I recently finished Jodi Piccoult’s Mad Honey. I didn’t cry but I couldn’t put it down, and it lived rent free in my mind for weeks afterwards. It’s one of the only books I’ve read and walked away from feeling like it was a truly important book. It changed my perspective on so very many things. A subject that I accepted but never really felt comfortable with now makes so much more sense, and I see things in a new light.

This is a book that I have to visit every couple of years. I read it first in my early twenties and I remember sobbing at the end, for Mel, for Scarlet, for love lost and a life of selfish choices.

Every time I visit with new eyes and life experience and I see things a bit different. I don’t cry anymore, but I always feel sad to never find out if there would ever be a happy ending.

Inevitably, I will walk around saying “damn Yankees” for a couple of weeks afterwards and I get weird looks.