WHEN I WAS YOUNG, maybe 13, my mother and I went to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. She wanted to show me everything. I only remember one painting: N. L. Peschier’s Vanitas (1661). Today, vanitas — literally, “emptiness” or “futility” — refers broadly to a genre of 17th-century Dutch still life that contains symbols of vulnerability and death as a reminder of the inevitability of both. In this specific case, Peschier painted a skull, set on a table, next to a ream of crumbled folios. My mother thought I was bothered by the skull, but it was the paper, all those words on all that fragile paper, that gripped me to the brink of horror. I’d been taught that books, and the facts and truths therein, were sanctified, or at least relatively durable. The vanitas gave me another picture. It wasn’t long until I discovered Jan Davidsz. de Heem’s 1628 Books and Pamphlets , a still life consisting exclusively of moldering books. The image would haunt my consciousness as I grew into a bookish adul...