I just spent well over an hour looking for this book in my apartment, and it was exactly where it should have been all along, slyly wedged in a stack between two larger paperbacks (of course).*
In situations like this, it amazes me how quickly my mind starts spinning conspiracy theories: did I lend the book to someone and subsequently lose all memory of whom or when? did I leave it on the bus months ago, only now to discover it missing? did someone break into my apartment just to steal one book? why this one? did I ever own the book in the first place? have I actually ever read the book, or do I just think I’ve read it? etc. etc. etc.
*I keep most of my books in stacks, though the agency implied by the word “keep” may be somewhat misguiding in this context.