My father’s favorite pie was Pecan. And so when I read Kate Lebo’s description of what a pecan pie lover is like, it was as if I was reading his astrological sign. “Pecan pie-lovers manage their fear of the future by playing as hard as they work. They distract themselves from the deadlines of birthdays with the sweetest of sweet pies, honey upon brown sugar, molasses upon fat. A pecan pie-lover prepares for the worst with dessert, and does not share.” Funny, true, with a pinch of darkness.

Such is Kate Lebo’s beautiful book (with accompanying art by Jessica Lynn Bonin), due out October 8^th. The thing is packed with playful poetry, characterization, tasty details and an appreciable presumption of knowing – really knowing – what a thing can be or what a person can be like. Other pie poems I enjoyed were “Rhubarb Custard”, where Kate writes, “The woman who serves rhubarb custard pie is queen of the tealit dining room, her whisperclean countertops formica bright. Though she has been known to fake orgasms, she would never serve Splenda to guests.” And the simply short “Peanut Butter”, which reads completely, “If you love peanut butter pie, you are either Dolly Parton or someone who loves her.”

As with any set of peccadillos, any set of characteristics, we can’t assume we know them all to start, which is why it is fun to play in the world of discovery Lebo creates (as I imagine she enjoyed playing in it too, getting her fingers dirty with lyrical baked goods). It’s as if we are looking at someone else’s class yearbook, reading the quotes, getting to analyze the smiles, the freckles, the hairdos, what they’re made of.

Kate’s recipes, which are presented after her 25 pie poems, almost as if the book is done in reverse, are helpful. We are given an introduction to the ingredients of the pies and their personalities. Having read them, we get to the philosophy of baking, and its ingredients, and then down deep into the recipes. It’s as if, upon baking our first, or second, or fifth pie, we are meant to go back and read through the types again as the delectables bake warm. Entertainment while we wait, as the oven heals.

The recipes are not just recipes, either. They are personalized narratives. Bits of writing that lead us, either alone or with a group of loved ones, to someplace imperfect and delicious. We are given a bit about Kate’s history as a baker, a bit about what she prefers, and we want to know these things, because we trust her. Somehow, over the course of this book of poetry and recipes, we learn that we can truly trust Kate Lebo.