When he was in third grade, our youngest son read the book, “Holes,” by Louis Sachar upwards of twenty times. His teacher wanted him to read something else, but he loved that book and read it again and again, reveling in the joy the book brought him. I worked in the elementary school he attended and the teacher approached me about it. I told her that I was just as guilty of rereading the books and stories that I love, which she probably didn’t appreciate.
True story: I have made a habit of reading certain books over and over. It may seem odd, especially considering how many wonderful books out there I still need to read. Some hold a special place in my heart and mind; after a certain period, I feel compelled to revisit them. Others are as much a part of the yearly cycle as the seasons and holidays we look forward to.
Revisiting a novel may seem odd if you’ve never done it. Books don't change. They tell the same stories each time I read them, using the same words, characters, settings, themes and motifs as when I read them years ago. However, I am not the same. Going back to a favorite book in a new era of my life, I always pick up on things I hadn't noticed or that suddenly resonate with me like never before. This magical shifting happens within me; the book—a fixed point—allows me to experience it anew from a different vantage in my life.
Admittedly, I'm a little obsessive about rereading. Annually, I read “The Lord of the Rings” beginning on September 22nd after having reread “The Hobbit” in May. Each time I travel along with Sam and Frodo and the Fellowship from the Shire to Mordor and then to Gondor and back to the Shire, I come away a slightly better person. It’s hard to explain to someone who has never read Professor Tolkien's stories, but Middle Earth holds many lessons and examples of heroism, friendship, love, devotion to nature and the overarching message that simple folk can save the world if they have courage and are true to who they are and where they come from.
One of my most beloved authors, Christopher Hitchens, thought Tolkiens's many works were constipated and dull. Hitch preferred Evelyn Waugh and Richard Llewellyn, which feel like water torture to me, so we have that difference. Yet Hitch wrote at least two books that I regularly reread; “God is Not Great”, which helped me to shed the chains of religious belief, and his memoir, “Hitch-22”. I owe him greatly, too, because he started me on Wodehouse and introduced me to Saul Bellow and the poetry of Philip Larkin and others. His loss not only removes a powerful polemic wit when we could use him most, but he sadly wrote too few books and no more will be forthcoming.
If you like nonfiction as much as I do, you may enjoy Bill Bryson. Several of his books are excellent and well-suited for repetitive reading. My four favorites are “A Walk in the Woods”, about the Appalachian Trail; “The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid”, a memoir of Bryson’s childhood in Des Moines in the 1950s; “One Summer: America, 1927”, about Lindbergh’s transatlantic flight and many other events; and “At Home: A Short History of Private Life”. Bryson retired from writing in 2020—something I didn’t know writers could or would ever do, but he’s left us quite a shelf-full and all are excellent uses of reading time.
I revisit Stephen King sometimes, though I have mainly kept my reading to his early novels that I missed when they were first published. However, I just reread “IT” this year and it holds up. I’ve got an essay drafted about this superior book, where I argue that King is well on his way to becoming a classic American author, on par with Flannery O’Connor, Nathaniel Hawthorne and Mark Twain, and all because of the power and relevance of “IT”. King isn’t for everybody, but he can capture the voice of the modern era and his work is spectacularly composed.
Harper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird” is one of my most beloved books, though I have never been able to bring myself to read the sequel, “Go Set a Watchman”. Lee may have been coerced to release the latter just before her death, but for me, I realized a long time ago her first book says all it needs to about the Finches of Maycomb County and the state of the South in the 1930s. Its universe is almost perfectly rendered, and the lessons in it are no less relevant today. Each time I read it, I come away deeply moved and challenged in my worldview, hoping that the younger generations will pave the way to peace and unity.
Other books I love but revisit less often. “Moby-Dick” is worth more than one read for sure, but can probably be read once a decade. This is true of the Narnia books by C.S. Lewis, the Alice adventures by Lewis Carrol and anything by any of the Brontë sisters. I usually read William Golding's “Lord of the Flies” about once a decade or so, too, though it is beginning to seem more relevant, as our society is being devoured by primal polarization and tribalism. G.K. Chesterton, Joseph Campbell, Hemingway, Twain, Wharton, Eliot and Austen can all be relegated to the ‘once per decade’ slot.
Some books and stories are just necessary for my mental health. Among those that ward off the blues are the Jeeves and Wooster books, by P.G. Woodhouse. I read Bertie and Jeeves often and have kept their books in my regular rotation. Although wonderful themselves, as I've written here before, they also work well as palate-cleansers between the heavier nonfiction books I like. After a gloomy book about the rise of Christian Nationalism a few months ago, Bertie’s hilarious misadventures helped me to breathe and laugh again. I dip into Lovecraft almost as often for the same reasons. Something about his brand of cosmic horror soothes me, though it might take a trained psychologist to explain it. There is peace in not knowing everything that lies beyond the stark borders of human knowledge and remembering that, thankfully, human lust for power and wealth is oppressively local in terms of our solar system and galaxy.
