Reverend Tom Marshfield has gone astray. Far astray. Or he has discovered his true self. Either way, his life has become inextricably bound to his barely restrainable sexual desires. Limited not be his own nearly nonexistent faith, but instead by the piety of the woman he pursues. I can’t believe I am actually using such a word to describe a novel, but John Updike’s A Month of Sundays is quite juicy. By which I am not referring to banal descriptions of carnality. What is most enticing about this tale is the exploration of a very carnal man’s journey between the faith of others and his own desires. Reminiscent of Philip Roth, I thought, from whose works I derive great, sometimes guilty, pleasures.