Saturday, February 21, 2015


I re-read books. And yes, I know there are so many books out there that I could read a new one every day of my life and still not read them all, so why am I not even trying to read as many new books as I can? But I do re-read, for whatever reason.

Yesterday, I finished my last book from the library and was looking for a new book to read. Until I began to feel guilty about all the books I own but have never read, I was thinking of a couple books to re-read: Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery (last week's post got me thinking about it!), The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton (a middle school favorite that makes me cry every time), and the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling (which I've been wanting to re-read since this summer).

Aside from the fact that apparently all my re-reads' authors have to have initials as their first names, I think I can at least figure out the reason I want to re-read these books. These are all childhood favorites. Even though Harry, Anne, and Ponyboy had to go through a lot of trouble in their respective books, these books are safe. I feel like I'm greeting old friends as I crack the spines again. I slip back into these already established and familiarized worlds as easily as I walk from the kitchen to the living room.

Whereas with a new book, there's always the potential for shock or sadness or even just a disappointing plot, with a re-read, you've got a guarantee that you'll love it. So when I'm stressed out (as I often am this time of year), I go back to books I know I love. And what's wrong with that?

Although I often feel like this:

I think reading all the books in the world is not only not possible, but also not necessary. I still read new books a lot, so it's not like I've completely cut myself off from new opportunities. Reading is one of my favorite things to do, and finding a new book to love is wonderful. The books that I've already read are just the cherries on top.

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