I'll confess I've never been smitten by Big Stone Gap's folksy Blue Ridge charm. This time, I'm downright annoyed by it, especially since the various plots congeal worse than Jell-O salad on a hot day: Why does Ave's hubby put another woman's name on his deathbed to-do list? What's town librarian Iva Lou hiding? Who's the mysterious young man who keeps appearing in Cracker's Neck Holler? Adriana Trigiani lards the book with pseudo-down-home wisdom: ''[Men's] egos are like delicate eggshells, and yet physically, they have the brute strength of a bear.'' Reading Home to Big Stone Gap is like eating a butterscotch pie in one sitting.