Rereading: Much More Than Reading Again

I still remember the day I learned to ride a bike: the intense concentration required to maintain balance, coordinate the pedals, and steer the handlebars simultaneously. I felt a mix of excitement and adrenaline, though it also demanded constant effort, consuming all my attention and energy. The romantic idea of feeling the fresh air and the thrill of adventure seemed like a distant ideal, overshadowed by the challenging mechanics of the chains, brakes, gears, and my own inexperience. It wasn’t until I mastered the skill that I truly understood what that sense of freedom meant for experienced cyclists. Suddenly, riding a bike became a rewarding and enjoyable experience. 

Similarly, something analogous happens with literature. This is precisely the idea that Vladimir Nabokov supports when he states the following:

“Although it may seem strange, books are not meant to be read; they are meant to be reread. A good reader, a first-rate reader, an active and creative reader, is a ‘rereader.’ When we read a book for the first time, the operation of laboriously moving our eyes from left to right, line by line, page by page, an activity that involves complicated physical work with the book, the very process of figuring out in space and time what it’s about—all this stands between us and artistic appreciation.”

The first time we read a book, we focus on following the plot, understanding the characters, and unraveling the twists in the story. While it is true that this initial effort gifts us the excitement of discovery, which has its charm, it can also prevent us from fully appreciating the work. This is because it’s difficult to distance ourselves from the mechanical aspect and overall comprehension.

In rereading, however, the plot loses weight in favour of other elements. The descriptive skill of landscapes and characters stands out, author’s ability to play with the reader’s emotions, and the fluidity of narrative time. The emotional subtleties of the characters and the relationships between them are also appreciated, as well as the discovery of new symbols, metaphors, and underlying themes that were not evident in the first reading. Moreover, historical, political, social, or cultural references are better perceived; new interpretations are discovered, and the author’s style and technique are valued, among other aspects.

Therefore, the ability to reread a book, like mastering a bicycle, listening to your favourite song again, or reworking a new and complex culinary recipe, frees the reader from the mere technical task and allows them to delve deeply into the work. This way, they discover new layers of meaning and connection, revealing more richness with each subsequent reading.

But, honestly, let’s not fool ourselves. Although the first reading is a great challenge, the real test arises with the second reading. Rereading is both dangerous and fascinating if you manage to complete it. Rereading involves the risk of disappointment or nostalgia, as the book may not impact us the same way it did the first time. Each rereading is unique because each individual is unique in their personal journey. When we return to a book after some time, we may notice how we’ve changed: perhaps what resonated deeply within us at one time in our life may not have the same impact upon rereading. Or, on the contrary, it may be much more significant and rewarding.

Immersing oneself again in a familiar literary world is like visiting an old friend. It comforts us and connects us to happy or challenging moments from our past. This emotional connection with books is what makes literature so powerful in our lives. This introspective exercise is like seeing the same painting or sculpture with different eyes, allowing us to measure our personal growth and better understand who we were when we first read the book and who we are now.

In the words of Heraclitus, “No man ever steps in the same river twice.” Just as the river constantly changes, we also change as we experience life and gain new perspectives. Thus, I would add: “No man ever steps in the same river twice,” just as a book is never read twice by the same person. Although the physical book remains the same, our interpretation and appreciation of it vary with each reading. Therefore, this paradox invites us to appreciate literature as a reflection of our evolution and to understand that, sometimes, looking back is the best way to move forward.

As Alfonso Brezmes says in his poem ‘Cuando no estoy’ (When I’m Not There):

“There are also words that don’t say the same thing when they’re alone. What are they saying now, in the poem, when I’m not there?”

Words can take on different meanings depending on the moment and the reader. Thus, every time we reopen a book, we encounter a renewed dialogue, where our current experiences and emotions shape the interpretation of the text. After all our arguments in favour of rereading, it’s ironic and, if I may say, even poetic, to acknowledge that, in a sense, we cannot truly “reread” the same book. Because we encounter a new experience. As mentioned before, it’s not that the book has changed; it’s that we have changed. Our worldview, our emotions, and our personal experiences allow us to discover aspects of the book that previously went unnoticed.

In summary, rereading invites us to embrace the changing complexity of our own stories while celebrating the timeless ability of books to transform and enrich our lives. And you, do you dare to reread this text and discover what’s new in you?