Short novels and short stories are an integral part of who I am. I have always been drawn to short stories, often finding them just as appealing, if not more so, than lengthy novels. This preference likely stems from my early reading experiences, where I developed a deep admiration for short story writers. Among my favorites are Ray Bradbury, Stephen King, Edgar Allan Poe, Richard Matheson, Clark Ashton Smith, Bram Stoker, Oscar Wilde and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. What could be better than a shorter novel? In particular, one of my top five novellas is “The Hound of the Baskervilles,” which I consider the finest of the four Sherlock Holmes novels and perhaps the best short novel ever written. I elaborate elsewhere on why I believe this. While some literature professors might challenge my opinion in a dark alley, I welcome the debate, though I doubt my stance will change.
Finally, I love to delve regularly into ancient texts. Anglo-Saxon verse, Old Norse mythology in the Poetic and Prose Eddas and sagas, and the vast epic, Beowulf are all foundational to my worldview and my deep love of history and verse. They were introduced to me in my high school career and I have loved them ever since. Each holds a germ of where we come from but also teaches us that the old ways aren’t always outdated.
Sometimes poetry feels more appropriate. I love to read Robert Burns, Ogden Nash, W.H. Auden and Robert Frost just to name a few poets, though Frost captures my love of autumn and Burns my love of, as Jeeves would say, “the North British dialect, Sir”. An argument could be made that Shakespeare’s plays (never a fan of his sonnets) are all long-form poems—they are written in iambic pentameter—and so Hamlet and King Lear and a few others are fun to read routinely. I love Hamlet (the play) so much and it remains his best and most poignant tragedy but has also replaced some of the inane tidbits of scripture I was once forced to memorize. I find that he deals with questions of ethics and morality in a far more suitable and potent way than bronze-age goatherder diaries.
As you know by now, I listen to many of these books, which allows me to be productive (yard work, chores, commute to work on foot, etc.) while also being able to read. I love to read, though I am usually too restless to sit for prolonged periods unless I’m at the beach. The narrators are excellent at performing the different characters and making the stories come alive. A good friend of mine often razzes me about this, claiming that listening is not the same as actually reading. Research indicates that comprehension levels between listening to audiobooks and reading printed text are generally indistinguishable. Why would we read to children if it didn’t help them learn to love to read? I still love to be read to. In my opinion, whether the books are absorbed through the eyes or the ears, it goes to the same part of the brain. The visualization of the stories is the same either way, and my ability to retain the information is enhanced.
I hope this essay has provided you, my readers, with some books that you may want to read and some authors you may want to get to know. I truly hope that, if you do decide to read any of those mentioned, you will get as much from them as I have. However you read and whatever types of books you like, what ultimately matters is that you are reading. So pour yourself a cup of strong tea, find a cozy spot by a window or the fireplace, pull that book you’ve been meaning to start from the shelf and crack it open. If it happens to be a book you’ve read before, so be it. No rule forbids a second or a third, or a yearly visit with an old favorite. A new world of experiences lies before you. If you truly love that book, in a few years, you can read it again.
Author’s Note:
I love George Orwell. Readers familiar with my reading preferences will wonder why I didn’t mention him here. Orwell occupies a unique place in my literary pantheon. Unlike other authors I revisit for pleasure, my engagement with Orwell's work is more akin to a lifelong study. His writings have become so deeply ingrained in my intellectual landscape that I constantly find myself absorbing and reflecting on his ideas. Other authors are seasonal or transitory; Orwell is forever.
My shelves groan under the weight of Orwell’s books and his biographies, and I regularly immerse myself in his columns, letters, diaries and articles through dedicated online resources. This ongoing exploration feels less like repetitive reading and more like a continuous dialogue with one of the early 20th century's most incisive minds.
While Orwell's seminal works like "1984" and "Animal Farm" are essential reading for their prescient warnings about totalitarianism—warnings that remain disturbingly relevant today and, as such, worth reading often—his broader body of work represents a tireless commitment to exposing authoritarianism and brutality in all its forms.
However, given this essay's focus on recreational reading, I've chosen not to delve into Orwell here. His works, though profoundly impactful, often serve a more practical and educational purpose rather than pure literary leisure. Nonetheless, Orwell's influence on my thinking and worldview cannot be overstated, even if it manifests differently from my relationship with other beloved authors and their books.
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