As a child, I thought rereading books was a H*U*G*E waste of time. I devoured books, especially Enid Blytons, and later, Roald Dahls. I read the odd Richmal Crompton, went on to the classics - loved Five Children and It, pushed myself through others, left still others incomplete.But one thing I rarely did was reread. I did not have the time. Too many books, too little time, I kept telling myself.Then, at some stage, I realised that reading was not really a race. It was okay if I did not read every single good book in the world. At times, the comfort of a well-loved book was preferable to a foray into unknown territory, so I reread my Malory Towers and my Roald Dahls. I was growing older, so I read and reread Georgette Heyer and Mary Stewart and Dick Francis and Madeleine Brent. And eventually, I made my peace with "wasting" time rereading books I loved.Now, rereading a … [Read more...]