There once was an era in which I would only read one book at a time. Mind you, I'm a fairly fast reader, but I liked to be immersed in a single read. Or I could quickly decide if it didn't hold my interest and move on. I've never been much of a slogger when it comes to books. Or anything. Why work hard when you can *not* work hard, is my thought.
Lately though I've got multiple books going, for different times of day and/or my mood. I'd explain it but then I'd have to create diagrams. I actually started to write down my book system and stopped after several paragraphs when I began to resemble Russell Crow in *A Beautiful Mind*: a charismatic, attractive lunatic.
Bedtime Books is a major, make-em-or-break-em category for me. They've got to be right. Something comforting and enjoyable but not so engaging that it'll keep me up past my Benadryl. Consequently I find myself rereading some of my favorites at bedtime, because I know I love them but I've already got past the danger of being riveted.
I don't think I'm overstating it when I say: This man wrote some of the most funny, heartwarming yet unsmarmy prose in the history of time, in any universe known or as yet undiscovered. James Herriot could—and did—write about being shoulder-deep in a cow's rectum and keep me clambering for more. More cow rectums! If that doesn't convince you, I don't know what will.
And here are some other random but lovely recommendations for you. Please realize I would've put in the entire Harry Potter series, but...duh. Who WOULDN'T pick the entire Harry Potter series?!