Repeat Reads

Some books are a one-time shot. Once the magic has been spent, there is none left.

Then there are the lovely re-reads that keep on giving. Here are a couple of those I keep in my library:

• The Phantom Tollbooth. This is one of my Desert Island books — you know, the one you'd want with you were you stranded on a desert island. I watched the television show when I was a child and stumbled upon the book during my first week at college. I've never been the same since. It's a book written on so many levels. It is classified as a children's book, but I assure you, it's a delight for readers at any age. Milo is bored, so he takes a trip to a fantastic land and makes a discovery that I've found to be true time and again. Every time I read it, I find something else wonderful and new.

• Good Omens. Rarely have I laughed this hard and this long. Every person to whom I have recommended this also has laughed aloud. In fact, one friend said he wanted to read the funny stuff to his wife and, well, found himself reading the entire thing aloud to her. What happens when the end of the world is nigh because an angel and a demon kind of lost the spawn of Satan? Bonus: it's written by two of my favorite authors: Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

• The Spoils of Time: The Lytton Trilogy. To be fair, the first book is my only re-read of this trilogy, but I look forward to subsequent re-reads of all three novels. The books are hefty, but worth the read. Penny Vincenzi knows how to write scandal and suspense, romance and tragedy. Celia Lytton is determined to marry Oliver, and her life is never the same — nor is the British (and, ultimately, American) publishing worlds the same. The story spans more than half a century, and it's breathtaking and sweeping and yet personal and tender. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll wonder aloud to your friends (who must also read the books) how these characters can do what they're doing.

• Lord of the Rings. I re-read these hefty tomes every year before the movies came out. I have re-read them every couple of years since. It's not the easiest read, and I have to admit I found it easier to imagine what was going on after watching Peter Jackson's vision of it. However, Tolkien is Tolkien, and his magic is more than legendary: it's sweeping and timeless.

• The Moon is Always Female. Marge Piercy is accessible and yet still mysterious. I get her poems, but in every re-read there's more to discover. And yet reading the same images are a comfort and still powerful year after year. When I read Piercy, I suspect I might have a clue.

What will you read over and over — and why?

Reading a Long Book

What do you do when faced with an immense book, one that very well could take you the rest of your natural life to read?

Do you plod steadily, reading page after page, until the end? Do you break it up: read a little of the big book, then a short book — if only to feel as though you have actually accomplished something?

Or does it depend on the book?

Recently, I discovered that for me, it depends on the book. Drood was one of the longest books I had read in a while, and I was captivated. The first chapter was a little dry to me, but I was rewarded with one of the most original stories on the shelves today.

But it wasn't easy. In fact, it was a challenge. Don't get me wrong: the book was fabulous, and Carole and I will discuss it soon on this blog. However, after a week of staying up late and eschewing most other kinds of entertainment just so I could see what happened next, I was exhausted.

The book was weighty enough, but the story was equally weighty. In this tome were real-life people weaving stories amongst others whom I can only hope are fictitious and even others whom I hoped were real. The story captured the mores of the day with a touch of 19th century sensibility wrapped in modern-enough language. (I love 19th century literature, but some is a little ornamental for my everyday interest.)

Some books can be short (or short enough) and yet feel very long. The first 80 pages of The Mighty Queens of Freeville felt like an eternity. The 7th Victim was the normal length but insufferable.

Even good books can feel long, at least in part: The City of Dreaming Books was a teeny bit slow at the beginning, ramped up to a fevered pitch, then kept going and going. The Lord of the Rings is very complicated and riddled with Elvish and Middle-Earth language, but the story is compelling and a reader is catapulted forward. (One can see a little of the wisdom of breaking the book into three separate novels.)

From time to time, I read recommended books that aren't up my alley, and sometimes those books feel long as well, no matter how many pages. The ones I don't enjoy don't always feel like like an albatross around my neck. For the most part, though, I am keen to continue (or start) a book only if I'm interested enough to give it a certain amount of time or pages.

However, after the thrill that was Drood, I won't worry about a book's length — and I might have a little more courage to pick up the new Dumas find again, after a few years of its presence on the shelves. It's the quality, not the quantity, right?