When the Kindle takes over the known universe, we won’t be able to casually glance over someone’s bookshelf and say ah, that’s what you’re like. (Unless I push through with my LED necklace that goes online and downloads your RSS feeds and makes them scroll across your chest.)
So in the spirit of historical preservation, I hereby present random samplings from our bookshelves.
Barbara Cartland’s autobiography sits beside Douglas Adams’ So long and thanks for all the fish. (Says the bookspine oracle: “You are a romantic, but lately you’ve become disillusioned with the world.”)
Philip K. Dick’s Dr. Futurity must be overwhelmed by two Dr. James Herriot books only a few dusty inches away. Palmer Eldritch isn’t helping. (Says the bookspine oracle: “Escapism seems to be a recurring theme. Have you tried combining astral travel with a macrobiotic diet?”)
Is that Fabio? Yes, it is. Paul Atreides has nothing on Fabio. The last Duke of House Atreides doesn’t even appear on the spine of his own book. Unlike Fabio, who is present in all his chesty, leonine-maney glory. (Says the bookspine oracle: “You know, Kyle McLachlan and Fabio go to the same tailor. I can tell by the cut of their leather pants.”)
