Tags

, , , , ,

Every now and again, I casually mention rereading books and get a funny look. “Reread?” the conversation turns. “Why would you read something you’ve already read?”

To which I respond with my best version of a British accent:

An unliterary man may be defined as one who reads books only once…. We do not enjoy a story fully at the first reading.

~C. S. Lewis, On Stories

I love reading, but I don’t read simply because I want to be swept up by a story, because I want to experience something new and exciting or beautiful or horrifying or full-of-awe, because I’m bored, or because I might learn something. I read for those reasons, but I also read for another, which is a little harder to put into words.

I read not just for a good time, but also to find stories that become part of myself, stories that live in my mind, inspire my own work, and remind me of the all the best there is in the world. Books I want to share with other people, read over and over again, keep on my shelf in worn print form, and use to explain myself to others.

In a way, it’s like relationships. You can one-night-stand a book or you can look for a soulmate. You can hang out with the cool kids or you can find friends to cherish for years to come.

I reread a book because we’re in a committed relationship and if I don’t tend that relationship, it will wither away.

I’m also constantly looking for more books. Which . . . makes me a filthy cheater? I don’t think so. Books are not quite like people: they believe the more the merrier. At least, I hope they do. Otherwise, I’d be in trouble for my trip to the library today.

Lovers

No, really. I love you all. Equally.