Those of you who know Chris and me personally, know that we own thousands of books. We’ve got books stashed everywhere . . . in the house, in the garage, in storage. It’s not like we’re pack rats; we just have a hard time getting rid of books – which is probably one of the reasons we got into the book-making business.

Unfortunately, books take up room, and can seriously clutter your house. Feng Shui? Yeah, right – not in our house. “Let’s get rid of some of ‘em,” I tell Chris, and sometimes we’re able to do just that. But there’s always a reason not to purge our stacks and shelves. What if we want to re-read something? What if someone we know needs this book or that one? What if we need it for reference?

Once in a great while, we’re able to do a massive purge, however. This is the Age of Kindles and iPads and uncluttered, Zenlike homes, isn’t it? I mean, c’mon, are you really going to re-read that torn-up copy of Stephen King’s It again? “Keep your Hubert Selby and Jose Saramago books where they are,” I tell Chris, “but let’s purge some of the clutter.” So we do.

But after doing so, we are torn between what to do with them. We’ve donated books to local prisons and have had Catholic Charities come to pick up stacks to be redistributed to those who could use a free book or two or 10.

A couple of weeks ago, I thought it would be fun to visit local used bookstores in Las Vegas. Whenever we’re on location somewhere, we always try to make time to visit a used bookstore (like we need more books.) We love the smell. We love the mystery. We love it when we find an edition of something that is valued at way more than the penciled-in price the store owner has carefully written inside the front cover. Most of all, we love it when we find a book that, for some reason or another, means something to one of us–something that nobody else can relate to–a book that nobody else wants.

In anticipation, and after our latest purge, I culled through several hundred books and loaded a bunch into the car. I drove around with them for two weeks before we had time to visit two stores in Vegas. The first one – Dead Poets – rejected our books outright.

“They’re not mass market paperbacks,” said the woman stuffing her face with Christmas candy behind the counter. “They won’t sell. I’ve never heard of these authors,” she added as she sifted through a stack of books whose authors included Martha Beck (Beck writes a monthly column in Oprah Magazine); Ellen Gilchrist , also featured in Oprah Magazine (and a winner of a National Book Award for Fiction); Christopher Moore (a darling of both The New York Times and Chicago Sun-Times). I could go on and on with the all-star cast of authors we presented her.

We left that store and headed across town to another. Dead Poets?  They could use a new name, because if they don’t believe literature will sell, there is no way they can possibly sell poetry books, as they certainly won’t sell. How about “Live Trendy Writers?’

Next, we gave the “Book Lovers” used bookstore a try. Chris and I entered with our bags full of books. Just as we opened the door, the phone rang and the clerk unhappily screeched into the receiver, “Book Lovers. Whaddu you want?”

It was obvious she hated books. Or at least hated her job.

She sifted through our books and poked fun at the titles. When she got to When the Nazi’s Came to Skokie, she got so freaked out, she called her brother. In hushed tones all we could hear the clerk say was, “I don’t think Dad would buy any of this crap, but he’s not here. What should I do? These books won’t sell, no one knows who these authors or titles are.”

When she got off the phone, I tried to explain that the Skokie book was assigned reading at Harvard Law, where I was enrolled in classes for my master’s degree. The author painfully follows the story of the most poignant case in defense of the First Amendment in the entire history of the United States Constitution.

She didn’t care, but as I recapped the authenticity of the book,  I was transported back in time back to winter in Cambridge, reading the book while on the elliptical trainer at the Law School’s Hemenway Gym. Books do that. They take you back to where you were when you first read them.

“I’ll give you ten bucks in trade for these books,” declared the clerk. “The rest you’ll have to take outta here. They won’t sell. No one knows who or what they are. We can’t have them in here.”

“‘Book Lovers,’ my ass,” Chris muttered.

So much for used bookstores being the last refuges for hard-to-find, or discarded books.

“Amazon,” Chris stated the obvious. If you want something no longer published, you go to Amazon – not trek cross town to the nearest, unfriendly used bookstore.

“Isn’t that sort of like resorting to Starbucks every time you want coffee?” I asked.

“Yup.”

Sad, but true.

In the end, our piles of used books ended up at a local library where, we hoped, someone would find something in the stack worthwhile. The librarian, at least, welcomed our books with open arms. Here, we’d met kindred spirits, instead of Kindle-minded folks.

Thank you, Lane Smith, for your wonderful children’s tale It’s a Book.