In which a writer falls down a rabbit hole—and into the lives of a pulp-fiction-obsessed Brooklyn couple straight out of central casting. Welcome to the world of used book collectors. A shaggy-dog story for the ages (a shaggy-cat one, at least), and a true delight.
I visited Gary at his house later that week, on one of the coldest days of the year. He was seated at the table in an Animaniacs shirt while Lucille made coffee in the kitchen, where books were not permitted. “Not even a cookbook!” she declared, like the commander of a doomed battalion.
I scanned the room. We were surrounded by glass cabinets. I spotted the first two volumes of The Sicilian, Gary’s historical saga about a boy raised by Apollodorus during the early days of the Roman Empire. The meat of the collection was in the basement, he told me.
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