I’ve always loved reference books. As a kid in the ’90s, I used to lie on the floor of my room flicking back and forth through my parents’ single-volume encyclopædia, following the prompts as they took me from one article to another. I still remember my confusion over that encyclopædia having an illustration of a wombat but no text about wombats. I’d re-look every time I opened the book to that page. It was an early insight into the imperfection of book production.