I Don't Reread Books Anymore
I don't reread books anymore. In the interest to keep "moving forward", to keep "learning new things", to keep "exploring new books", I tend to not go back.
I don't think that's a good thing.
Though it took some deliberate effort over the past few years, I've become almost as voracious a reader as I was when I was younger. With that voraciousness has come the sense that my Reading must have Importance. Worth. Utility. Purpose.
It wasn't always so. Most of the books I remember from my childhood and young-adulthood are books that I've read countless times. Not for any reason other than that they were fun to read.
Everything by Douglas Adams.
Catch-22.
1984.
Three Men in a Boat.
(I seem to have liked numbers a lot).
I'll be the first to admit, if I can remember to, that my memory isn't great. But the reason I can recall some specifics, like Uncle Podger hanging a painting, or a sperm whale gaining fleeting consciousness as it plummets to its doom, or Orr's cheeks being filled with crab apples, is because I've reread those books several times.
Sure, these aren't Knowledge. But they're what I remember enjoying and enjoy remembering.
I think the obsession with reading with the sole intention of acquiring knowledge is the culprit. It's a very productivity-oriented, hustle culture mindset that I fall prey to occasionally. There's a balance to be sought after here, between reading for knowledge and for sheer fun.
The other day, I picked up a copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which is probably my most read book of all time. It felt so familiar, like returning home. No matter what other book adventures I'd been on, I was delighted to be back.
What are you going to reread?