A Cry for Help (of sorts)

I am not so sure if I need saving proper but I'll say this anyway:

Help.

I haven't been able to stop buying books. Now, they aren't many and they come back to my room only one at a time, which doesn't appear very threatening but bear in mind, however, that I have cultivated over time an irresistible urge, an urge I haven't been able to suppress no matter how hard I try - something like bees to honey (or flies to rubbish): I keep buying 'em books. I started on my spree with Dostoevsky's Short Stories. A few days before that, Jammi showed up at my place with Peter Pan. Since then, I've purchased Solaris and Wuthering Heights. Meanwhile, I've been making lists, serious lists, mind you. I'll do away with Barth for the moment - I'm not in a PoMo mood, what with the weather and all being so cold and gloomy (yes, it matters).

So let us begin with how Angela Carter's Book of Fairy Tales looks enticing - and I do mean that quite literally: the font on the cover is delightful! But seriously, I've heard many good things about Carter and I think it's time I checked her out myself. That's one. Two, I'm thinking of getting Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy. I remember many years ago, my sister had this book on her shelf. I suppose a vague memory of my father ranting about Seth's brilliance had spurned me to ask her if she'd read it. When she replied in the negative, I presumed, quite naturally, that it would remain on her bookshelf for a long time to come. After all, one does not throw away an epic. As you would imagine, I turned out to be quite mistaken. By the time I was properly interested in post-colonial Indian literature, I'd forgotten about Seth's novel, so when I was reminded last night, I was, needless to say, very keen on reading it. That's two. Three, Dune. I've read countless reviews on this and heard even more wonderful things about it but I have only one fear: that I might get confused with too much going on. But no, that won't stop me from reading at least the first installation of the series.

I am frightened at myself for wanting so much. It seems awfully presumptuous to think I would be able to finish everything (including the unread books on my shelf) and enjoy it simultaneously.