So many books, so little time! Why bother rereading a novel when there are so many new ones? Are we just being lazy, sticking to what’s familiar? Or is it the only way to really understand a book?
I got to thinking about this recently when I was home recovering from minor surgery. I found myself reading through all my old Brother Cadfael mystery novels. I didn’t care whodunit. I just wanted to spend time with a beloved familiar character. It was such a pleasure to be back in the company of the calm, compassionate, astute, spiritual yet worldly Brother Cadfael. A few years ago, when I was in a lot of pain with a ruptured disc, I reread all my Asterix comic books. They allowed me to escape to Gaul in Julius Caesar’s time, and have a good laugh. So sometimes rereading books can simply provide the comfort of something familiar, something we’ve enjoyed before and probably will enjoy again.
Some books provide a depth and breadth of vision that we discover only gradually on rereading. The second time around we can better appreciate the characters, atmosphere, writing style, structure and ideas: all that rich nuance we didn’t catch the first time because we were too curious to find out what would happen next. This works best with what are sometimes called literary novels, or classics: novels with depth and complexity. Middlemarch is a good example. The first time I read it, I was all caught up in following the threads of each character’s story. The second time, I could focus more on exploring some of the themes: confronting our failures, the place of women in Victorian society, the complexity of human motivation, the hunger for money, the power of compassion.
There’s a special benefit to rereading books in old age: we become aware of change. The books haven’t changed, but we have. As we go through life, our experience has broadened, and our values and interests may have evolved too. So we may react very differently to a book now than we did years ago. Rereading connects us to our younger selves: how we thought and felt, what was important to us then, and how we look at things now. Things that didn’t make sense before make sense now. Jay Gatsby, who seemed so charming and flamboyant when I read The Great Gatsby years ago, now appears manipulative and grasping. When I read Animal Farm as a teenager, I was mostly intrigued by the characters and interactions of all the talking animals. Now I recognize in Napoleon the pig a chilling portrayal of a dictator masquerading as a liberator. Some books may not live up to our earlier experience. I loved Little Women as a child, but now I’m put off by all that tedious moralizing, and I’ve shattered a happy childhood memory.
I’ll leave the final word to Robertson Davies:
A truly great book should be read in youth, again in maturity and once more in old age, as a fine building should be seen by morning light, at noon and by moonlight.
Comments
Eliz
Sun, 2019-03-31 15:10
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I will start rereading books too