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Works of fiction do not often make their way into my daily diet. Although I read, on average, about two hours per day, the literary menu is almost exclusively nonfiction -- newspapers, political journals and books on various socio-political controversies. Writing with any degree of authority about matters of culture requires a heavy diet of current events. Fiction is a luxury my schedule rarely permits.

But once in a while, exceptions are made. I carved out time, for instance, to devour the Harry Potter series. I'm delighted to report that my wife, who until recently read little more than Hollywood gossip, is engrossed in Stephenie Meyer's "Twilight" series. Thus far I have resisted the temptation to join her. The latest exception to my fiction-free diet came about last month, when I read Greensboro's latest One City, One Book selection: "The Pleasure Was Mine," by Asheville author Tommy Hays. And I'm glad I did. The investment of time was minimal; the rewards, immense.

Greensboro's One City, One Book project utilizes the written word to establish a sense of community, a shared experience in which readers explore and discuss common themes. Because newspapers are a dwindling source of that shared experience among citizens, One City, One Book is an important means of filling the void. Unfortunately, Greensboro has squandered the opportunity with selections -- most notably, the 2004 pick of Mary Pipher's "The Middle of Everywhere" -- that are politically charged, divisive, and as likely to alienate as they are to unite readers.

Not so this year. As Steve Sumerford, assistant director of the Greensboro Public Library, wrote in September, "the universal themes in 'The Pleasure Was Mine' -- aging, family relationships, the challenge of care giving -- speak to a wide range of readers." Sumerford and the selection committee deserve a tip of the hat for choosing a book that all readers are likely to enjoy.

At a superficial level, "The Pleasure Was Mine" is about Alzheimer's disease, but it is much more complex than that. And it is not the somber, depressing tear-jerker some readers might expect. Quite the contrary. It is an amusing and triumphant tale about the bonds of marriage and family and how those bonds weather the harshest of trials.

The story is narrated by Prate Marshbanks, a crusty, anti-social old man whose abrasive disposition deteriorates further as his wife of 50-some years, Irene, is ravaged by Alzheimer's. At length, Irene must be institutionalized, but her spirit accompanies Prate at all times: "The more I was away from Irene, the more she became a part of my thinking, helping me see the other side, short-circuiting my anger. Irritated the hell out of me."

Prate's grown son, Newell, has a son of his own, 9-year-old Jackson. When Newell asks his dad to take Jackson for several weeks, Prate reluctantly agrees and is promptly haunted by the teachings of Irene: "I made an effort to talk to [Jackson], but he didn't say much back. I would start to lose my patience, but Irene's voice would creep up on me, 'Prate, just because he doesn't talk, doesn't mean he's not listening. He takes after his granddaddy.' " Prate is a huggable curmudgeon -- a far cry from the heartless character he first seems.

Prate, a house painter, is a high school dropout. Irene, a renowned teacher of English, never looks down on Prate's lack of formal learning but takes him under her intellectual wing. She introduces him to "Jane Austen, George Eliot, Dickens, Hemingway, Steinbeck, and the long-winded Thomas Wolfe. Writers like those made me see the world in a little different light."

And so does Jackson. The boy often accompanies Prate to visit Irene, and she occasionally remembers who the two of them are. Jackson reads to his grandmother, who is invigorated by his company. As the relationship between Prate and Jackson grows, we discover that, underneath the sandpaper exterior, Prate is a passionate, big-hearted man. In the presence of Irene, he is a hopeless romantic.

Prate occasionally takes Irene out for a ride, away from the institution. On one such escapade, they dine at a favorite restaurant. Prate butters Irene's corn muffin, then one for himself: "We ate in silence, but I kept watching her, and she would glance up at me now and then and smile shyly like we were on a first date. And with Alzheimer's we were always on a first date."

Tommy Hays has taken on an unpleasant subject and written about it with compassion and humor. Kudos to the organizers of One City, One Book, who have made an outstanding selection.

Charles Davenport Jr. (daisha99@msn.com) is a freelance columnist who appears alternate Sundays in the News & Record.