The Rumpus’ interesting interview last month with Smokler is here.
Found via The Millions
In “The Constant Rereader’s Five-Foot Shelf” (Innocent Bystander: The Scene from the 70s), L.E. Sissman writes:
“A list of books that you reread is like a clearing in the forest: a level, clean, well-lighted place where you set down your burdens and set up your home, your identity, your concerns, your continuity in a world that is at best indifferent, at worst malign.”
Last week, in The Guardian, several well-known British writers weighed in with their reflections about the role of re-reading in their lives.
Here’s just one of these compelling mini-essays, written by Booker award-winner John Banville:
The more often we reread a favourite classic the more of its secrets it gives up: each time we revisit it we see more clearly the cogs and flywheels of the writer’s technique behind what at first had been its opaque and burnished surface. Inevitably this brings on a certain disenchantment. The only book I know of that successfully resists this process is The Great Gatsby. Fitzgerald’s novel is not “great” in the way that War and Peace or Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony are great – and is all the better for it. Fitzgerald was forever the inspired amateur, and Gatsby has all the tremulousness and delicacy of a masterpiece made against the odds. He managed it once and never again – but what an achievement it is, a kind of miracle, ever fresh, ever new, no matter how many times one ventures back into its sad, soiled and enchanted world.
As columnist Tom Lamont writes in an accompanying article:
“Rereading is therapy, despite the accompanying dash of guilt, and I find it strange that not everybody does it. Why wouldn’t you go back to something good? I return to these novels for the same reason I return to beer, or blankets or best friends.”
Found via Book Riot
For whatever reasons, we abandon novels. We leave them half-finished; we discard them after only twenty pages, we drift apart from them after the first hundred. Often we’ll never pick up where we left off. Sometimes it’ll be a season or two later, sometimes a year, a few years, when the book nudges it way back into our line of sight, begging to be reconsidered….
I am not convinced that we ever understand why a book reaches us—how it snags us at one time, but not another, or misses altogether. Words on a page are illuminated by something inside us, or else they remain just that….
But I continue to wonder about all those subtleties (and they are cultural, developmental, emotional, historical, random) that tint the lens through which we regard a book, no matter how well it was written. Do books choose us?…
– Decatur book blogger Murray Brown, upon recently rediscovering Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse
Today’s edition of the New York Times includes a short, interesting “editorial” by Verlyn Klinkenborg about the advantages of reading vs. re-reading. To read the essay online, you will need to register with the Times if you haven’t already done so. (Registration is free.)
Read Klinkenborg’s essay here.