My post on rereading Steinbeck's East of Eden has prompted Sheila O'Malley, who has already read the novel twice, to consider reading it again (that's high praise coming from Sheila, who is, as anyone who reads her blog knows, a passionate rereader). Needless to say, all this talk of rereading, and all this actual rereading, has made me think about the meaning of rereading. I don't often reread myself--though I did so obsessively as a child, wearing out more than one Dell paperback of Charlotte's Web and thumbing Harriet the Spy and Me and Fat Glenda and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler so often that their stories and characters are still vividly with me, upwards of thirty years later. I can barely recall what I read last week, but I still know Harriet and her notebook and her egg creams and her tomato sandwiches intimately, and every time I cook with ground beef I think of Lila Perl's alphabet burgers.

I don't usually reread because there is so much out there in the world that I am eager to read for the first time. I've been gluttonous about books since I was very small, and I've never lost that kid-in-a-candy-shop feeling I used to get as a child, sitting in front of shelves full of books, almost overwhelmed by the readerly goodness that was bound between their covers. A family friend once gave me a book binge as a birthday present, and recalls a nine-year-old me sitting on the floor in front of the young adults section in B. Dalton's, declaring that I was "paralyzed by indecision."

But not rereading is my private habit in my personal reading life. As an English teacher, rereading is professionally necessary, part of the job, and often a very enjoyable part, too. Academic overspecialization being what it is, most of the books in which I am massively well reread are nineteenth-century English novels: I know my Jane Austen, my Brontes, my Dickens, my Collins, my Gaskell, my Eliot, my Thackeray, my Trollope, my Hardy, and my Conrad inside out, and I know them from teaching them repeatedly to class after class of college students who are more (or less) interested in rounding out their literary knowledge, or, more pragmatically, in knocking off a distribution requirement while easing course schedules heavy in science and math. There are some works I have read and taught too many times. They have become old, stale, too familiar, ironically, to be teachable any more, since to teach a work of literature well, you must strike a difficult balance between knowing that work intimately, and not knowing it so well that it has ceased to surprise you. When a work gets so stale that you cannot respond to it any longer, it's time to not teach it for the indefinite future. Jane Eyre is one of these for me, as are Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Bram Stoker's Dracula. They've been out of rotation for a few years, freshening up for future teacherly use.

But teacherly rereading is hothouse rereading: it's forced rereading for a particular purpose, not voluntary rereading for the sheer interest and delight of rediscovering or renewing one's connection with a particular author or work. I had a teacher in graduate school who liked to say that we should all reread George Eliot's Middlemarch once every five years. His point was that there is so much in that novel that it effectively grows and changes as we do: It's a different book every five years, because we are different people from one half decade to the next. He was right.

I don't know how many times I have read Middlemarch at this point--though I remember vividly reading it for the first time as a junior in college, absurdly and obsessively underlining just about every line in it, so great was my desire to absorb it completely, not to lose even the smallest detail or turn of phrase. But as many times as I have read Middlemarch, my teacher's adage has proved unerringly true. It's a different novel every time I read it; it deepens and widens each time; each time there are different philosophical threads that I cling to, different characters whose struggles (and there is no George Eliot character who does not struggle) speak particularly to me. When I was younger, it was the Dorothea-Ladislaw love plot, of course. Later, it was the horror of Lydgate's utter miscalculation about who he was marrying when he wed Rosamond. Last year, when I read Middlemarch for a course I was teaching, it was the blackmail plot surrounding the prominent and upstanding retailer and churchgoer, Mr. Bulstrode. Eliot's portrayal of the ostracism Bulstrode undergoes when his past comes to light had never really hit me before. I think I was not old enough to get it before; certainly I had not been through comparable ostracism of my own before. But being a little older, and having a little experience of my own with the kind of shunning that is endemic in certain academic circles, I connected with the Bulstrode plot in a way that made Middlemarch new again for me, and made Eliot seem wiser and more prescient than ever.

Rereading East of Eden is making me want to return to other old favorites of mine. It's also making me want to make more of a point of rereading those favorites periodically, to see whether--and how--they age with me, and to pull out of them more of what they have to give than I was able to pull out the first, inevitably cursory time around.

I'm curious to hear readers' thoughts on rereading, as well as on what books they themselves purposely, even habitually, reread. Comments are open.

UPDATE: Delightfully, Our Girl in Chicago has more. I'm totally tickled that someone besides me has bittersweet B. Dalton's-at-the-mall memories. So much to read, so little stock.

