I like to take long walks. My ideal route dips in and out of the woods, the path changing from sunbaked dirt to cool earth scattered with decaying leaves. Sometimes sunlight filters through a web of tree branches high overhead; sometimes the path wends through a grove of evergreens. I might pass a corn field or cross a narrow bridge. I stop to pick a handful of wild raspberries or autumn olives.

A key characteristic of the perfect route is that I have walked it dozens of times before – and that’s the way I feel about my favourite books.

I love to reread books as much as I like to walk along a path I’ve experienced in all seasons of the year, on a sunny afternoon and a breezy autumn evening. Rereading isn’t boring when the books are good, like a winding path full of things to see and hear and touch.

I think if I had to spend my life reading only books I’ve read before I would be happy (as long as I stopped hearing about other books because I’m always tempted to add them to my “to be read” list!).

Sometimes I reread childhood favourites, like Gone-Away Lake or Anne of Green Gables. The experience is pleasant, even if occasionally the books don’t live up to my fond memories. Even better is reading long-time favourites aloud, so I can share my enthusiasm with others.

Other times I reread books that I love but don’t feel that I fully understand. Maybe I found the language beautiful or want to revisit memorable scenes and quotations. Somehow I’m drawn to reading these over and over.

I also reread books that I didn’t love the first time around. Perhaps they’re books I studied at university or favourites of a friend or classic titles that I come across again and again. Unless I actually hated them, I’m willing to give them another shot (years later) to see how I feel about them. I recently reread Rebecca after hearing a comparison to Picnic at Hanging Rock, which I had just finished. Searching for similarities certainly added to the enjoyment of rereading.

Occasionally I’m suddenly reminded of a book and I can hardly wait to read it again. For instance in Voracious, a memoir full of recipes, the author mentioned the currant buns in The Secret Garden, so I picked it up for the first time in years and was not disappointed.

I’ll gladly flip through a cookbook that I’ve read a dozen times or read aloud a picture book that has just the right amount of rhythm and repetition to make it a favourite. And since I have a terrible memory, I can even reread mysteries and be surprised by the ending.

Here are some of the books I’ve read more than twice (if you’re looking for reading suggestions [and brief descriptions] click over to this list of novels I wish I’d written):

• The Blue Castle (and many others) by L.M. Montgomery
• A Room With a View by E.M. Forster
• The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro
• Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
• To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
• Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry
• From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg
• Gone-Away Lake by Elizabeth Enright

Reading a new book is like trying a new recipe: I start out intrigued and excited, hoping the end result will live up to my expectations. If the recipe turns out I’ll make it again, perhaps often. If I like the book enough I’ll reread it; maybe I’ll even read it repeatedly and it will become my “comfort food.”

What about you, do you reread books?