About a month ago I went to my five-year college reunion. Most of what I remember is how good it felt to reconnect with friends and how much I enjoyed the fireworks, but one conversation also stands out in my mind. It was late at night, and a whole group of us were walking from one end of campus (where the fireworks had ended some time before) to the other end of campus (where our cars were); because we were a large group and walked at different paces, we ended up spread out so that one friend and I were ahead of everyone else.
It was a strange experience, that walk. Good-but-strange-but-good, I think I said, and my friend agreed — good because it was familiar and pleasant to walk a path we had walked so many times over so many years, strange because both we and the campus had changed in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, but again good because we had changed, and the campus had changed, and we could measure ourselves by that. I don’t think I was a bad person then, but I’ve grown a lot and most of it in positive ways, and it was nice to feel that reflected in my reaction to the space.
I noticed it particularly because I’ve been having that experience a lot lately. I don’t know if it’s something specific to being in one’s late twenties? Or if I’ve just happened to be re-visiting old haunts (both geographic and artistic) lately? But I also remember telling my friend about how I’d been re-watching some old X-Files episodes a while back and found that my fondness for Mulder had been at least partially replaced by annoyance. I’d remembered him as driven, exasperating but lovable; this time around I was annoyed by how immediately he put himself in Scully’s personal space. I wanted to shout at him, “She is a colleague and a stranger, and your behavior is totally inappropriate and unprofessional!” It bothered me less in later episodes when their close friendship was already established, but even then I found myself thinking, “Scully, you are even more awesome than I remembered and you can totally do better.”
I recently found myself on a bus full of eighth graders watching the movie Frozen for the first time. I liked it — not-especially-princess-y female lead, magically gifted second female lead who learns to embrace her power and is ultimately able to find positive ways to use it and find acceptance within her community, emphasis on the importance of friend/sibling bonds, romantic relationships based on trust and respect, and the big kiss is prefaced by a “may I?” — but I didn’t love it. And that bothered me, because with a list like that surely I should have loved it? Because I’m me, I spent a lot of time trying to tease out why.
Here’s what I came up with: first of all, I think if it had existed when I was a kid I would have loved it. Probably it would’ve been up there with Beauty and the Beast. But as an adult, it felt like it was all surface. If Elsa’s gift was no problem up until the accident, why was it suddenly this big scary thing that had to be hidden/controlled? If Elsa had lived her entire life in isolation and fear of people, how the heck did she overcome that so quickly to be able to live surrounded by people and to fulfill a political role that would require a lot of social interaction and visibility? And if the people were so afraid of Elsa’s power, would they really welcome her back so quickly? A lot of the individual character moments were good, but so much of what would have drawn me in was this story of a powerful/gifted young woman finding a way to embrace her own gifts without having to withdraw from the community to do so and it just . . . wasn’t there, at least not on screen.
Maybe that wouldn’t even have disappointed me so much if I hadn’t just read Mikki Kendall’s story “If God Is Watching” a short time before. Like Frozen, it’s about a girl/young woman who has an unusual gift, one which can be used to help or to harm. Like Frozen, it begins with a young girl accidentally hurting someone. Like Frozen, the girl’s parents try to protect her, the girl ends up leaving home, the girl (now a young woman) ends up having a strong relationship with a sibling (in this case her brother), and she ultimately decides how she wants to use her gift as a member of a community. But unlike Frozen, in this story the parents teach their daughter not only how to control her power but how to use it in ways that can help people. In this story both siblings have gifts and use them in subtle ways to create a home for themselves and to build a community. In this story all of the characters have scars, or things they’d rather keep hidden, and our main characters accept each other without judgment or shame. When the protagonist is faced with her final choice about whether to use her power (and, if so, to what end), it is a choice she makes for herself and we as readers get to see what options and moral implications she considered in making it. “If God Is Watching” has depth; its characters (aside from the villains, anyway) are good not because they are perfect, but because they are imperfect in an imperfect world and they don’t let that stop them from being themselves or from acting with compassion and respect for one another.
I feel bad comparing Frozen and “If God Is Watching,” enough that I considered not writing about them (at least not together). I worry that it does both of them a disservice. But the more I tried to figure out why I wasn’t more excited about Frozen, the more I kept coming back to “If God Is Watching.” And the more I kept thinking about both of them, and about my inability to experience Frozen as my younger self would have, the more I kept coming back to this idea of re-visiting, re-watching, re-reading, etc. as a way to observe the passage of time, to make visible the incremental growth of days and weeks and months and years.
A while back I spoke with one of my colleagues, a reading specialist, about possible changes to independent reading as it’s currently assigned in our school and which changes would or would not match which purposes. One issue I should have thought of but didn’t until she pointed it out was re-reading: right now books that students re-read do not fulfill their independent reading requirements for class. Now, there are a number of reasons for this that I don’t want to get into here. It did remind me, though, of the many benefits to having some of one’s reading be re-reading.
I am someone who re-reads books. (I am also someone who re-watches TV and movies.) For a long time I had very limited shelf space and limited money for buying books, so the only books I bought were ones I’d already read several times and knew I would want to read again. Sometimes I re-read books because I’m stressed out and I want something familiar. Sometimes I re-read books because I enjoyed them in the past and I want to enjoy them again. Sometimes I re-read books because they were formative for me and there is some truth of which I need to be reminded.
This doesn’t mean that I never read books that are new to me. Sometimes I read new books because they sound interesting and I want to read them. Sometimes I read new books because none of the books I’ve already read is quite what I’m looking for in that moment. Sometimes I read new books simply because they are new, because I want to learn something or want the experience of not knowing what happens next instead of the experience of reading something half-remembered or mostly-memorized.
I realize not everyone re-reads like I do, but for someone like me I think books can be like people in this way. Sometimes you meet a book/person and enjoy the interaction and then go your separate ways; other times you meet a book/person and form a connection that keeps bringing you back, so that your relationship continues and grows over time. And when it comes to that latter category, some relationships you outgrow, some relationships can be sustained largely by nostalgia and shared history, and some relationships continuously evolve.
As a reader and a writer and a teacher and librarian and a person, I think re-reading is important — not everything, and not all the time, but it needs to be treated as “real” reading and it’s a practice I would encourage for everyone at least occasionally. On a scholarly/academic level I think it’s important to re-read in order to understand the balance between the words on a page, which do not change, and the meaning we make of them, which changes as we do. I think it’s even more important on a human level, however: I think it’s important to revisit old stories and old ideas and see which ones still work for us and which we want to set aside, to be reminded that we are not and need not try to be fixed points.