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In Serena Burdick’s new novel, a home for wayward girls looms large.

Every morning in the weeks that followed, I'd dip my spoon into my bowl of cereal or my yogurt parfait and confront a new wave of sadness. There's nothing like missing your sense of taste to make you really long for the deliciously comforting foods you've eaten a million times before: that bite of chocolate in the late afternoon that gets you through the seemingly endless hour before dinnertime, tangy goat cheese on a warm baguette. There are taste buds all over the mouth, not just on the tongue, so I'm still able to taste to a small degree. [...]on New Year's Day, I'll watch my kids eat their fish and chips and relish in their enjoyment.