Confession: I have a problem with becoming emotionally attached to books. Not all books, mind you, but certain books, yes, I do. Example: I finished A Suitable Boy on Sunday afternoon.  And now it’s Tuesday night.  It is 10:06, well past the time for me to close my laptop and pick up a book (I am a firm believer in no media for an hour before bed-time).  And the book I ought to be picking up is Mrs. Dalloway, since I promised myself to read every one of Barbara Kingsolver’s favorite authors. Well, I did start Mrs. Dalloway on Sunday night; really, I did.  I read 18 pages.  But since…