After several years of renovation, the Washington Heights branch of the New York Public Library -- which can be found at Saint Nicholas Avenue and 160th Street -- has re-opened. The outside of the building is gorgeous, a pre-war palace of brick and arched windows. The inside has been nicely renovated, too, and in addition to stacks of books, now has rows of sleek computer terminals. It was busy on Saturday afternoon, when we visited, but quiet and studious, the way libraries ought to be. I browsed the adult fiction on the second floor and was pleasantly surprised to find a familiar book. Sometimes it feels like I wrote The Metropolis Case ten thousand years ago, even though it was only published at the very end of 2010. Seeing the book on the shelf, I asked myself if it was possible to get a novel published in the modern era, and though my initial inclination was to say, "no, it's not possible -- quit dreaming," the evidence in front of me proved otherwise. Anyway, it was very exciting for a few seconds, and I felt grateful to whoever purchased the book for the public library just one block away from where I live. We went upstairs to the children's floor and celebrated by taking long naps on the inviting green couches. We didn't actually take naps, of course, but we admired the sun streaming in through the tall windows, and remembered what it was like to be seven years old, racing up the stairs to lose ourselves in worlds we could barely imagine.