Understated, largely uneventful, yet far from underwhelming examination of parental duty and sacrifice, involving three generations of Irish women - grandmother, mother, and daughter.
The grandmother is Mimi, eighty years old with rapidly failing health, awaiting that 'snapping of the thread'. She begins to have imaginary conversations with an 'angel', a 15th century Italian shoemaker named Bonifacio.
Grace is the daughter of Mimi and mother of Polly, a middleaged actress currently rehearsing the part of Gertrude in Hamlet, whose lines keep running through her head as accompianment to her own flustered thoughts.
Polly is in love with Paul, a young actor who becomes besotted with her mother Grace. In truth, the author isn't very interested in poor Polly, but then the novel is called Two Moons, not Three Moons, so that's fair enough.
Most of the events and conversations are drabbly prosaic, but the interior monologues of Mimi and Grace - especially those of the former, played out with her imaginary angel friend, who keeps her provided with coffee and wine - are the subtle strength of the book.
Of course you can't introduce an angel as a character and not address the big question, which Johnston duely does, fairly nimbly I thought:
"It's all in order, you know, I was sent. I was summoned from the shadows and I will go back to the shadows. I just said I was an angel to put you at your ease."
"Shadows?"
"Peace perhaps."
"Is there such a thing?"
"That's all there is."
Despite that excerpt and the constant presence of death, Two Moons never really strains for any profundity, but it's a brisk and easy read.