That is what I have been guilty of for the past week or so. I have not read books; I have devoured them. I have devoured them in great gulps, scarcely chewing at all before swallowing, and forking in the next bite without pause for breath. Therefore, I have finished five books I have not had time to write about. Because of course, no matter how fast I read them, they are all worth a little time and trouble to blog about.
But who has time to write when there are more books to read?
I am going to put the brakes on now, and limit my reading for the rest of the month to Dawn to Decadence and War and Peace (because I really need to finish it before I forget what already happened). Okay, I am in the middle of four other non-fiction books, and I will allow myself to work on them. But no more fiction. None. Until I catch up on all the blogging. Or, if I must read fiction (and I think that may be the case), I will reread something. I have plenty of things I would enjoy rereading.
If you want a hint about what I read...well, one book was part of the chunkster challenge (yes, a whole chunkster in less than a week), and one was suggested by a blog comment in response to a another recent book I read. Another appeared on a "what books have you read?" meme that I enjoyed around the internet, but didn't blog about. One is a genuinely "new" book from the Zooba pile, and the last is the latest selection for the Slaves of Golconda (which I won't write about until the 31st).
I must catch my breath now. I probably shouldn't have been so greedy with my books. No, I certainly shouldn't have been. But sometimes, when the mood strikes, I just can't help myself. All lofty ideals about slow, careful reading are blown away by the wind created when I turn the pages so quickly. Really.