A Literary Crush

I tend to develop crushes on authors. It started with Mildred Walker, thanks to my mother's battered copy of Winter Wheat, and hasn't stopped yet. When a book is so enjoyable that it breaks my heart to reach the last page, then it makes sense that more from the same author might offer some relief. This was true of Walker, and, now that I have exhausted the library's offerings from Mildred Walker, I've had to move on.

So, how to choose the object of my next crush? That was a tough one. Thanks to Barnes & Noble classics and a $5 price tag, I picked up a copy of Willa Cather's My Antonia. Bingo. That was exactly what I have been looking for - another author who can write passionately about endless prairies and howling winters, whose characters are both regular and extraordinary, and whose ability to paint a picture of relationships without overt descriptions brings her stories to life. I gobbled it up and have now moved on to Death Comes for the Archbishop.

But what next? There are a number of Willa Cather's books on the shelves of my local library, but I will read slowly and savor them, because who knows when I will stumble upon another author whose stories make me feel so lonely and complete at the same time.

Now be warned, book-ies, this isn't edgy, self-important, summer-truffle-stuffed-breast-of-guinea-hen writing, it is meat-and-potatoes-and-homemade-apple-cider writing. It will either satisfy or bore you in the manner of home-cooked comfort food.

This, of course, is my humble opinion.