Keep the Baby and the Faith : OPERATING INSTRUCTIONS: A Journal of My Son’s First Year, <i> By Anne Lamott (Pantheon: $21; 272 pp.)</i>

There are two types of readers. (And, as the old saying goes, two types of people: those who separate others into categories and those who don’t.) The first reader-type doesn’t like surprise or discomfort. They enjoy good solid writing, which reaffirms all their beliefs about the world. The second reader-type is just the opposite, hoping for an author who will confuse, challenge, and ultimately change them even if it’s just a little bit. “Operating Instructions” is a strong, funny and extremely well-intentioned book that falls squarely into the first category.

Anne Lamott got pregnant at 35 with a man she had only been seeing for several months. “He was so furious when I even considered keeping the baby that he temporarily lost his mind. He was calling six and seven times a day to tell me . . . how unethical it was. . . .”

In spite of this Lamott gives birth to Sam, who is, in the humble opinion of his mother, “unspeakably beautiful.” “Operating Instructions” is a detailed account of Sam’s first year, his colic, his crawling, his idiosyncrasies. It’s also about Anne Lamott’s relationships with others, her best friend Pammy in particular, and her faith in God.

A journal, published as a book, turns into a kind of subtle personal essay. Unlike a formal essay with a clear thesis, a journal’s thesis is implicit in the point of view of the author. At the base of Anne Lamott’s experience is a deep, hard-earned trust in her self and her God.

Parts of this book--the best parts--are very funny. Lamott has a conversational style that perfectly conveys her friendly, self-deprecating humor. When Sam is still an infant, she writes, “It’s been 26 years since John Kennedy was killed. I was in the fifth grade. I had a chopped-olive sandwich for lunch and two Hostess cupcakes. I can remember all that exactly, and yet a few days ago I got into the shower in my underpants.”

Later on, there’s an explicit passage explaining why Lamott refuses to date a certain man, and those few lines are so hilarious I had to call up a friend and read them out loud. She hit the floor laughing with recognition.

Other sections, though, are problematic. Much of the writing is completely preoccupied with her traumas and her joys over her baby which, in spite of a lot of charm and wit, feels like spending hours looking at snapshots of a family you’ve never met; Uncle Milty at his wedding, the twins in their new wading pool. It’s a kind of claustrophobic over-familiarity.

The problem is also present in her religious musings. “I feel like it must drive Jesus out of his mind sometimes that instead of loving everyone . . . I’m secretly scheming and thinking my dark greedy thoughts.” It’s clear that Lamott’s sentiments are pure and her unflinching desire for improvement is admirable, yet when God and Jesus are presented to us again and again in an almost proprietary way there’s very little room for anyone else to get in on the action.

But this is a tricky book. At times “Operating Instructions” breaks out of its narrow focus. These are the instances where the work really shines. For example, here’s Lamott’s description of Sam’s effect on the family. “We all lean into him, soaking him up. It’s like he’s giving off a huge amount of energy because he hasn’t had to start putting up a lot of barriers to protect himself. He hasn’t had to start channeling it into managing the world and everybody’s emotions around him, so he’s a pure burning furnace of the stuff.”

Toward the end of “Operating Instructions” Pammy, Anne Lamott’s best friend, is diagnosed with terminal cancer. If you imagine that people stricken with terminal cancer are being asked a question, a big scary question, and how they handle their disease is the reply, then Pammy’s reply is bravery and grace. Her deep love for Sam and Anne Lamott, her gallows humor, and her neat avoidance of the self-pity trap, are all examples of Pammy’s true strength.

It’s interesting to note that Anne Lamott’s first novel, the seemingly autobiographical “Hard Laughter,” is about the narrator’s father’s struggle with brain cancer. Both books convey a great deal of sadness, but “Operating Instructions” is balanced with a grounded quality, maybe faith or maybe just stronger writing, that makes it the better written of the two works.

No, this book doesn’t challenge any existing ideas about God or motherhood, but if it’s not that you’re after, “Operating Instructions” is a smart, funny and comforting read.