I reread just short of obsessively - the most recently finished novel was Humphrey Clinkler for what must be the 7th or 8th time (this readthrough in honor of having finally been to Bath).

The only time I envy English professors is when I think of their class preparation.

I'm a definite rereader. For novels, I reread when the author has created such vividness of time, place, and character that I want to visit again. One novel I have reread several times is Thomas Flanagan's "Year of the French" (which, despite its title, is about Ireland). I also reread essays--Orwell and Koestler are both worth frequent rereading--and find that I get something different out of them each time.

I guiltily avoid rereading because I have so many unfinished books already on my shelf. But I do think about returning to some of the books I truly enjoyed, among them Middlemarch. Reading your bit about how the novel changes as we change just bumped it closer to the top of my list.

I read Middlemarch in college more frequently than any work outside of Paradise Lost and still managed to love it. My friends think I'm nuts.

I seldom reread books, but spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about doing so. I am beginning to understand that wonderful things I read very emotionally and with teenaged fervor thirty years ago might be revisited. I seem to remember only a few highlights from some dearly cherished novels. Definitely could stand to read them anew.

I am even beginning to understand I am allowed to do that without breaking any rule of the cosmos that makes me keep finding newer wonderful books.

Teaching prep -- never again will I be as intimately familiar with a piece as I was with Romeo and Juliet the year I taught freshmen in high school. Ye gads. Five classes, all doing the play at the same time.

I don't think I've ever reread anything, though I've enjoyed some books immensely. In fact, I keep a list of books I've already read, both fiction and non-fiction, partly to avoid it, because I've read enough books over the years that sometimes I honestly just cannot remember if I've read a particular book or not (especially fiction for some reason, probably because I've read more of it).

When I visit the library, I think 'Read, or reread?', and read always wins. There are just too many good books I still have not read...

I love to reread. A few years ago I started reading classics to my kids. They loved Pudd'Nhead Wilson, Northanger Abbey, and Robinson Crusoe. As I was reading to them, I got so much more out of the story than when I had read them in school. I think I may read Crime and Punishment to them now that they are in high school.

I reread as a matter of course - I read so fast that it would be folly for me to do otherwise, whether I was to buy books or merely check them out from the library. (Most libraries have an upper limit per visit, and some even have an upper limit per week.)

I find that approximately two-thirds of my reading is re-read; the proportion was higher before I started working at a bookstore and gained access to lots of lunchtime reading, particularly in books I would not otherwise purchase. (Mostly, this is history or sociology, areas I have a great interest in but never think to look at.)

Some of my re-reads are just because I love the stories and find a lot in them; some are for 'comfort' reading; and some are because I'm sure I must have missed a ton on the first go-round.

And I hate packing. Small boxes full of hardbacks can weigh upwards of sixty pounds. Even paperbacks give you thirty-pound boxes. Gah.

"Persuasion," every time I feel like I need a second chance, or a reminder that things won't always go my way the first time around. It's a beautiful expression of that particular truth.

I actually had some sympathy for Rosamond. Lydgate mislead her about the lifestyle he would be able to provide for her. He certainly did his part in getting them in over their heads. And you have to remember, in their day a woman had the economic status her husband provided for her. If I want things my husband can't give me, I can (and did) go out and get a job and get them for myself. Rosamond couldn't do that. Further, it was due to Lydgate's stubbornness that he didn't do what other physicians did, and sell his own pharmaceuticals. What harm could it do? That's how doctors made their living. As Rosamond told him more than once, it was his choice not to make more money than he did. Finally, it was just stupid to put all that time into the fever hospital and not ask for a salary. Duh. He tried to live like a gentleman who did medicine as a hobby, and he didn't have independent means. So to ask Rosamond to give up the lifestyle she wanted so he could pursue his fantasy seemed fairly selfish to me.

I liked the Fred and Mary story.

Hmm. Well, I'm pretty young, so I will probably be returning to the old favourites of my youth (i.e. right now) sometime in the future. At the present, I know I've re-read _Brideshead_Revisited_ several times, although now, since I know where all my favourite passages are, I tend to just skip between them. I also adore Wodehouse, so I've reread several of his novels for fun (they've remained funny every reading), and many of his short stories too. I know I've reread Dostoevsky a few times--Brothers Karamazov and Crime&Punishment, at least. Also (heh) have reread Gene Wolfe's Book of the New Sun at least once--but it's a puzzle book, so to speak, and part of it was just to work back and try and unravel the plot. Lovely language, too, though--a real masterwork. And I've reread Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. And, uh, Harry Potter. Also Forster's Where Angels Fear to Tread.

