A long long time ago when I was younger (okay, maybe only a year ago) I would have told you that I never reread books.
Because despite having a terrible memory, I remembered too much for it to be a worthwhile experience. Because I wouldn’t want to waste my time on something I’ve already completed. They mystery is gone, you already went on that journey. Why bother with it again?
This used to be my thinking. I would look at a book and long to read it again, but something in the back of my head would tell me that I’ve already read it. I already know what happens. I liked it, but there are more important things to devote my time to.
But recently, I’ve taken to rereading books, and I’ve discovered just how much fun it can be.
When reading a good book for the first time, you expose yourself to a new world, new characters, new themes, and scenes. When that story is over, it’s left in your memory as a good time and you move on.
Rereading gives you the opportunity to return to that story, experience those events again. It’s almost like reliving a certain part in your life. Sometimes while rereading, you can remember when and where you were while reading that book, or rediscovering scenes and characters you had forgotten about, or laid dormant in your memory, or themes that you’ve never seen before.
I’ve reread so many books in the last year and each one was an enjoyable experience. Instead of pursuing a new adventure, it’s like reading a diary: something you experienced once, preserved for you to read it again. Instead of diving into the uncertain, it’s curling up in front of the fire with a familiar tome, safe in the arms of the familiar.
So, I can say with certainty that I will be rereading more books in the future: reliving adventures, falling in love with characters again, and learning new things along the way.
I hope that wasn’t too confusing (pardon my rambling thoughts).