Once again I’m overwhelmed by piles and shelves of unread books. I shouldn’t say, “once again,” because it’s actually a permanent condition. I could never live long enough to read them all, especially since I can’t resist adding to the pile, sometimes daily. In the past, I’ve periodically weeded the bunch, but that’s not near as much fun as finding new stuff to read. And like any addict, I have no problem locating the good stuff. I’m a big fan of The New York Review of Books. But with every new issue I find 5 or 6 books I just have to read. There’s Goodreads, of course, which sends out monthly lists of new releases. Then there are the displays at my local independent bookstore, plus their wall of “staff picks.” I see the best seller lists posted at the library, along with the book club selections, special exhibits (this month it’s “banned books”) and the new books shelves. I regularly visit favorite blogs and websites which have recommendations. Time and other magazines have their “summer reading” issues. All this, not to mention the books my friends are raving about. So far, I think it’s a harmless vice. Except. . . going cold turkey sounds unbearable. So I have no solution. But then, secretly, I don’t really want one.