Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore: A Novel

When you search for “unbroken spine,” Google replies: Did you mean: unicorn sprinkle?

In the morning, when Penumbra arrives, I broach the subject of a friend buying entry into the Waybacklist. He shrugs out of his peacoat—it is an epic peacoat, finely made, with wool from the blackest of sheep—and sets himself up on the chair behind the front desk. “Oh, it is not a matter of purchase,” he says, steepling his fingers, “but rather of

Mat uses everyday materials so ingeniously that their original provenance fades away and you can only see them as the tiny buildings they’ve become.

“Nothing so abstract,” Penumbra says, shaking his head. “The books present a puzzle”—he cocks his head at me—“but you know this, my boy, do you not?” I grimace and admit it: “Yeah. I’ve looked.” “Good.” Penumbra nods sharply. “There is nothing worse than an incurious clerk.” His eyes twinkle at that. “The puzzle can be solved with time and care. I

We sat in the living room (then dominated by a flat-screen TV, with no tabletop cities even dreamt of) and he told us about his current task at ILM: the design and construction of a bloodthirsty demon with blue-denim skin. It was part of a horror movie set inside an Abercrombie & Fitch.

Books: boring. Codes: awesome. These are the people who are running the internet.

So I guess you could say Neel owes me a few favors, except that so many favors have passed between us now that they are no longer distinguishable as individual acts, just a bright haze of loyalty. Our friendship is a nebula.

I am really into the kind of girl you can impress with a prototype.

The customer is short but sturdy, in some thickening limbo of middle age.