Salt: We have shed blood for it. We have paid for it. In many ways it is priceless; in others, virtually worthless. Its presence can make or break a dinner, a culture, all life on Earth.

In Salt in the Wounds, Mark Blagrave reminds us of the dynamic, elementary, and precipitous relationship that people share with this simple molecule, and with each other. In “Transit of Venus,” a couple resort to salt as an ancient, folk-medicine, fertility aid; in “Rupert and Sophia,” online-auction bidding rivals bond over their rare, shared admiration for the beauty of an ornate salt cellar; in “Ageusia,” a woman’s relationship with a chef dissolves over her sudden inability to taste salt; and in “Love You Like Salt,” old friends become more than just that as they trade folk-tales about salt’s role in love and life.

Paracelsus said, “The dose makes the poison,” and every word in Salt in the Wounds is a carefully measured curative agent; with each new page your blood will flow, your heart will beat, and your mind will delight in these short, sharp, brilliant gems.