Boy, do I ever identify with this post from Joel Achenbach of the Washington Post:

My house is littered with partially read books, moaning for someone to put them out of their misery. I approach the basement library like a doctor assigned to perform triage. What book shall be given life, and picked up anew? And what consigned to oblivion? "The Known World," by Edward Jones, is one I'll finish, and "The Little Friend," by Donna Tartt, if I can just figure out where I put it. But already the stack of stuff I'm supposedly reading is getting so high that I fear it will fall on me. All that unread material may literally crush my spirit.

Well, "crush my spirit" is too strong - but I sure recognize the problem. My bedstand is littered with partially read books...