The first time I read Cloudstreet, by Tim Winton, I don't think I really read it. Oh yes, I loved it, and I remember reading it voraciously. But I don't think I really read it in the sense that it resonated with me. When I realised that I was forgetting what happens in Cloudstreet, I decided that I had to forgo my ever growing book pile and read Cloudstreet, even though I was supposed to be reading The Magic Pudding for my Literature class, and even though I haven't really read a book that long for a very long time, except for in class work. (This is a shame, I agree.) (And by a long time, I mean since the summer holidays, which although only about 6 weeks ago, feels like a very long time ago because of all the very hard work I have been doing.) I've decided that I will try and read one non class related book at least once a month. Otherwise, I'll be really sick of reading come the end of semester....OH NO! :)
Rereading a book that you loved when you were younger is a really surreal experience. You've forgotten most of the details, and the way the prose gets under your skin. You've read other books since (Like Robert Drewe's The Shark Net) which enhance your engagement with aspects of the book. You've lived more. It's like having an old friend turn up on your doorstep after many years of separation and coming in for a cup of tea. It's like a hug. Seriously.
Yeah, I'm a book geek.
But seriously, if I'm ever as good a writer as Tim Winton, I'll die happy.