This was me, three months ago. I was in the throes of my most turbulent semester to date, juggling the book avalanche that was my master's exams with three classes and three part-time jobs. I was reading more than I had ever read before. I was also not reading; I can only claim to have gone through one of the fifty or sixty texts I was responsible for cover-to-cover. (Sven Lindqvist's Exterminate All the Brutes, incidentally.) I was blowing through works I was genuinely interested in, and completely ignoring others I simply didn't have time for.
So I emerged from that semester with a Master of Arts and a determination to tackle my own, my personal reading list. Hence...
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