I finished Hannah Arendt's Eichmann in Jerusalem over the weekend. Regular readers will be pleased to hear that it made it through the reading without being hurled across the room even once. Nor did any more pages get torn off for the purpose of lighting cigarettes from the gas heater. I don't have a gas heater.
I've since moved on to Edvard Radzinsky's Stalin, a fairly weighty book which should offer plenty of upper-body exercise for the dedicated book hurler.