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If you do not happen to be in Spain, I suspect that you will not have heard of this book. But here it is a phenomenon. Indeed, the only reason I decided to buy it is because it had been mentioned to me so many times. And it did seem promising: books about books are the closest thing to catnip for readers.

This is, indeed, a book about books; but not the sort I was expecting. Judging from the description, I had thought that this was a popular history of book production, with all the greatest hits included—clay tablets, papyrus, vellum, codices, the printing press. And Vallejo certainly does include much of that information. But it is not exactly the main focus. Rather, this is a kind of drifting series of mini-essays, loosely arranged around a chronological theme (Greek to Roman times, mostly), but tackling different book-related topics. Perhaps the best way to describe it is a personal homage to reading, with a sprinkling of fun facts.

Now, I am in favor of all and any books that divulge the love of reading. And Vallejo may well accomplish that goal. But, as a reading experience, I found El infinito en un junco (“Infinity in a reed��) underwhelming. Both the information and the reflections that make up the bulk of this book have a bland, generic quality that is far from winsome. If you have read your fair share of ancient authors, and know the basics of European history, there will be little to surprise in her narration. And when it comes to rhapsodizing over the value of books, Vallejo hardly breaks new ground: Books widen our perspective, allow us to travel through time, are the enemy of despotism, the solace of loneliness, the thread that binds history together, the basis of civilization and technology, etc., etc. All of this is true, no doubt; but none of it will surprise the attentive reader, even if it does flatter her ego.

In any case, I do not wish to be hard on a book with such lofty goals and noble intentions. And it is pleasant enough to read. Vallejo’s prose has a certain style, without being too difficult for a non-native speaker like me to understand it. (In large doses, though, it can be a bit melodramatic and a touch self-indulgent.) So go onward, you big book (for it is not exactly light); if you inspire even one person to read Homer or Plato, you will not have been written in vain.