A small neighborhood bookstore in Pontevedra shocked my sensibilities, and not in a good way. Books weren’t arranged by author’s name, genre, country, or language. They were strewn around in untidy, careless piles. There was no principle behind the arrangement unless there’s such a thing as principled messiness. It took effort to prevent myself from sorting them nicely.
Only an absolute maniac could find anything in that ungodly disarray. Thankfully, I am a maniac, and here is my haul:

Prepare yourselves, my friends. Five of these are not fiction, so we’ll be able to discover new ideas.

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