from a safe distance. There are lots of little details that were left out of her first book. Not particularly linear, it's disjointed, all over the place, and I don't think I'm nearly as fascinated by Donofrio as she is. The writing is good.