Sipping our drinks at Klaudio’s, Jozo Brandić and I are commiserating about the state of our civilization, as we often do. At some point we start talking about books, which are faring ever less well across the globe. “Look,” he points emphatically at the local newspapers lying abandoned at the neighboring table, “this could have been a book!” I nod in agreement. A short while later I pick up the newspaper and count the sheets. Sixteen sheets folded in half makes sixty-four pages. Fold the sheets again and you get thirty-two sheets with two-hundred and fifty-six pages. Repeat this operation one more time and you get sixty-four sheets with one-thousand and twenty-four pages. This could have been not just a book, but a hefty one, too. And all this is perfectly doable with the same amount of paper and the same scale of printing. Only the binding would cost a bit more. In short, each local newspaper could produce thousands upon thousands of books every single day at the cost slightly higher than that of their miserable offer. I nod in agreement once again while Jozo is talking about something entirely different. A good way to gauge the state of our civilization, no doubt.