'An incredulity of cuckolds', 'a misbelief of painters' and other excellent collective nouns.
Who your favourite author slept with, in handy chart form.
A secret bookshop in New York City that isn't so secret any more, I guess.
C.S. LEWIS: Finally, a utopia ruled by children and populated by talking animals.
THE WITCH: Hi, I’m a sexually mature woman of power and confidence.
C.S. LEWIS: Ah! Kill it, lion Jesus!
Literary classics in three lines or fewer.
The fat section of glossy photographs in the middle of the book includes at least one nude photograph of a long-dead movie star or a horribly mutilated corpse. Something you can hardly bear to look at, but keep flipping back to see. Signs the book you're reading is good.