Donna's concoction captures the attention of a New York-based marketer attending the luncheon with a former roommate. Lucy Hobbes believes the cinnamon-scented oil has potential and urges Donna to "talk business" with her later. After a dinner meeting with Lucy and promoter Gloria Hewett, Donna signs on; and her new contacts set the marketing machine in motion.

Donna has a substantial cheering section—populated by her devoted and supportive husband, Hank, her mercurial teenage daughter Stephanie, mischief-making sons Simon, Nate, and Ben, and her ever-present best friend from the ward, Margo Cabot. Also along for the ride: Donna's new visiting teaching companion, Juliet Benton; Big Apple marketing's photographer Lois Wheaton; and the sonorous stake public affairs representative, Meredith Monson, who encourages Donna to use her entrepreneurial opportunities to promote the Church.

Although the marketing process seems straightforward, Donna is in for a few surprises. She signs contracts without reading the fine print and is shocked to discover what Gloria has in mind for the print advertising: barely clad models pushing her fragrance now dubbed Sinnamon. Donna pitches a fit and enlists the help of a lawyer recommended by Sister Monson. Inspired by Donna's impassioned reaction, Gloria suggests they use her in the ad campaign. While Donna can't change the name of the product, her wholesome image and spunk are certainly a more palatable alternative than what the New York folks had in mind.

Donna's inner "lioness" surfaces again at her first photo shoot. Makeup artists and hair stylists revamp her homespun appearance, but her wardrobe becomes an issue when the snooty wardrobe designer insists Donna strip on the spot and put on the outfit he's picked out:

"Look—Rico, is it?" Donna said in a steely, no-nonsense tone. "You're going to have to leave now if you want me to try these on."
Rico looked dumbfounded. "Get over it, honey," he said. "I'm not here for my jollies. There's not time to tiptoe around."
"You listen to me, honey," Donna barked back. "No way am I going to drop my trousers in front of you." She could feel her lioness surging. "There is some stuff about my clothing that you wouldn't get, and I'm not in a mood to go into it with you. You can forget the tank top, too. Get me something with sleeves."
"Unacceptable," said Rico fiercely.
"Unacceptable or not, I do not wear tank tops and I am not going to discuss it with you." ... When it comes to privacy and clothing—and garments—she was not going to be bullied by some little tyrant. (54-55)

Though Donna feels a little guilty for dispatching Rico harshly, she also feels appreciated for her lioness-like ability to stand up for herself. It's an attribute that serves her well during the frenzied pre-Christmas marketing campaign for Sinnamon. As the pace increases, so do the stressors. Donna wonders whether the time spent away from her family is worth the rewards of bringing her product—evocative of home and hearth—to the masses.

Even when the cost to her orderly, predictable life seems perilously high, Donna faces her challenges with a sometimes ferocious grace. Sinnamon gives her a wild ride for a few months; then Donna is altogether happy to step back into the normalcy of after-school snacks, managing her brood, and keeping household entropy in check. Even the task of cooking dinner for the family takes on unanticipated allure when compared to her hectic cross-country promotional tour.

Donna's handlers recognize and capitalize on her "Everywoman" qualities. It's part of what sells. Yet there are moments when Donna's lack of finesse shines through the veneer. Though she can be strong, Donna also vacillates and second-guesses herself—and is especially sensitive to the criticisms coming from members of her ward and negative feedback from her own children. It's strange that Donna can take on the New York publicity machine and emerge victorious again and again, yet she deflates so completely over her teenage daughter's assessment of her appearance. She seems to take to heart Stepahanie's comment: "When it comes to image, Mom, you can't trust your own instincts!" (34-35)

Donna also abdicates responsibility for knowing the contents of the contracts she's signed and tunes out when her lawyer tries to explain the details to her. She bounces between a "what do I know about this" green and feeling as if she can easily navigate the public sphere. She is talented and accomplished and has dimension to her life, so where does the tendency to recoil from her own abilities come from? Perhaps this bothers me because I can relate to it a little too well.

Donna's world is populated with some colorful characters. The people in Donna's ward are probably the most recognizable of the "types." There is a Mormon couple transplanted to the East Coast for graduate school; the wife frets about putting her daughter in preschool (the horror!) and counts down the days until she can move back to her beloved Pocatello. Donna has a crusty, inactive woman on her visiting teaching route and her companion is a single woman with a Ph.D. (As Donna notes, Ph.D. and single woman are often synonymous in Mormon culture.)

Merdith Monson, the stake public relations director, proves a delicious foil and a perpetual fly in the ointment of Donna's adventures. Sister Monson has something of a Jane Austen tang to her—she's the boorish guest oblivious to the myriad ways she transgresses social and even spiritual proprieties. Every time she weighs in, she chides Donna for neglecting to mention missionary work or food storage during her latest public appearance for Sinnamon. Sister Monson's relentless criticism under the guise of "helping" someone less savvy about public relations and the Outside World quickly becomes patronizing and evokes another appearance of Donna's lioness—and deservedly so.

