Ida lives in a New Jersey suburb just ten miles west of New York City. She's 62 years old, has kept the same job in a factory for twenty-nine years and lives in the home where she grew up and raised her family. But for years, she has lived with a secret that not even those closest to her knew: Ida cannot read.
It is that very particular exhilarating feeling, when you find a book so scrumptious and exotic you open it with a whisper and close it with a sigh. You've found this book through no one's urging or description or advertising. You wandered alone, woozy in towering aisles with books stacked up to another altitude, on a day when no one seems to have this same idea.