Again and Again

E got this book from the library. Again. (I guess I could write that title and not worry too much about the author googling it, given the title, but I'm still feeling delicate about negativity.) (Though that delicacy may go out the window when I finish--if I finish--my current novel.) (And sorry about the Amazon link, but sometimes Powell's just has insufficient information.)

Anway. The book. I tried to dissuade her ("We already got that book once.") but failed ("I love this book.") Which means I will be reading the book again, and not enjoying it, again. I mean, it's OK, but it's the kind of book you read once with some interest, to find out what happens, and then have no desire to read again. Except that your kid wants to read it again. And again. And probably again.

That book just isn't a very good book. But The Jolly Postman is a great book. Only my heart sinks every time E pulls it out. I think it might be all the little pieces that you have to take out of the envelopes and read. It takes so long, and I've read them so many times, and I just don't want to read them again.

One Morning in Maine is another. We haven't gotten on a serious jag with that one, thank goodness, and I love reading it--every six months. But two days in a row? Shoot me now.

And yet, there are books that I can read (and have read) every day for months, and enjoyed every single reading. To name just a few: Make Way for Ducklings, Chrysanthemum, Clementine's Winter Wardrobe, Madeline, Something From Nothing, Joseph Had a Little Overcoat (did you know that Something From Nothing and Joseph Had a Little Overcoat are the same book, and they're both fabulous?), Chicka Chicka Boom Boom (just linking to the ones that aren't the same old same old, because these are some great books, and if you don't know them, you should).

There's really no analysis here, just the point that some books are fine for reading again and again, and some aren't.