At one point, Donna muses: "Is Sinnamon my product, or because I'm Mormon, am I supposed to be marketing the gospel along with it? If I decide to 'let my light so shine' and all that, do I have to screw in the public-image light bulb that Sister Monson wants? The one that says we don't throw spit wads at bishops or get tattoos? Or is it my own kind of light bulb that laughs and likes to think that God might be laughing with me?" (86)

While the story does touch on some weightier matters—such as identity issues and the obligations of Mormons in the spotlight—it generally stays out of heavy-handed, moralizing territory. It's a fun read and lends credibility to the idea that we peculiar people can poke fun at ourselves and survive a good-natured ribbing. And we may yet have Erma Bombecks of our own.

Irreantum, Jeffrey Needle
Few of my friends would describe me as a macho kind of guy. I don't own a cowboy hat; I don't drive a pickup truck; I don't smoke cigars (or anything else, for that matter).

Further, I have a habit, when my snail-mail volume is high, of grabbing it all and taking it out to a place where I can eat a meal and read or discard as much of the mail as possible before bringing the rest home. So when the package from Signature Books arrived the other day, along with about twenty-five other pieces of mail, I trundled off to dinner with my stack of correspondence and junk mail.

I had been invited to a restaurant to eat with the manager and a few of the fellows who slice beef and mop floors. The manager is LDS. I dumped my mail onto the table and was asked, "What's in the big envelope?"

"A book for review!"

"Ooh, open it now. Don't wait until you get home."

And obeying their wishes, I dumped the book onto the table. Silence. Out came a pink book! Any little bit of macho I'd ever had was now forever gone.

And it is indeed the cover and the cover art that strike you first thing when you grab a copy of this book. If you're lucky enough to get a review copy from the publisher, it will include a little slip of paper with all the book information listed. Yes, it's a pink slip of paper.

So, who is Sister B.? She is Donna Brooks, wife of Hank, mother to several children, busy Mormon housewife, resident of Rottingham, Massachusetts. Sister Brooks leads a full life, caring for her family and staying heavily involved in church functions. So far, so good.

And then one day Sister B. receives a phone call asking for help with an upcoming women's function. She needs to come up with some idea that she can transform into little keepsakes for the women who attend the activity. She decides to concoct a cinnamon-based perfume/potion that can be packaged in little bottles and left at each place setting as a memento of the event. A simple idea. But one of the attendees brings a guest, a woman who works for a marketing firm in New York. She falls in love with the potion and thus sets the stage for the national marketing of Sister B.'s concoction.

Traveling to New York, Sister B. signs a contract without reading it (bad idea) and only then learns that her product is to be called "Sinnamon." Yes, as in "sin." It would be advertised as an erotic potion that will drive your man wild. Not exactly the image Sister B. had in mind! Infuriated, Sister B. manages to redirect the effort, and it takes a more wholesome direction. But the name stays.

The Marketing of Sister B. is an hilarious look at the effect of fame on a sister of the Restoration and its residual effects on her family, her friends, and her church. Being catapulted from relative obscurity to national prominence can be overwhelming. It causes the celebrity to see life from a new perspective and forces that celebrity to re-evaluate priorities. What really matters in life? What remains when the fanfare is gone?

Happily, Sister B. has plenty of outside conscience-buckets, from a rabid Sister Monson from the Public Affairs Department of the church to a vixen named Gloria who will stop at nothing to sell a product. Does Sister B. have the internal resources necessary to withstand both extremes, to find her way through this sudden fame, this cataclysmic change in her life?

The Sister Monson character plays an excellent counterpoint to the character of Gloria. While Sister B. is preparing for a media appearance, having been somewhat embarrassed by a previous experience with the media, Sister Monson takes it upon herself to give our heroine her marching orders. Appearing at the TV studio just prior to Sister B.'s interview, Sister Monson recites her catechism:

"You have only so much time to make some important points. First, family values. Proclaim it as traditionally as possible. [. . .] This would be the time to mention the delights of reverent children, how you emphasize obedience and respect in the family. I'll send you some pamphlets for remedial assistance in that. Of course, you can bring up the degrading effects of raucous laughter and body mutilations.

"You're not just selling hearth and home, Sister Brooks. You're selling heaven, if you think about it. It's a blessing and a weighty responsibility you're under!" Sister Monson took a deep breath. She was not yet done.

"Where was I? Oh, two—no mention of s-e-x. Nothing suggestive in the slightest! Pretend you don't understand the concept.

"Three, call it 'The Church of Jesus Christ' fortissimo, then add on the 'of Latter-day Saints' part but quieter. Don't call it Mormonism. Yes, I know it's a little long, but it's good to get it out there over the airwaves.

"Four, if you can mention the missionaries, all the better. Don't mention that you're using the money from Sinnamon to finance your children's missions, though. The public just won't be ready yet for that. Believe me, I've learned that lesson from my own marketing experience" (88-89).

