Re-reading

"An unliterary man may be defined as one who reads books only once." —C. S. Lewis

The art of re-reading is an art that is seldom expounded on, being too often paled by its elder cousin Reading. When people speak of the pleasures of reading, they remember being saddened by Beth’s death in Little Women or surprised by the outcome of Pride and Prejudice, and other such first-time remembrances. Re-reading has no glory, and so is rarely mentioned.

When you see a person reading a book you like, the questions you ask are “How far are you?”, “What do you think so far?”, “What do you think will happen?”, “Who do you like best?”. But when someone responds to the first question that they are reading it again, a whole new world is opened. You can ask questions like, “What about the author’s style do you like?”, “What do you think of so-and-so?”, “Do you think that such-and-such is well fore-shadowed by this-or-that?”, “Don’t you just love this passage?”, and other much more detailed questions.

Re-reading is a pleasure all of its own. When you read a book for the first time, everything is new and crisp. Impressions are being made, tastes formed, friendships started. It is like tasting a new dish. You are slightly cautious with the first bite, but if you like it, you finish it quickly, your mind storing away your first impressions of all the facets of the dish. Some ingredients may be familiar, recalling another dish you like; others may be brand new and point you to similar dishes. Sometimes all the flavors are overwhelming, and you need to take a sip of water to clear your palate before you continue. Reading a book for the first time is also like walking into a room full of people. You may recognize one or two people, and you may take to the strangers like a duck to water, or you may take it slowly and carefully, but everyone is new. You are meeting people for the first time, hearing the words they say and being confronted with their idioms and their ideas for the first time. One thing is certain: everything is different and new.

In both these examples, your enjoyment and understanding is incomplete, like reading a book only once. When you go back to a book, it is like savoring a dish. You have eaten it once, and your memories are favorable, but when you take that first bite again, you see that memory has once again failed to capture everything. You can test each flavor, trying to identify it, enjoying the subtle combinations and undertones, and seeing the overall presentation and experience with more attuned eyes. As in the room of people, your second meeting is better. You can greet people as acquaintances rather than strangers, and know what you are to expect from them. You may recall some of their likes and dislikes, but you discover even more, and your understanding grows. Instead of thinking about navigating through this group, you are more at ease to admire the lighting of the room, the becoming hairstyle of a young lady, the lovely carpeting, the nuances of facial expressions and tones, and everything else that you might have missed on your first meeting.

Likewise, when you read a book for the first time, you are reveling in suspense and surprise, novelty and narration, intuitions and impressions. The first chapter you take cautiously, wondering if you will like this author, these characters, this story. When it’s good and you continue, you can’t wait to find out what happens next, you wonder who you will meet next, and delight in everything that strikes your senses or touches your soul. But when the book is over, you do not know it. It is an acquaintance, something you have a topical and general knowledge of, but nothing quite so deep. The twists of plot often take the lead, and you may end the book feeling breathlessly happy.

But when you pick up a book that you have already read, it is entirely different. You know how it ends. You know who marries whom and where they live and how many children they have. You know who is the murderer and how he is discovered and how all the clues fit together. You are not reading the book for these facts, but for something deeper and more lasting. A good book is full of meaning beyond the Cliff Notes summary, meaning that often must be savored to be really enjoyed. The characters are all recognizable; now you may enjoy their nuances and actions with a fuller understanding and appreciation. A particular passage may catch your eye, and you can linger on it without feeling the burning desire to continue to the next page. Each event is familiar and yet viewed in a different way; you are always a different person than you were when you last read a book.

There is a gentle delight in rereading. Your first experience is fast and vigorous and young, but your second experience is slower and fuller and with more meaning. Rereading is opening a box again. There is no surprise, but there is both a challenging of first impressions and the benefit of pleasant memories. Most books can be finished once; a really good book means more after every reading.