‘‘What moves me most is an essay in which the writer turns something over and over in his or her head, and in examining it finds a bit of truth about human nature and life and the experience of inhabiting this planet,'' writes Susan Orlean in the introduction of this delightful collection.

Her 25 selections for the 2005 edition of this popular Best American Series not only deliver universal insights but also take us deep inside the writers' minds, fiercely grabbing our attention and turning us into willing traveling companions on circuitous journeys that often end in unexpected places.

The strongest pieces here unfold in seeming stream of consciousness, often beginning with a memory that wends its way to a revelation that leads to an insight that circles back to the original memory before branching off on a new path. Brian Doyle's ‘‘Joyas Voladoras'' begins as a biology lesson on the hearts of the hummingbird and the blue whale and ends as a poetic meditation on the emotional resilience of the human heart. The shift in trajectory comes as quickly and as sharply as a curve in a roller coaster track and produces a comparable thrill.

David Sedaris' ‘‘Old Faithful'' starts as a discussion of a boil on his tailbone and turns into a humorous and sweet love letter to his faithful partner, Hugh, that celebrates their commitment. David Foster Wallace's ‘‘Consider the Lobster'' turns an assignment for a food magazine to cover the Maine Lobster Festival into a hilarious and fretful examination of the morality of boiling live lobsters for our culinary pleasure.

‘‘Mastering the Art of French Cooking'' begins with E.J. Levy's recollections of her mother standing in the kitchen of their suburban ranch house, lovingly replicating an exotic French meal lifted from the pages of Julia Child's cookbook. But the Ozzie-and-Harriet mood shifts, and soon we learn cooking is not so much an act of love for Levy's lonely mother as it is a strategy in the war against her father. ‘‘My mother cooked with a vengeance in those years, or perhaps I should say she cooked for revenge. In her hands, cuisine became a martial art.'' As she meanders through her memories, Levy takes us along on her struggles with her sexuality, her parents' escalating battles and her realization that the passage of time often requires us to adjust our definitions of love. And somehow, right to the last paragraph, Julia Child remains an integral part of the story.

All but one of the pieces in the collection are exquisitely written and read more like novels or memoirs than essays. In most cases, the immediacy of the first-person voice sucks the reader into the heart of the essays almost instantly.

In Paul Crenshaw's ‘‘Storm Country,'' the smell of the storm cellar and the dankness of its earthen walls and floors are palpable even for those who grew up in places where cellars were called basements, finished with paneling and pool tables. Crenshaw's descriptions of the green skies and black funnel clouds of Tornado Alley are more vivid than any storm chaser's video. And there's a poignancy in the realization by his boyhood self that the adults at the top of the stairs weren't so much protecting him from the storm as they were watching it in absolute awe, unable to avert their eyes from its power.

The least engaging piece in the collection is Mark Greif's ‘‘Against Exercise,'' the only entry that doesn't use some form of narrative. It reads like a shrill diatribe against the culture of exercise, particularly exercise that takes place in gyms, though he doesn't like runners either. Greif's railings ring hollow, though. He fails to inject any context or explanation for his position and fails to put himself into the piece. And in this book, which repeatedly invites the reader inside for a poignant, witty or humorous conversation with the writers, Greif's essay seems terribly uninspired and out of place.

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