And in the middle of this maelstrom is Sister B. She is being molded by everyone; everyone wants her to project their idea of what the perfect woman should be like. The New York publicist wants a sexy, alluring female whose appeal can be duplicated with a few dabs of Sinnamon behind each ear. Sister Monson wants what is derisively termed a "Molly Mormon," whose own sexuality is at most accidental and perhaps even regrettable.

In the end, neither party gets its way. Sister B. turns out to be stronger than all of them.

I've read so much Mormon fiction, and the works I've enjoyed the most are those that picture a strong woman who refuses to be pulled asunder by the forces that surround her. She knows her mind, acknowledges her responsibilities, and follows her own inner guidance. Such women, in my mind, are the heroines of Mormonism.

Which is not to say that our dear Sister B. is immune to the flatteries of the world. While waiting for a flight, she overhears a discussion about her product (the politics and the economy of the world are preempted, by the way, by the appearance of Sinnamon) in which a representative from the U. N. is considering purchasing enough Sinnamon to scent the world to peace and tranquility.

On the plane to Boston, Donna marveled at how true the scripture was that says from small and simple things are great things brought to pass. So many lives enriched by her little invention, so much hope and promise brought by her tiny contribution. Businessmen feeling "righteous?" Disarmament brought on by the power of a scent? How honorable to be about the Lord's work selling Sinnamon to a needy world (94).

Sister Monson and Gloria are typical of the characters in this book. Those that figure prominently (with the notable exceptions of Sister B. and her husband Hank) are clearly caricatures, line-drawings of certain classes of people who will likely not behave individually as these do but who are amusingly portrayed as a collective image. And there is a sense in which Sister B. stands, as it were, in the middle of a whirling eddy, not knowing immediately which way to turn but anchored by her own sense of self-identity.

In fact, the storyline itself stretches credulity and is itself a caricature. But this is the intention of the writer. It is so grossly over-exaggerated, so over the top in its storyline, so simplistic in its telling, and, after all that, a wonderful reading. As soon as I figured out that I needed to suspend any judgment as to the believability of the plot and many of the characters, I settled back, had a good laugh, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Kimball's parodies of ward life are sometimes hilarious. Sister Schmidt is president of the ward's Relief Society. She opens a Sunday-morning meeting this way:

Glad to have you all here. A few announcements. Start thinking ahead for our Sub for Saints collections for the Lake Avenue Shelter. Be sure to contact Gladys Brockbank to make your donations beginning Thanksgiving weekend. Karma and Hjalmar Caputo just had their first baby, a little girl they've named Pluto. Weighed in at 9 lbs. 2 oz. I'm sure the Caputo family would appreciate some help with meals for a few days, so Sister Christiansen is passing around a list. And sisters, when you drop off your food, please be discreet and don't laugh at the baby's name.

"Enrichment is next week on Thursday the 12th. Sign-ups are going around. There are three classes. One will be on Christmas crafts, and you'll need to bring lace, ribbons, and tampons for that one. The second class is about how to make good use of things that expire in the back of your fridge. The last class is a slideshow on fashion called From Twiggy to Fabio (115-16).

Kimball does hit on a few serious themes but is careful to couch them in humor and pathos. In fact, the whole book poses the question, Is fame all that great? Should a church be seeking out famous people for the sake of their fame? Should ordinary people aspire to be famous and should they accept that fame if it should come their way as it did for Sister B.?

Kimball is unrelenting in her critique of society's worship of fame and money. And she shows how fame and money can be incompatible with a simple presentation of the gospel.

Kimball saves her hardest moments for a gripping scene that takes place in the ladies' room in Sister B.'s ward house. Sitting inside a cubicle, she's really hiding from her adoring fans, the constant requests for autographs, the congratulatory hugs. The sisters who enter the restroom are talking among themselves, and it ain't pretty. They're angry, resentful, spiteful, jealous of Sister B.'s success. The stark contrast between their public faces and those worn when they think Sister B. isn't listening exposes a level of hypocrisy and hurt that brings us back to the real world.

Now, what does this book lack? (1) No sex. (2) No murders or other violence. (3) No swear words. (4) No questioning of LDS doctrine. (5) No criticism of the leadership.

So, I ask, why didn't Deseret Book publish this book? Did Kimball submit it to them? Did they turn it down? This is such an unlikely title to come from Signature. In fact, inasmuch as an employee of Deseret Book reads these reviews, I will urge her to get her bosses to read this book and figure out that it is safe to sell, even under the new rubrics. Pink cover and all.

I liked The Marketing of Sister B. Kimball writes simply and keeps the action moving. Her prose is very spare and her dialogue easy to follow. She tells an over-the-top story, using over-the-top characters, primarily to entertain, but we must not miss the serious undertones of the dangers of fame, the value of family and friends, and the pain of hypocrisy.