Okay, finished 'A Quiet Belief in Angels'.
Somewhere in there was a good book, possibly. But, as my learned friend Lurker has already pointed out, it's no Steinbeck. And boy, does the author wish he was Steinbeck. He apes his style and mentions him whenever he gets a chance. It gets particularly wearying when he starts quoting from 'Cannery Row'.
Style aside, the story itself is quite engaging until our hero, Joseph, leaves Georgia. From that point on it seems like the author loses interest and starts rattling through the plot and the years. I finished it so quickly because I just wanted to get to the end, confirm who the killer was (it was always going to be one of three or four people, and the actual identity didn't ultimately matter very much), and move on to the next book.
Reading this book won't make your life any worse. But it will take up time that could be spent much better elsewhere. Like reading Steinbeck.