Raised in a church where pickles were banned and apocalypse was always imminent, Amy Leach sat through five thousand sermons learning what not to drink, do, or think. Somewhere between the fiddle and philosophy, between becoming a mother and becoming herself, she discovered something quietly subversive: canned asparagus teaches you to love fresh asparagus, and canned ideas teach you to love fresh ideas. Once you’ve tasted freedom, you can’t go back to the jar.

Leach’s books follow that awakening. In Things That Are and The Everybody Ensemble, she reimagines exploding stars beside exploding sea cucumbers, wonders whether linnets have tenets, and assembles choirs of 20 quintillion animals. 

Now, in The Salt of the Universe, she turns that kaleidoscope on herself, offering what one reviewer called “a madcap, whip-smart theology of joy.” Where does freedom live? Why does it sometimes feel so good to be told what to do? What on heaven and earth is the Apicklypse? These aren’t rhetorical questions—Leach is genuinely curious.