A Heaping, Heartland Helping of Miracle Grip

I'd never read anything by Elizabeth Berg.  But there was something about the hard copy of Night of Miracles, priced to sell at $7.97, that gripped me.  Still, it sat on my bookshelf for six months, horizontally with the other still-to-be-read titles, as is often the case with authors I don't know, stranger danger being what it is.  But last week I thought, okay, no new books until you read this.  So I did.

Night of Miracles, as it turns out, is a novel about the ordinary and extraordinary people who live in Mason, Missouri.  There's Lucille, the nearly ninety retired schoolteacher who now teaches the town to bake.  And Tiny, the enormous and kind cab driver in love with Monica, the waitress who serves him his double orders of pigs in a blanket.  And Iris, the Boston transplant trying to mend her broken heart.  And Abby, Jason, and Lincoln, the little family that moves next door to Lucille.  It's a beautiful book and reminds me of Fannie Flagg, full of small-town Missouri magic.  In fact, on the back cover Flagg herself says that "Elizabeth Berg's characters jump right off the page and into your heart."  Even this book's ode to unhealthy eating is charming, as if cakes can ward off cancer more effectively than veganism.  That's not just me being cute, but something that kind of sort of happened.  It's a real testament to the power of tasty food, no matter how artery clogging, when it's made with love.  It's like Berg is telling us to let go of the rules and enjoy life while we're living it.  Which is poignant in the way that all salt-of-the-earth, clean kind of sad stories are.

When it ended, I added the rest of Berg's books to my reading list.  Because a writer who can whip up such a miracle of a read must have a casserole of a canon.

And I very much heart casseroles.