I have already espoused my love of Barbara Kingsolver, and I have also already related the story of my 12th grade dramatic interpretation of The Poisonwood Bible, in which I played a mute girl with a limp for a class presentation. It's pretty rare that I would ever pat my younger self on the back for a good decision, but reading and loving The Poisonwood Bible is one of those instances that makes me appreciate my younger, stupider self. It's like 17-year old me gave 28-year old me a gift in the form of a well-worn, dog-earred, much beloved book that has filled a decade of my life with Barbara Kingsolver's incredible prose. The women in the novel feel so real to me, and I've read it so many times that I almost feel like another sister in their family, silently observing the unraveling.

The Bookhive List is a weekly recommendation of my all-time favorite, must-read books