Recently one of our wonderful PineReads writers, Sam Yanis, wrote a beautiful blog illustrating the power and art of rereading books (check it out here). While I read through that, I couldn’t help but notice that I hardly ever read books more than once; they have to be really special for me to read them more than once. If we take out exceptions like The Hunger Games and The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender, I don’t reread books.
One of the central points Sam made in her blog is one I agree with. In her words,
All books eventually slip through our fingers. No matter how much we love one in the moment, we forget the details over time. First we forget a small scene between side characters. Then, we forget the quotes we loved or the color of our favorite character’s hair. Before we know it, all we remember about the book is the feeling of loving it. There might be a few key parts we hold onto, but so much is forgotten. When you reread a book, especially years after reading it for the first time, it is like stepping back into a city you thought you’d never see again. All of your memories come rushing back, and you can’t remember why you never came back to visit.
(Seriously, please check out her blog, it is so well written).
My hot take is that rereading books is risky. Call it fear, call it a disservice to my favorite stories, but I refuse to reread books unless I know they will 1000% remain enjoyable to me as I continue to grow and change. What if I notice flaws I didn’t see before? What if the magic just… isn’t there anymore? There’s a strange kind of heartbreak in realizing that something that once moved you deeply no longer resonates. That risk keeps me from returning to many of my past favorites.
I’m not sure why I’m like this with books in particular and not movies or TV. In fact, I am the complete opposite when it comes to movies and TV shows—my favorites are always on repeat. The same clearly can’t be said for books. Maybe it’s because rereading a book takes more time and effort. Or maybe it’s the silence of it—the way a book asks you to sit with it, listen to yourself, and fill in the world with your own imagination.
It might also be related to writing and how personal reading can be. It’s a somewhat intimate act. Though you’re reading a story about other characters in someone else’s words, you read them in your own voice and interpret things based on your own experiences. The same can’t really be said for other forms of media where you can hear and see things in the actual voice of the narrator. You don’t get to “direct” the visuals of a TV show in your mind the way you do with a book. Reading asks more of you, and in return, it shapes itself around who you are at that specific moment in time.
That’s what makes rereading feel so risky and so powerful. Because you’re not just revisiting the story—you’re also confronting the person you were when you first read it. Maybe that’s beautiful. Maybe that’s terrifying. Maybe it’s both. For now, and most likely going forward—it’s not something I do often.
Vanshikha Vij, Pine Reads Review Writer