The books were the ghosts--or maybe the avatars--of what had been destroyed.
They made sounds, groaning, hissing, whispering. Conspiring. Deep in the alleyways, some of the books were in chains.
"Gotta watch out for Das Kapital," said Rivera.
There had been a few debacles in the late teens, when major belief structures had produced some awful art. Some were so bad that the circles themselves had shriveled and died. Who heard of Tines anymore, or Zones of Thought?
Vernor Vinge, Rainbows End