This year I am trying to read more books and slowly go back to my younger self who used to be a voracious reader up till mid twenties. As I am reading books today I am slowly realizing even though I was going through books one after another, I dont quite remember any of them anymore. I mean its been almost two decades all right, but I was hoping I would remember broad story arcs of those books, and I am coming up short sadly. Is this normal?
I keep saying Love in the time of cholera , One hundred years of solitude, The Uprooted and more are some of my favorite books ever (yes, I am partial towards books that spans generations and time), yet if you ask me what is the story of those books I am stumped. I don’t remember. All I remember is absolutely being in love with those books then and thats the memory I have, not the content of the book itself!
Now I feel like I have a choice. I could go back and re-read those books again? Why not read Asimov again? Or Rohinton Mistry whose books I used devour (as grim as they used to be)? Or Salman Rushdie who’s Midnight Children and Shame gave me so much joy? Heck, I don’t even remember majority of Freedom at Midnight or O Jerusalem anymore.
Yet I am afraid that if I go back and re-read those books I might end up hating them now and I am not sure if I am ready for it. I am no longer the same person that I was two decades ago. I fear that the same books that brought me joy once may annoy me now and I might end up hating them, and even worse hating myself for ever liking them in the first place!