(It's slightly more amusing, I think, if you head to a new page and see the title at the top.)
It's a question I've asked myself many a time. And one day, when I'm not already leaving the library with eight books in hand (or in arm, as the case was -- I cradle my stacks like children when I'm toting them to the car), I'll go back for Ms. Winterson's answer.
It's a disease, I believe, by the way: I have three books that I own at home that I've started reading and am in the middle of, four if you count Calvino's Italian Folktales, which I pick up and read a selection from at random. Yet I keep returning to the library for more. This can't be normal, can it?
It makes me happy, at least.