As much as I love the convenience of my e-reader, I won’t pass up on a good freebie paperback from one of the many mini libraries spread throughout the city. Many of these book exchanges are in a sorry state: packed with a jumble of yellowing textbooks with out-of-date information, children’s books that look like they were mostly used for teething, travel guidebooks for countries that no longer exist, bread machine recipe books, and more.

Since taking up running, I’ve developed an eye for quality mini libraries. It’s not difficult to tell which ones have turned into dumping grounds for old flyers, even when whipping by in my sneakers. The best ones have a quick turnover of books, and I’ve learned which ones do after a few passes. The last mini library to make me double back had me finish the last kilometre of my run carrying a mint copy of Barbara Kingsolver’s hefty novel, Demon Copperhead, in one hand.

Coincidentally, a few days earlier, I had come across a Reddit thread discussing books that are excellent from start to finish, and Demon Copperhead was among the most upvoted titles. The copy I’d acquired begins with four pages of accolades from individuals and publications, most of whom I wasn’t familiar with. The Financial Times voted it “Book of the Year,” which doesn’t seem like much of a compliment coming from a group of people who get amped over reading about economic current affairs.

Nevertheless, the story has truly been good every bit of the way. By Chapter 24, it dawned on me that I’d developed feelings for a fictional character. A child, no less. I plowed through these last few uncomfortable paragraphs of this chapter hoping the kid would escape their predicament unscathed, even though I knew the narrative wasn’t headed that way. Next time, I won’t be so quick to dismiss the literary choices of Financial Times readers.

Although I didn’t take it home, this book also evoked a strong wave of emotions:

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