I discovered a marvelous old-fashioned bookstore on the Alameda in San Jose, California, The Recycle Book Shop. There were none of the canned displays prominent in chain bookstores, nor the well-layed-out, equi-height shelves. No Starbucks in one corner. No stuffed animals or gewgaws for sale. Just books! Stacks of them. On the floor, on tops of shelves, on counters. People sat around on the floor dipping into the merchandise, trying out this book, or that book. It smelled like a book store, too. Dusty jackets. Old paper. Long forgotten titles jumped out at me from the spines, along with authors’ names that I hadn’t thought of in years. There were newer titles, too, but I had the distinct feeling that every book in the store had merit. I wound up with Book Two of Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan Novels, and I’m already well into it.