Herb's Pajamas, a superbly crafted ensemble of related vignettes, reminds us that life holds both laughter and loss. Happily, life also holds the writing of Abigail Thomas, a former editor who has the uncanny ability to incisively yet deferentially reveal her characters' hearts.
With an ear for nuance and unerring eye Ms. Thomas presents four Manhattanites, all apartment dwellers on the Upper West Side. What a bittersweet quartet they are - strangers inhabiting the same block, patronizing the same shoe repair, browsing the same book shop, as each, in his or her own way, struggles to cope with loss.

Walter, the middle-aged author of a moderately successful sci-fi epic is plagued by insomnia as he waits, hoping that his wife will return. Although he dreams of coming home one day to find her in the kitchen, "pots of things simmering on the stove," his only solace is found in vivid memories of happier days.

Although disagreements have separated them, Walter tends to his aged mother, taking her on outings. Mindful of her dislike for plastic utensils, he brings along a silver spoon with which he feeds her vanilla ice cream from a vendor's cup. When she declares her love, his eyes fill as he says he loves her, too, "Grateful to whatever it is that allowed him to love her at long last."

At fifty-four Edith has never seen a man naked. Seeking to satisfy her curiosity she treks to the Metropolitan Museum in search of statuary only to remember that it's Monday and, of course, the Museum is closed. She settles for a bacon sandwich. When opportunity does arrive in the form of a dotty exhibitionist, one glance is all she needs to deem the sight a letdown - just another in the string of disappointments that punctuate Edith's days.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking member of this foursome is Bunny, a 14-year-old runaway whose all-wise facade is so brittle we fear she'll soon break. She's headed for the inked "X" on a dog eared picture postcard sent by her beloved older sister who disappeared sometime ago. Spurred on by hash brownies and nowhere else to go she reaches her destination which, inevitably, it seems, is a bridge.

Heroine of the title piece is sixtyish Belle whose lover dies outside her apartment door clad in her late husband's pajama top. Belle's solution to this inconvenient occurrence is hilarious, thoughtful, and fitting. But, as Belle says, "I have given love freely and sometimes God cuts me a little slack."

No slack needs to be cut for Ms. Thomas who blends humor and pathos, deftly capturing quicksilver with a phrase. Estrangement and love, alienation and devotion, laughter and tears are brush strokes in these artfully sketched portraits. Herb's Pajamas shines not because characters are drawn larger than life but because they are drawn so poignantly true to life.

- Gail Cooke