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bjr2022 's review for:
Books that Grow with Multiple Readings
I'm not a fan of labels like "best books." For me, that would be like picking best children or best species. It's ridiculous. There are only books I like a lot and those that I don't. So for 2019 I've decided to mark the year's end of book reading by listing the books I read this year for second or fourth times—books that expand with each reading, books that hit me anew, books that change as I do through the natural evolution of understanding.
Because my book club chose several books I'd already read, I had the opportunity to read several more books second times, but I didn't; rather, I went on my memory of what I'd read for our discussions, and that seemed to suffice.
But the three books I reread seemed to choose me, beckoning to dive deeper into them, below the surfaces, and discover new insights in them and myself.
Waiting for Bojangles by Olivier Bourdeaut, which I bought after reading a library copy. The book design, story, and translation are stunning achievements, and even though I knew how the tale ended, the second time I read it I was as shaken and moved as I was the first time. This is a book that I would give as a gift to any reader with a sense of humor, adventure, and appreciation for family dysfunction.
Stoner by John Williams. My fourth reading this year of this perfect novel was as unique as the first three. I felt the pain deeper, but also the ecstasy of the ending. I suspect I will read this book many more times before I die. It inspires me and has even leaked into my own writing.
Saturday by Ian McEwan. I think I need to read this book one more time. The first time, I was blown away, even as I was actively studying the writing—the narrative movement. The second time, I found myself struggling to understand the architecture of the protagonist's house because this had been a problem I'd assumed was my reading deficiency the first time. After the fact, I learned from a Goodreader that English houses' floors are differently distinguished than American, which cleared all my confusion. So I would like to read this once more while seeing the house properly, leaving me open to more discovery about the writing. At its foundation, it is a political and philosophical book, and I love how this is played out through of a story of observation and finally high drama.
I'm not a fan of labels like "best books." For me, that would be like picking best children or best species. It's ridiculous. There are only books I like a lot and those that I don't. So for 2019 I've decided to mark the year's end of book reading by listing the books I read this year for second or fourth times—books that expand with each reading, books that hit me anew, books that change as I do through the natural evolution of understanding.
Because my book club chose several books I'd already read, I had the opportunity to read several more books second times, but I didn't; rather, I went on my memory of what I'd read for our discussions, and that seemed to suffice.
But the three books I reread seemed to choose me, beckoning to dive deeper into them, below the surfaces, and discover new insights in them and myself.
Waiting for Bojangles by Olivier Bourdeaut, which I bought after reading a library copy. The book design, story, and translation are stunning achievements, and even though I knew how the tale ended, the second time I read it I was as shaken and moved as I was the first time. This is a book that I would give as a gift to any reader with a sense of humor, adventure, and appreciation for family dysfunction.
Stoner by John Williams. My fourth reading this year of this perfect novel was as unique as the first three. I felt the pain deeper, but also the ecstasy of the ending. I suspect I will read this book many more times before I die. It inspires me and has even leaked into my own writing.
Saturday by Ian McEwan. I think I need to read this book one more time. The first time, I was blown away, even as I was actively studying the writing—the narrative movement. The second time, I found myself struggling to understand the architecture of the protagonist's house because this had been a problem I'd assumed was my reading deficiency the first time. After the fact, I learned from a Goodreader that English houses' floors are differently distinguished than American, which cleared all my confusion. So I would like to read this once more while seeing the house properly, leaving me open to more discovery about the writing. At its foundation, it is a political and philosophical book, and I love how this is played out through of a story of observation and finally high drama.