I know for a fact that I’m not the only person out there who’s started a book, loved it, and then shelved it for reasons beyond her control. Perhaps my half-read (er, quarter-read) list is a bit longer than that of other book types—The Lord of the Rings, This Boy’s Life, and One Hundred Years of Solitude have been lingering for years—but I don’t sweat it too much. In essence, I’ve always got piping hot food for thought at my disposal. Last week, I was craving something funny, dark, sprawling, and (here’s the clincher)optimistic to match the rapidly shifting weather. I came up with Zadie Smith’s White Teeth, an LJ Best Book of 2000, not to mention the winner of nearly every major award a young writer covets. I’m glad to say the book still crackles with confidence and verve, and even better it’s more relevant now than it was six years ago. Back in the early 00’s, we liked to think we lived in a fairly well-adjusted, “multicultural” world. Meanwhile, the plans for 9/11 were being laid down. What’s great about Smith’s story, beyond the effervescent, nearly drinkable prose, is the unlikely friendship it chronicles: that of a proud Muslim Bangladeshi man and a rather bumbling white (Protestant?) English doughboy. By all appearances, Samad and Archie have no right to be friends, except that they do. Their differences are the glue that keeps them together; without conflict, they have nothing in common. Of course, I’m not done with the book—everthing could go to hell—but for the time being, I’m savoring Smith’s vision of the great London melting pot.