The last book we shifted was a big, fat biography of Walter de la Mare. He's a favourite author of mine. Sweet, little, odd, little, magical, little poems. Terrific, Jamesian ghost stories.
His biography goes like this. Was born, made friends with Sir Henry Newbolt (almost forgotten late-Victorian poet), got married, had kids, thought about having an affair with a female friend but decided against it, got old, died. It must be the least eventful literary life on record.