I am the literary advisor to the President of the United States of America. It is not a Cabinet position; it’s more like being a manservant. The pay is adequate and the uniform is the most comfortable suit I’ve ever had the pleasure of wearing but it also is not what I had in mind when they first asked me. I do not make book recommendations. The Stately Old Bastard gets lists of titles from Secretaries of State and War and Agriculture and Miscellany; instead, I stand by to enforce his taxonomy and to retrieve and to take notes. Many evenings he discards his recommendations and asks me to fetch a different title for him. Only he can’t remember the title; he describes the cover and expects me to fetch it from the library. “You remember the one I’m talking about? With the blue cover? It has a design on it but only on the upper half. And it isn’t a fancy design either. Oh and it’s not thick.” And I retire to the library momentarily to plow the stacks for this phantom binding.