This week in the books section, David Schmader, Jonah Spangenthal-Lee, Kelly O, and I all write about gift book ideas for under five bucks.

Kelly writes about old books about ferrets:

The only way to really satiate my ferret cravings is to collect ferret books from thrift stores. Ferret by Dr. Wendy Winsted is a particularly good one, with 128 pages of advice () and over 90 pages of mid-1980s gorgeous color photos of ferrets playing with toddlers, teens, and grandmas; photos of ferrets eating bananas; and even a photo of Dr. Wendy herself kissing one right on the mouth, while four more are wriggling around in her purse.

Jonah writes about e-books:

While you may be broke and TV-less, you've got your phone to keep you company during those lonely hours in your cold, dark apartment. And what better way to relieve the depression than falling back into America's long-forgotten pastime: reading.

Can't afford to buy books during this whole economic recession, you say? You've got nothing to fear, except maybe fear itself. You can get FREE BOOKS on your iPhone.

Dave writes about fabled Jack Chick tract DOOM TOWN:

...the Sodomites express their fervent desire to rape Lot's angelic houseguests. ("Give us those men! We're gonna rape 'em!") In a shocking twist, Lot offers the rape-hungry mob his virgin daughters.

And I write about Archie comics, The Bible Guide to Happiness, The Complete Idiot's Guide to Working Less, Earning More, and one of those cheap-o cookbooks you find at checkout lines in supermarkets:

To put this book to the test, I made the "Crab 'n' Penne Casserole," a submission from Princeton, Iowa's Nancy Billups, on page 55. The recipe called for fake crab (frequently referred to as "krab"), Alfredo sauce, zucchini, red-pepper flakes, and a whole lot of cheese. The resulting dish was reminiscent of lutefisk: a cheesy, gooey panful of pasta and fish. The cheese is refreshingly mild, to please even the choosiest of kids. My whole kitchen smelled like a warm beach under a bright, hot sun. And the meal sticks to your ribs in a certain tenacious, indescribable way: I wasn't hungry for nearly a day after putting away a plate of Ms. Billups's specialty.

A little more seriously, I write about those great old 1970s paperbacks that are available everywhere for a buck or two:

They literally don't make them like this anymore. There's real joy to be found in these sprawling novels of the 1970s; other long-out-of-print paperbacks like The Boys from the Mail Room, The Man Who Killed Mick Jagger, and Little America are sitting, battered, on used-bookstore discount shelves for a dollar or two, just waiting to be snapped up and given to an ardent lover of fiction.

I hope you'll stop by and check it out.