Part of what impelled him was stubbornness; resentment, even. The system had filed him among the rejects, and what he was studying was considered--at the decision-making levels, the levels of real power--an archaic waste of time. Well then, he would pursue the superfluous as an end in itself. He would be its champion, its defender and preserver. Who was it who'd said that all art was completely useless? Jimmy couldn't recall, but hooray for him, whoever he was. The more obsolete a book was, the more eagerly Jimmy would add it to his inner collection.