On the Reading of Old Books - A.M. Bigler
"It is a good rule, after reading a new book, never to allow yourself another new one till you have read an old one in between...Not, of course, that there is any magic about the past. People were no cleverer than they are now; they made as many mistakes as we. But not the same mistakes." - C.S. Lewis, "On the Reading of Old Books"

Is it a good rule, as Lewis proposes, to deliberately intermix new books with old? It depends. Perhaps we all do this on some level below conscious choosing - I myself have layered Joyce, Chandler, Le Carre, Fitzgerald or Hemingway with contemporaries such as Mitchell, Murakami and McCarthy without entirely intending it.

Curiously, while I am markedly deliberate about the books I choose, I am also constrained by my subconscious; that is to say, sometimes I find a book plucked from the queue deliberately to be one which I did not intend, and I cannot explain my rationale for choosing it. This when I had better reasons to pick differently - a newer, which I have thought about recently, or an author which I am already familiar with. Perhaps you may relate. 

Sven Birkerts may point to an answer in his observation of bookstore customers: "I see them standing in place with their necks tilted at a 45-degree angle, looking not for a specific book, but for a book they can trust to do the job. They want plot and character, sure, but what they really want is a vehicle that will bear them off to the reading state."(The Christian Imagination, p. 239). Is my subconscious seeking this on a level I cannot comprehend? This is a mystery to me.

A confession: When I first read Lewis' quote, I perceived that "old" and "new" implied whether the reader had already visited these works. Where Lewis had meant chronological to the world, I perceived as chronological to me. My first reaction to this quote was a twinge of guilt. If C.S. Lewis, a hero of mine, re-reads books with that frequency, why is it that I rarely do so? (With the exception of the Bible, only 1-2 books out of 50-70 are re-reads for me). Does that imply something negative about my reading habits (i.e. that I am "hooked" on a first experience, or too lazy to pull more out of what I read)? I could not adequately answer this question.

My second impression, which followed from a realization what he actually meant (albeit after longer delay than I am comfortable admitting), was relief. Of course, Lewis did not intend when he wrote that to inflict guilt and shame upon me. But was there something to why I felt the way I did when I perceived wrongly? Is it possible (and right) that we should re-visit a place on our literary journey, perhaps many places, with great frequency, and that this has meaning or value to us?

It is true that my first reading of a book "can become a blur to me soon after I've finished it", as Birkerts observes (p.230), and that I read a thing the first time for the pleasure of it, not seeking to draw much meaning, unless it comes to me much later through reflection and digestion (ex. The Grand Inquisitor passage of Brothers Karamazov). It is also true that I feel differently about a book when revisited, for better or worse, and often both. 

Why? Perhaps I become more conscious of the themes, or increase in my awareness of the creator's mental state. Perhaps I fear (rightfully) that some of the magic which induced my lucid state of pleasure will be absent, or at the very least, altered. Perhaps it is different because I am further down the road than before, and it no longer relates to my experience and thoughts as it did before. At the very least, it shifts my view of things: some books become valuable for my memory of reading them, and very few do not slip a bit in my fondness for them. 

For me, Starship Troopers is an example of the former, and Lord of the Rings, the latter. When I revisit the former, I see a moment in time: I am 21, learning new ideas about the world and shaping my thoughts on life. The book was life-altering at the time, but now it has little newness or added meaning to me, except for recollection of this memory. Lord of the Rings, though tedious at times, and while not nearly as bonding in first experience, has only grown in depth and meaning across different snapshots in my life. Where in one re-read I might be drawn to Frodo's peril, in another I find myself reflecting on quite a different aspect of Aragorn's admirable qualities.

Whether we like to admit it or not, the same is true of film, television, art, music, poetry, or any created thing of human hands. Since few works capture our imagination the same way the second time, we sometimes shy away from seeing them again, for fear that they should take on a different or lesser meaning to us, imprisoned in the original ways we have perceived them. My refrain from revisiting Cloud Atlas might be an example of this for me. 

The truth is that few books, films, etc. ever reach the pinnacle of greatness that morph and take on new meaning with every experience. Cautiously, I would put The Brothers Karamazov, Great Gatsby, and For Whom the Bell Tolls into this category. I have heard that Moby Dick speaks to a new decade in every reader's life, though I have yet to be tempted by a second read of it.

Perhaps this nature of books is not so bad: whether we find ourselves embarking upon a new journey, or reflecting upon an old one, one which has brought us from where we were before to where we are now, and point to where we are going, we can appreciate these old books for what they are: a pile of stones, a memory, marking the crossing of the Jordan. It is natural and intended that we should revisit them from time to time, even if our view of the rocks themselves loses the magic of the moment.

Post-script: A word of caution. It is equally fraught with peril that we should stay too long in these places, dwelling on the past like Uncle Rico's football days. In the end, it is with a balanced and proper view of things that we learn to honor God's presence in our past, the work he was doing, what he continues to do in the present through his grace, and give us hope for the future as characters in his grand narrative.