I've also made an attempt to re-read works I enjoyed originally in English translation, once I have access to the original tongue. I've been trundling through Haruki Murakami's oeuvre on that account. Also limped through Swann's Way.

I always reread. I don't see why you wouldn't .. when the book is good enough, it never seems to matter that I already know where it's going.

On B. Dalton and Waldenbooks ... the great chain bookstores may have done some harm to small independent bookstores in urban areas, and that's a shame. But everywhere else, Borders and Barnes & Noble were nothing but a huge improvement. When I was growing up, we had to drive for an hour, to the nearest major city, to get to any decent bookstore at all!

I've reread Orwell's "Road to Wigan Pier" at least seven or eight times - a strange choice, I know. For me, rereading is akin to visiting old friends or familiar places.

Dead Souls, The Overcoat, Kafka's Metamorphosis, Nabokov's Pnin, Bruce Chatwin's In Patagonia, Calvino's Invisible Cities, Agnon's Simple Story and Jacob Shabtai's Past Continuous. The latter is a great Hebrew novel for which there's a decent translation into English. Some of these books have a fragmentary story line which I find appealing.

Almost forgot: Borges stories.

I have found myself at times so delighted with a book that as soon as I finished it, I started over, so that I could recapture the joy. I also laugh out loud and cry while reading. This causes some distress to people around me at times.

For the joys of re-reading Olympics (non-fiction division) I offer the incomparable
A.J. Liebling. Whether he's writing about Earl Long, Paris, Rocky Marciano, or New York newspapers there is nothing that comes close.
If you haven't made his acquaintance, I envy you the pleasure of reading Liebling for the first time. And, I promise you, He gets better the second, third, or fourth time around.

I knew someone who reread certain books every year at certain times of the year. I don't remember her schedule, unfortunately, except that she read Gatsby every year in June. I haven't gotten into the habit, but often in June I at least think about reading Gatsby.

I rarely reread actual literature (since I'm an academic I read so much in my field), but I've read the Nero Wolfe corpus a couple of times. I find it incredibly relaxing.

I read Flannery O'Connor's The Violent Bear it Away three times this summer. The first time I enjoyed the plot, the second I enjoyed what I thought were the deeper meanings and themes, and the third I enjoyed the humor. At least for me, it takes a couple of reads of any of her works to find the humor.

I've got several books that I don't so much reread as "drop in for a visit." I've read them so often, I can almost let them fall open and dive in.

Slocum: Sailing Alone Around the World
Hertzler: Horse and Buggy Doctor
both seemed to enjoy life and not take themselves too seriously, online reviews of Hertzler not withstanding.
Richmond P Hobson: Grass Beyond the Mountain (first of 3)
Helen H Smith A Bride Goes West and We Pointed Them North
Lois Crisler: Artic Wild

Hogfather (by Terry Pratchett) and Doomsday Book (Connie Willis) are Christmas stories for me. The Stand (Stephen King) is a summer book. Naturally, those books are (mostly) set at those times.

Other than those, my re-reads are by groups - I decide I feel like a particular author, and read through all the works, then move on to another. Some authors go together, and some are changes - I have to read light fiction after tackling Kim Stanley Robinson or Stephen Baxter. Entertaining, but dense novels that are work to get through (as opposed to, say, Anne McCaffrey.) And with my work, I'm often reading one thing at home and another at work, which is how I'm currently pursuing science fiction, mysteries, and kids fiction at the same time. :)

For me, I reread everything unless I absolutely detested it--a visceral reaction of loathing--and even then I will try to go through it again to make sure I didn't like it.

Steinbeck's books Cannery Row and Sweet Thursday, to me, had some moments of beauty and truth and humanity that took my breath away, and I always remember them.

And though I am nearing thirty, I still reread the books I read when I was twelve (Robin McKinley, among others).

What do I re-read? The Bible, (King James: the language shaped English), Lord of the Rings, Gorky Park, Polar Star, Cannery Row, Sweet Thursday, the "Karla" novels by LeCarre, Neuromancer, anything by Terry Pratchett, Dune ... I'm afraid that I would discuss literature mainly as a "collection of works that get re-read" , and as re-read, help us discover more about ourselves.

Not that I only re-read. This year I've been discovering Dostoyevsky: and I'm glad I've had some experience before I tried it.