While checking out the National Review Online site I discovered that Dinesh D'Souza has a new book out called 'What's So Great About America'. Having read and respected D'Souza's earlier works my instant thought was, "I must have this book. Now." Then, I started thinking about the books I already have at home that I haven't read, my wish list of eighteen books at B&N.com, and the countless other books that have caught my eye at one time or another in the past couple of months and I started getting depressed.
When will I ever have the time to devour all the works that I must get through? Right now I'm reading the "Skeptical Environmentalist" while at the same time plodding through a collection of C.S. Lewis, one essay at a time. After that? My John Adams biography which was put on hold after September 11th needs to be attacked. But I also have Victor Davis Hansen's "Carnage & Culture" lurking in the shadows teasing me with great promise. I managed to get about a third of the way through the Oxford History of Islam and finishing it is another goal of mine.
Yesterday, I further complicated matters by ordering the latest work by Bernard Lewis, the preeminent Middle Eastern scholar. When it arrives next week it will have to relegated to the shelf for who knows how long. Throw in the cover to cover reading that I like to do with my bi-weekly National Reviews, the weekly USN&WR perusal, and the daily paper duties and I feel like the Burgess Meredith Twilight Zone character who longs only for "time. The time to read all these wonderful books."
And then I hear people who can't imagine retiring from the grind of corporate drudgery because they just don't know what they would do with their time. Me? I could retire right now at thirty three, spend the rest of my life reading, and not even come close to running out of material. So many books, so little time.
