Why do I re-read books

One of my blogging friends Ramana publishes once a week a post written on the subject nominated by one of the members of his blogging group. I always liked the concept even if it felt a bit like a homework. My excessively independent nature issued some protest against writing a homework. Only, nobody asked me for any such thing as a writing assignment ☹.  So, I did not have a problem to avoid.

In my previous post I was searching for ideas what to write about as my activities slowed down and ideas dried out. And I got a suggestion that I find interesting – to write about re-reading the same book, seeing the same films multiple times and listening to the same piece of music over and over again. The suggestion came from a person who I find a sharp and rather tough critic. So, I will be writing with some trepidation but also with curiosity and interest concerning comments I may receive at the end of this exercise. Thank you kvd for the suggesting the subject.

Re-reding books.

There are many  reasons why I read. Sometimes for fun, sometimes in hope that I might find answers to my existential questions, sometimes to learn something specific…Many reasons really.

My list of books I would like to read has always been very long and still is, so it seems to be a waste of time to read something that I already have read. But it did happen to me, even if not that often. When I think about the reasons for re-reading books, one very clear reason comes to  mind - re-reding for fun. There was a time when I was fascinated by the Polish writer – Joanna Chmielewska.  She wrote fun crime stories and her sense of humour had to me a particular allure. Many Poles felt the same way and her books disappeared from shops like hot cakes. In fact, books disappeared from bookshops in hours if it was a popular book, writer or a subject. Things have changed since those times. I remember when I just got the new book by Joanna Chmielewska. The book was about a crime committed in one of the Danish casinos. The title was - “The last sentence of the dead man”. The last sentence of this man was giving information where a big fortune of a gang was hidden. The Polish girl was the person who heard the last instructions. The dying man who was a part of the gang told her the secret information because of her blond wig.  He was instructed to pass the information to a blond girl. After being shot and saying his que, he promptly died leaving the critical information with the wrong person. The whole book is about the gang protecting the valuable source of information (the false blond girl), after kidnapping her from the casino and transporting on a private jet to somewhere in South America. At the same time the most convincing and handsome members of the gang tried to get the girl to recall the last sentence of the dead man which she denies to remember. The story is unbelievable but at the same time very logically unfolded to the readers. I imagine that it is very difficult to comprehend that, but this is a very clever book and very funny in its logical way. Starting to read it I was not able to put it away and was reading it without a break until I finished it at some early hours of the next day. I have many books of the same author and they all look very shabby by comparison to other of my books on the shelves. Typically, my books after reading look like new regardless how many pages they may have. Not Chmielewska. The books of the times - 60ties – 70ties were not the most robustly published but the reason for my books being shabby was that I and my friends read them several times.

                                              

I looked up Chmilelewska in Wikipedia and found out more about her than I had expected. She became widely published when the communism was over and became some sort of a national celebrity.

I got carried away with memories and went away from the initial subject of re-reading books.

It was the time when I spent some years in Poland after my Australian working years. It was like coming back to the old country, the one I even did not know well and understood rather poorly. So much has changed. I had a lot of time on my hands and a lot of books on the shelves of the place I lived in. Good old classics. It was a good opportunity to re-read some of them. So, The Magic Mountain of Thomas Mann landed up on my reading table but I did not go too far with it. It seems to be a cursed book for me. Something happens that makes me put the book away for long period of time. But I have read in this time The War and Peace the second time. I think it made a similar impression on me as my first reading when I was around twenty years old. Maybe I responded less romantically to Natasha Rostova’s love for Andrei Bolkonsky? Maybe this part of the book is better received by young impressionable girls? Anyhow, I liked the book the second time around as well but there were no fireworks. I was more impressed by Herman Hesse I read at this time and for the first time.

I think I stop this post as I am starting to feel boredom myself so this is definitely not a good sign. Maybe watching films multiple times will open some better paths for observations.

After some reflection I realised that I got sidetracked but did not finish the subject of re-reading books. I read books again and again also for comfort. It has been most of the time - Anne of Green Gables. Which part of the novel it did not matter. There are several parts of the Anne's story. My age did not matter either. Even now I took to the hospital with me Little Women. Not quite the same thing but the same type of book. About girls basically good to the core even if with some flows of character. But good, you could rely on good winning no matter what the situation and how long it took to see the real good side of it and the characters who may have strayed for a while. So when I needed to be reassured that life is really good and my problems will come right at the end, Anne of Green Gables did the job. 

Aix-en-Provence

                                     

There was another book I reread several times. Once again it was a book about school girls. But not very good girls this time. It is a series of Claudine books written by Colette. A scandalous writer married to an older man, flirtatious no matter  if objects of the flirt were women or men. Most likely women though. I do not feel that I would like to explore all the reasons why I was so fascinated by the books. Language was one of the attractions, Provence another strong reason. She wrote about the district of France with such love and admiration of its foods, smells, colours that it was impossible not to fall in love with Provence even without seeing it. And when I eventually saw it there were no disappointments. Calissons and coffee at one of the street cafes of Aix-en-Provence and fragrance of lavender  in the air were something I will always remember and marvel over.

This little sweet deserves a special poem, but since I could not write such a thing, I feel that it deserves a post at least. I would like to write it.