As a group of book nerds, we kicked off book club with stories about going to the library as kids. Each of us had one memorable story to share. Mine was being able to check-out Wifey by Judy Blume as a young tween. My mom didn’t believe in withholding books. But, she did believe in discussing them if she thought something was above my maturity level. There were a lot of awkward conversations in my youth. So I was one the gal in middle school who had a legit copy of this hush-hush, whisper-with-hand-over-mouth book. If I were to re-read it today, I’d probably laugh about what was considered risqué then.

So Book Club was ready to have a love affair with The Library Book by Susan Orlean. And although many of us enjoyed the rather colorful history of the librarians who’ve headed up the LA Public Library (truly a wild bunch—I should have been a librarian), this nonfiction work didn’t quite strike a chord in our hearts as previous titles by Orlean have done. We did agree that one of the most fascinating elements of the work was not the mystery of who started the fire, but the explanation of how a library recovers books hugely damaged by smoke and water. I personally enjoyed this one, but it wasn’t a top pick for the club. Next up, Where The Crawdads Sing, a title that definitely fits that upmarket/literary sweet spot but that I’m sensing won’t hit mine. I’ll probably be in the minority.