Any bibliophile is going to automatically be drawn to this title. My personal love for books is more than evident to anyone finding his or her way into my home.

This isn't the story of a true book lover, though; it's the story of a criminal who steals valuable, collectible books in an attempt to improve his self-image and define himself as a cultured man of leisure. He doesn't love books in and of themselves -- just the way a shelf of rare old titles on the shelf makes him feel. While his type of criminality may not be common, John Gilkey is nothing but a common criminal -- a fact which the author sometimes seems to forget.

I thought this book was supposed to be about the efforts of Salt Lake City book dealer/book detective Ken Sanders to identify the man responsible for a growing number of book thefts on the West Coast, but Sanders ultimately gets short shrift in this book. Apart from stepping up and taking on the Antiquarian Booksellers' Association of America security job no one before him would do and thus creating a network to communicate the specifics of stolen titles among rare booksellers, Sanders has a diminishing role in a story that becomes more and more about John Gilkey and the author's relationship with him. I suspect that Sanders' stern rebuke of some of her investigative tactics has something to do with this.

I will admit a bias against the manner in which author Allison Hoover Bartlett chose to tell this story. I really don't like to see an author make herself an important player in a story rather than just telling the story in an objective manner -- I think it calls into question the author's true intentions and thus hurts the author's credibility. Bartlett doesn't just interview Gilkey; at one point, she actually accompanies the man into rare book stores he has robbed in the past -- and when Gilkey reveals knowledge of potentially unsolved crimes, she looks for excuses not to report them. While she may not have done anything wrong legally, I clearly view Bartlett as an ethically-challenged writer.

I should point out that Gilkey obtained his books via bad checks and credit card fraud -- nothing so exciting as sneaking a Kerouac first-edition into his pants and sidling out the front door with it (although there is reason to believe he has physically stolen books from libraries before). What sets him apart from other thieves is the fact that he does not steal books to profit monetarily from them (although he has tried to sell a stolen book here or there when he needs money for such things as bail). Acquiring rare books makes him feel important and cultured, and he clearly does not think he is doing anything wrong. What is wrong, according to Gilkey's warped mind, is the fact that he doesn't have the money to actually buy what he wants. Clearly, he will never stop what he is doing; he has already served time on several occasions, and every time he has gotten out of prison he has fallen back on his old criminal ways. Seemingly, a desperate need for attention is the only reason he would cooperate so fully with the author of this book.

The Man Who Loved Books Too Much is certainly an interesting read, and I particularly appreciate the insight it gave me into the business of rare and collectible book sales. Sadly, however -- whether or not it was her intention -- I cannot help but feel that Bartlett has glorified a two-bit con man in these pages.