With millions of books published each year and our TBR (to-be-read) piles growing endlessly, I’ve been wrestling with something: my habit of re-reading favorite books. Last week, I picked up The Secret History for the fourth time instead of starting one of the new releases collecting dust on my nightstand.
A friend recently told me that re-reading books is literary procrastination and claimed it’s just a comfort zone trap preventing us from discovering new voices and perspectives. She argues that with limited reading time in our lives, every re-read is a missed opportunity to experience something new.
But there’s something magical about returning to a beloved book – catching new details, understanding characters differently as we age, and finding comfort in familiar stories. Some books feel like old friends, and who says we need to constantly chase new relationships?
Does anyone else struggle with the guilt of re-reading when your unread book collection keeps growing? Are we missing out by revisiting old favorites, or is there something uniquely valuable in returning to books we love?
