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Why You Should Re-Read Books
The ever-changing love-story with the same words
I grew up in a family of readers. We had thousands upon thousands of books at home; my grandparents’ books took up the most space in their tiny flat; I started to collect my little library very early on.
My grandpa was into poetry and he was reading poems to me, citing them, acting them out — with a booming deep voice that went so well with the classic authors. He taught me to enjoy rhymes and the rhythm of syllables.
My grandma has been into art, she had an enormous number of albums and encyclopaedias with beautiful colourful images. She was also very protective of her books, we had to earn the honour to have a look at them. She taught me to respect books.
My mum has been an omnivore. She just loved reading — it didn’t matter if it was a thriller, some romance, poetry or art, she just loved it. I have never seen her sitting down without a book in her hand. I have never seen her going to sleep without reading just a few pages. She has been re-reading some of her favourites, if there wasn’t anything new to read, she would pluck an old one off the shelf and flip it through, looking for her favourite parts.
But my dad was a weird one. I rarely saw him reading, every time he bought a new book, he had it around only…
