Reading this book is kind of like eating a lemon bar: it's sweet and chewy and makes you feel good initially, but you know if you eat more than one you're gonna start feeling nauseous. The book is pretty on the surface. You can practically feel the South Carolina sunshine warming your skin when Sue Monk Kidd writes. But maybe I'm tired of petulant white girls (@ The Help) being at the center of civil rights era books. We do not need more white savior books. I'm tired of political-but-not-because-it's-just-a-side-plot. And... I can still remember the way Sue Monk Kidd describes carpet in a honey farm 2 years later. And May, June, and August feel like a long, strong hug after the end of a long day.