Concerning, in Parts, the Author from Arragon

It's been almost three years since I bought it and originally started it, but it looks like I'm finally going to get around around to finishing Don Quixote, given that there is now only 50 pages left.  (In my defence: I didn't get past the first couple of chapters back when I first started it, and only just started it again in December.)  After this, I've got a 90-page essay I picked up from Owl's Nest to read, called Don Quixote: Hero or Fool?, that examines the two diametrically opposed viewpoints about the novel's central character, and then I'm going to have to find new bathroom reading material.

I know what I'd like to have: the spurious second part of Don Quixote, but I doubt I'd be able to find a copy of it.  (For the confused: following the publication of the first part, and while Cervantes was working on his own second part, another author — known only as Alonso Fernández de Avellaneda, a pseudonym — published his own second part to Don Quixote.  As strange as it seems, this spurious sequel plays a role in the official second part; it's mentioned several times by characters, and at one point Don Quixote even changes his destination — after he finds out that the novel mentions him as going to the same city that he was originally journeying too — so as to show that he is not same Don Quixote as in the other author's book.)  So instead I'm looking at my bookshelf, trying to figure out what I haven't gotten around to reading yet, and whether or not I want to read it at the moment.

Really, it comes down to War & Peace, Les Misérables, the first part of Proust's In Search of Lost Time (so I can figure out whether I want to buy and read the rest of it), or the second part of The Divine Comedy.  However, I'm not sure if I really feel like reading sentences that are hundreds of words long (Proust, Hugo — although, in Proust's defence, his most infamous sentence isn't in this volume), keeping track of multiple names for each character (Tolstoy — damn those Russians and their patronymics!), and I'm just not certain if I'm in the mood for poetry (Dante) right now.

Le sigh.  What's a boy to do?

Actually, I think I've just made this entire entry a moot point, as I've suddenly figured out what I want to read: The Collected Writings of Ambrose Bierce, although I'm not sure whether I'll skip over The Devil's Dictionary (which I've read before), or not.  I'll figure that out once I reach that point.