Sometimes I hate books

Sometimes I hate books.
Not only because so many of them are mediocrities, badly written, or without any musicality, or sense of the language. Nor because so many of them have no other purpose than to follow suit. It's not really a problem either that people have little to say in their books or little to explore or nothing to share.
I sometimes hate books because there are so many of them! Thousands and thousands and millions of them and as it happens I read one that lifetime marks me I know the potential of just one book.
I also know that I spoil it for myself if I finish a good book in the afternoon and begin to read a new one before I go to sleep. I can't digest that much. I become a mediocre reader, primitive actually, am I entertained or not, that's what I can manage to involve myself in. I don't participate at that point, I consume. And then it doesn't really matter anymore if the book is just a book because it has a book's cover.
A masterpiece of a short story can last for weeks, and longer. Nothing should be put on top of that. Not even the next story in the same collection. Still I am tempted, always, to take one more, as I did this week with Chinua Achebe's collection, Girls At War. It opens with Madman, and I should have stopped there instead of gorging myself. After Madman I was unable to read the other stories properly. They deserved a better reader.