This purports to be a memoir of the author's time in Hay-on-Wye, a small town in Wales that is practically overflowing with antiquarian booksellers. Instead of his musings on what it was like to live above a bookstore and take on a job as the American literature expert in one of the booksellers' shops, Collins spends a great deal of time comparing British and American culture in a way that always seems to end up bashing American stupidity and banality. I'm not saying I expected him to be "Rah, rah America!" but I found Collins' way of dealing with these comparisons to be rather pretentious and thus had a hard time sinking into the book as much as I would've liked. Still, it's well-written and there are some interesting tidbits about the books he got to play with. It's worth checking out for any Anglophile book lovers out there.