I remember when Barnes & Noble first opened in my hometown. Before that, we had a cramped Crown Books and some lovely, but limited, libraries. Barnes & Noble was a revelation. There was something wondrous about a room with that many books, each of them a doorway to unknown worlds, ideas and lives. That’s still the feeling, for me, of walking into a great bookstore: limitlessness. I was, as you might suspect, a bookish and awkward child. My father, bless him, began taking me to Barnes & Noble three, often four, nights a week. I’d camp out in the fantasy section, paging through spinoffs in the extended “Star Wars” and Dungeons & Dragons worlds, wishing there were more entries in the “Dragonriders of Pern” series, crestfallen when the announcement rang out that the store would soon close. As I got older, the books changed, but the habit didn’t. I went through a phase of obsessively reading car magazines, which Barnes & Noble also carried, and then periods where I’d p...