You would expect a book written by a Catholic raised Quaker college teacher who studied Buddhism and celebrates "animal creation" to be well written, theologically intriguing, and life affirming. And you would be mistaken if that compelled you to buy this book, as it did me.
The subtitle "The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd" is the first misdirection in the book's myriad difficulties. There is little acceptance of others as you find with Quakers, and no ability to accept the present and live in it as you find with Buddhists. I am sure shepherds would find her use of that term equally incorrect; certainly animal lovers would be disappointed, as I was.
O'Reilley's style is laborious at best, irritating at times, and tedious for the most part. Some chapters are, mercifully, very short; others should be as short, for they ramble with disconnected thoughts, bits of quotations, and ponderous musings about life. Perhaps someone might actually enjoy her illustration of her pained, scattered, at times rude meandering along the spiritual path.
Most troubling is the section on her encounter with Buddhism, which she evidently now claims as a self-description. Her experience at Thich Nhat Hanh's retreat reads as a painful illustration of the First Noble Truth: That life is filled with anguish. Unfortunately she doesn't get beyond that perception to discover the roots of her negativity, why she clings to familiarity, and her coldness toward others and their differences. Instead, we are barraged with her petulant resistance to experiencing the present, and a callous rejection of what could have been for her some very profound teachings (e.g., a blunt dismissal of the Heart Sutra without appreciating it fully). She is referred to as a Buddhist who allows herself "to resent her roommates and crave French pastries," but it is through daily practice, not attendance at a retreat, that qualifies one as a Buddhist.
Early on, I felt a tremendous cognitive dissonance between her credentials and her style; I tried to reduce this discrepancy by telling myself that she was using poetic narrative and existential metaphor to illustrate personal spiritual struggles. Sure; whatever. In the end, I realized my dissonance was not about accepting that she was a worthy writer, but that I had made a worthy purchase. As O'Reilley concludes the book: "What we write about is what we do not understand." This was the only line that rang true in the over 300 pages.
