I do not collect books. Not in the way most book collectors do. Those kinds of books—wonderful writers, nice editions, firsts—I simply accumulate, along with—just as happily—the fifteenth printings of the wonderful writers with the patina of past readers upon them. But I do ardently collect books of a very specific sort. Books with strange, bizarre, wildly inappropriate titles. The limitation: the irony must be mine. If the author is aware of how strange, bizarre or inappropriate the...