A set of lively literary essays by Barcelona-based novelist and journalist Carrión. Even though one of the essays is called "Against Bibliophilia," this is just the sort of book that bibliophiles--to say nothing of bibliomaniacs--will enjoy. By bibliophilia, the author, who picks up where he left off in Bookshops: A Reader's History, means the sort of worshipful accumulation of the exotic and expensive--and not just the accumulation of books that forge a person's soul, but also "a democratic library, ruled by a love of reading, a wish to escape or a desire for knowledge, beyond the masquerade of wrappings that may be a sign of artisanal craft, art, and cultural tradition, but are also a distraction from what really matters: content." The title essay is suggestive of a different problem: the reduction of books to mere commodities, sold alongside laundry soap and TVs by "the world's biggest hypermarket behind a huge smokescreen shaped like a library." This would be OK if we were robots and books had no meaning. They do, of course. Carrión's essays are broad-ranging and don't always quite cohere, though if some seem to be padding, most contribute to an appreciation of books and literary culture as things quite unlike any other. Highlights include the author's meditation, of a sort practiced by bibliophilic writers ever since Walter Benjamin, on how to organize a library (he proposes a trifold division into "friends, acquaintances, future contacts"); a somewhat gloomy visit with Argentine Canadian collector and librarian Alberto Manguel, whose 40,000 volumes were comfortably housed in a French farmhouse until he fell afoul of the Sarkozy government; and a scholarly detective story that hinges on the writer and book collector Curzio Malaparte's villa on the island of Capri, familiar to fans of Godard and Neruda and beloved of "writers, translators, and architects." A subtle pleasure for lovers of the printed word, even if they order books from the leviathan. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.