The denizens of Lake Wobegon were startled when Evelyn Peterson died in her sleep. The 82-year-old was in better health than most.

Evelyn had spent the evening before with her two best friends, Gladys and Margaret, discussing the effects of Viagra on Gladys’ husband, among other things. Such effects are censored here but not in Garrison Keillor’s book, “Pontoon,” wherein this story is told. Think screwdriver, not ball-peen hammer. But I digress, as Keillor does throughout.

Evelyn’s story is told backward (we learn about Raoul and Hawaii) and forward as Evelyn’s daughter, Barbara, attempts to follow her mother’s wishes after death. These include the green beaded rhinestone dress which Raoul had given Evelyn after the week in Branson, Mo., Andy Williams singing “Moon River,” and the bowling ball containing Evelyn’s ashes dropped into Lake Wobegon.

These wishes collide with Debbie Detmer’s wedding plans for the same day. Debbie, you see, had made over 10 million bucks for her pet aromatherapy franchises and wanted to marry her boyfriend, Brent, on Wally’s pontoon boat, presided over by Misty Naylor of the Sisterhood of Sacred Spirit, imported from California.

Also imported were 24 renegade Lutheran ministers from Denmark who did not want lutefisk for dinner and who had been exiled to America for denying the divinity of Jesus. Along with them came the flying Elvis, 10 cases of Moet champagne, giant duck decoys, giant shrimp shish kebabs, a hot air balloon, Raoul of rank cigars, tinted shades and a rainbow sport coat, and Evelyn’s naked grandson with his parasail.

I don’t know if you can truly get the picture of that wonderful Saturday in Lake Wobegon’s history, but after reading chapter 23, I’m sure you’ll say it was memorable. Barbara, at least, thought so, “The chaos was marvelous!” Amen.

Garrison Keillor is a past master of stringing implausible events together with digressions that illuminate every character. Barbara’s lover is a lovely fat man who slips around incognito and reconnoiters with her at the Romeo Hotel. We learn about Kyle, Evelyn’s naked grandson, and his future success at Oxford.

I never knew that pet aromatherapy could be so fashionable, but provide a service, as they say, and people will pay for it. Duck decoys are marvelous, especially if one can get inside and paddle secretly within firing range of real ducks. They may make interesting wedding decorations, when the wedding is to be on a lake.

There is a lot of theology in Keillor’s book. Lutherans get most of the attention, but Catholics are treated as they deserve. The local Lutheran minister administers to the Danish ministers, getting them on the pontoon boat where the shish kebabs are barbecuing, at the same time avoiding the rancid Labrador fishing dog named Bruno. The ministers get what they deserve, too.

What we get as readers is a Rabelaisian ménage where Keillor piles one darn thing after another, but if one accepts that what happens at Lake Wobegon is plausible, then anything is plausible. After awhile the reader says, “Aha, I know what will happen. Will Keillor pull it off?” I think he does.

What Keillor is also offering is a paean to love. Keillor artfully has Evelyn writing letters to Barbara throughout the book where Evelyn explains that she decided to live a lot after her husband had died. It helps that she meets Raoul again, and it is unfortunate they never made Paris, but they will always have Honolulu, and Branson, and Reno, and ….

Pay attention to the poems and the jump rope routines encountered throughout “Pontoon.” Keillor is repeating a motif or two with significant changes that reflect on what has happened or will. Toni Morrison used similar techniques in “The Bluest Eye” for much more serious effect.

Through the letters and the necessities of Evelyn’s funeral, Barbara quits drinking cold turkey. She reconciles, sort of, her relationships with her two brothers and straightens Kyle out.

In some ways I was reminded of Kurt Vonnegut as Keillor is also celebrating the absurdities of life. I mean, the town of Lake Wobegon even has a Latin motto, “Sumus quod Sumus,” “We are what we are.”

How can one not like a book where the last letter from a mother to a daughter ends, “Can’t live with people, can’t live without them. That’s how it goes. Just one thing after another. Love,”

Ralph Mohr taught English and Latin at Marshfield High School for 31 years. He welcomes comments and suggestions regarding the column at rmohr1565@charter.net.