I'm going to be dog-sitting over the weekend, and while selecting books to take along with me, I made the fatal mistake of opening one of them. My intention was to read only the first paragraph. I'm now five chapters into The School of Essential Ingredients. Oops.
For Lillian's mother, every part of a book was magic, but what she delighted in most were the words themselves. Lillian's mother collected exquisite phrases and complicated rhythms, descriptions that undulated across a page like cake batter pouring into a pan, read aloud to put the words in the air where she could hear them as well as see them.
"Oh, Lilly," her mother would say, "listen to this one. It sounds green, don't you think?"
And Lillian, who was too young to know that words were not colors and thoughts were not sounds, would listen while the syllables fell quietly through her, and she would think, This is what greens sounds like.-- Erica Bauermeister, The School of Essential Ingredients