Summer no doubt marked a blissful time for readers to gorge themselves on the literature time wasn’t found for during the busy school year. Some encountered the new works they promised themselves they’d get to when they got the chance. For others, it was a period of reconnecting with the old stories they know and love.

This is where the can of worms usually opens.

Bookish types can be viciously opinionated concerning the notion of returning to books already read. Some readers see it as blasphemy, an indication of ignorance on the reader’s part for not understanding a book at first read (why else would you re-read something unless you didn’t get it?), or clear evidence that said re-reader is too narrowminded to explore new literature. For them, a re-reader is someone too afraid to invest the mental effort necessary to dissect a new, perhaps terrible, book outside their tried-and-true personal catalog. Life is too short not to experience as many new ideas, stories and points of view as humanly possible, they claim.

I agree that one should always pursue new ways of thinking, exploring and learning from the wide variety of worldviews offered through books. This is why I often donate the novels I’ve completed to my local library, both to make room for the new literature in my life and also partly from the guilt I feel at hoarding books I know I’ll never return to. I donate the books whose messages I’ve understood, their purpose achieved, their substance absorbed from a now-empty shell of paper. It is these shells I give to my community.

However, there are a rare few novels that, upon completion, lose none of their original substance, taking on new life with each revisit. They are the Darwinian novels, the stories that thrive through their ability to adapt and remain relevant in the changing times in which they are read, surviving by growing richer the more a reader imparts their life experiences into them. Essentially, good novels are not unlike zombies; they will never die as long as there are curious brains to be feasted upon.

I believe that books, especially good books, should not be approached as things to be crammed as many times as possible into a life. Instead, books should be viewed as miniature lifetimes in themselves. Like life, books should not be rushed through, but read with each detail taken in, people met appreciated, and something learned along the way. Anyone who has read a good novel knows that out-of-body experience when a good story draws to a close. I would argue this is the sensation of rebirth, emerging from a pocket-sized lifetime back into our own existence a little bit changed.

Yet unlike life, books allow us the opportunity to reflect on our experiences through experienced eyes, to live it over again. I think re-readers understand this. Through my re-readings, I have come to the conclusion that I will raise my (future) children to be like Atticus Finch, approach death like Professor Dumbledore and life like The Little Prince. And if I ever forget these values upon which I chose to lead my life, and you yours, a reminder is just as easy as picking up a read, and re-read, book.

This article appeared in an edited version in The Strand here.