The Dog-Eared Book on My Shelf
As a bookseller, I respect a customer's hunt for pristine, unopened, un-smudged books. As a reader and writer, I retain the right to dog-ear, highlight, and generally abuse (with affection) the books in my library. My previously-owned copy of Ida B (by Katherine Hannigan) did not survive my reading unscathed; I began folding corners almost immediately. Hannigan's masterful passages are not only honest and heartfelt, but she also pulls from the world we all know--and wraps it up in ways I could never have imagined. For example: "Here's the bad thing about being a snake in the spring: sometimes you find what you think is the best place in the world to sunbathe. It's the biggest rock ever, so long you can't see where it ends. And this perfect, so-good-you-almost-can't-believe-it's-true rock is smooth and dark and toasty warm. [. . .] But, being a snake, you're so low to the ground you can't see that this piece of rock paradise you're lying o