TOL (The Other Lisa) is a squeamish sort and won’t let me go into gory detail about my recent abdominal surgery, so instead we’re going to debate whether re-reading books is a ridiculous waste of time often leading to disappointment and disillusionment, or a perfectly normal, enjoyable pastime practiced by bibliophiles around the world.
LISA: It’s the first one. Re-reading sucks. The only times I’ve ever re-read anything were either on accident (I have the attention span of a gnat), or because I wanted to recapture a precious moment. Instead, it completely ruins what was once a cherished memory. Why did I ever re-read Harriet the Spy? Why? And what possessed me to read it in the first place?
TOL: I would gladly re-read any of my least favorite books, including Lord of the Flies or Gone with the Wind, as long as Lisa 1 swears she will never attempt to show my her picture of her recently removed benign tumor. She keeps telling me, “It looks like a brain,” in the misguided belief that this is tempting me to take a peek. I do not need to be threatened by surgical detritus to re-read any of my favorites. In fact, I re-read A Christmas Carol every year right before Christmas. I’m going upstairs to get it now.
LISA: See, you admit re-reads can be torturous on some level. Okay, I’ll play along to the likes of A Christmas Carol being some sort of holiday tradition or whatnot. Although it’s a bit long. Maybe that’s the point, to put the kiddies to sleep by reading it aloud? But seriously, why do the same boring thing over and over when you could have a brand new experience, such as viewing surgical glossies? Did I mention another of my internal organs bears an uncanny resemblance to an empanada? Care to guess which one?
TOL: I can’t hear you. “Fa, La, La, La, La.”
LISA: What do recycled Christmas tunes have to do with recycled books or biohazardous waste?
TOL: Is this a trick question? ‘Cause I have no idea what you are talking about. Good books are always worth re-reading. How can anyone resist an opening like this: Marley was dead: to begin with. I can’t, so I am stopping the writing and starting on the re-reading.
See you in the New Year!