I hate giving books stars. I never know where to begin. Do I give three stars to a book that makes me laugh? Four stars to the one that keeps me up at night? Do I give five to the one that makes me cry? Makes me wonder if my life is worthwhile? If the protagonist’s legs get ripped off, is that worth a star? How about if their parents get eaten by sharks? The horror of it must be worth something. The whole thing leaves me in a tizzy. Instead, I’ve decided to give books food designations, depending on how they feed my soul.  

Books that are a guilty pleasure, a quick read that whisks me away, they are Corner Store books. 

If they feel soothing, like something my grandmother would have fed me, they’re Ma and Pop books. 

A Steak House book makes me catch my breath. The words have a music all their own, and they thrum inside me. 

Last, but not least, is the Michelin Star. Michelin Star books are few and far between. They leave me gutted. I read them in gulps, in a self-imposed stillness. And when all is said and done, it cost me. 

Let’s get reading!