Discovering authors whose works I’ve either never heard of, or for some reason passed by, is one of reading’s great joys. Something—a friend’s recommendation, an author interview read or heard, a change of heart—compels me to read one of the unknown or forgotten, and I find myself in the lovely spot of suddenly having an author’s backlist to catch up on. Because the book, the writing, the everything is THAT GOOD. It’s like finding $50 in your pocket, just as the clouds clear on a dreary day and the sun beams through.   I’m already in for two new-to-me authors this year, and 2015 isn’t even three months old. The first was Lily King, whose Euphoria I waxed euphoric about last month; I read another of…