I love candy. Seriously. So does Steve Almond. So he wrote a book about candy. And I read it. I enjoyed most of this book, except for the weird tangents about how depressed he was and how only candy loved him. I would have been fine with an autobiography about a guy who really likes candy, but this book read more like a book about the history of some candy companies with some strange diversions about life thrown in at the last minute because maybe no one would want to read a book just about candy. I also found it incredibly distressing to read page after page about the magical Valomilk, only to find that they explode at high altitude so they don’t ship them over the Rockies or transport them by plane, which means I’m going to have to go to Kansas or something to get my hands on a damn Valomilk. Boo!