Why I’ve started re-reading novels

There are so many books out there in bookstores and libraries just waiting to be read that it almost seems a waste of time to re-read one. I have a stack of probably 50 books on my mantle waiting to be read and it feels somehow like a betrayal when I ignore them in order to re-read a favorite novel.

Admittedly, my approach to reading, if I’m not careful, is all about quantity. I like the feeling of accomplishment, seeing my “to-read” stack getting smaller. I like to look back at the end of the year and catalog all the books I got through. I feel proud of myself. I feel smart. I even have the foolish dream that, one day, the mantle will be entirely empty and then I’ll be a genius. I’ll be able to pat myself on the back about how efficient and cultured I am. I’ll declare total victory.

Alas, the pile only seems to be getting taller, a fact I can only interpret as divine judgment on my pride and hubris. There simply are too many good books out there. I’m just one man.

And yet, I’m re-reading more books than ever.

I’ve had to humble myself and admit that, when it comes to reading, efficiency isn’t the highest measure of success. The goal isn’t to brag on social media at the end of the year about an intellectual accomplishment and make my friends jealous over how “smart” I am.

So then, what is the point of reading? I’ve given this a lot of thought.

In part, I read books because I want to make friends with the author. With fiction, I build a relationship with both the author and the characters. Across time and space, a personal connection is formed. Someone out there had a burning desire to communicate with me, even though he didn’t even know me. It makes me feel like I’m being let in on a secret. A new way of thinking, a new perspective, a unique manifestation of beauty in the world is being offered through the words printed on those pages.

When I pass others in the street, or people watch at the park, or stare aimlessly in the grocery store checkout, I often wonder what the people around me are thinking and how fascinating their thoughts must be if I could hear them. With a book, I don’t have to wonder anymore. I’ve been granted access to the interior, hidden life of the author. It’s the sort of unvarnished perspective that is only rarely revealed because it takes a lot of work to verbalize. I cannot help but think that making such a revelation is extremely vulnerable for the author (this has been my experience of being a writer, at least). It’s an offering of love. I accept it gratefully.

All the books I’ve read over my lifetime have introduced me to new friends. The authors and characters I’ve met have expanded my worldview and ability to empathize with others.

And I guess this expansion within myself is the other part of the reason I read. I do so because books help me to know myself.

Sometimes, I read a book and find myself completely horrified at the actions of one of the characters. I want to shake them, tell them to straighten up, stop making so many mistakes, do what I would do. Other times, I find myself in awe of the characters, their depth of thought, kindness, and insight. There are times I don’t like a character and, later when I re-read, I find myself far more sympathetic. Other times I admire a character very much only to later realize that I only did so because I was immature.

The point is, over our lifetimes we change and grow. Books both prompt that growth and help us to recognize it when it occurs.

I remember being 19 years old and reading On the Road. As soon as I finished it, I got in my car with a friend for a spontaneous road-trip. I thought skipping class and being totally irresponsible was a great idea. Re-reading Kerouac today, I don’t find him nearly as inspiring. On the other hand, Shakespeare was pretty boring when I first read him as a know-it-all highschool student. When I re-read his plays and poems now, though, I’m more capable of appreciating just how genius he is (if anything, he’s underrated). Re-reading has shown me how I’m different today than when I was a teenager.

Other books have served as touchstones in my life. When I first read them, they prompted change. One book that has stayed with me my whole life is Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh. Another is Chesterton’s Autobiography. Both of those books were formative, and when I re-read them I always glean additional appreciation for just how good they are and I experience all over again the sources that have formed me as a person. When I first read them, I was astonished by the power of the writing. Now, the text has changed and I know it’s because I’m different.

The first time I read Chesterton, for instance, I was in the process of converting to Catholicism. When I re-read him (which is often), I always find new appreciation for the Faith and just how much of a gift the Church has been to me. Life has carried me a long ways, a reminder for which I’m grateful and appreciative.

My philosophy professor in grad school said that, once every 10 years, it's a good idea to re-read the same book. This book can be anything you choose, but it should be something important to you, something against which you can measure the progress of your life. It’s a habit that can serve as a moral reckoning, an accounting of the passage of time and how well you've attempted to live in your particular corner of the world.

Re-reading has taught me that my purpose in being a reader isn’t to acquire an intimidating list of books to bolster my already-out-of-control pride. It isn’t to greedily gobble up novels in order to gain a sense of accomplishment or feel smart.

Reading is about the journey. It’s okay to take some time, to wander a bit, to revisit the authors and stories we love. In doing so, we gain deeper insight into the books we love, the world we inhabit, and into our own selves. If nothing else, re-reading is a chance to revisit old friends.