For many years I kept a copy of Pride and Prejudice on my nightstand and re-read it regularly. And there have been other books I’ve read again, though not as often. Usually some time goes by before I re-read. Or even before I think I want to. With Happiness it was different. I knew as soon as I read the last word that I’d be wanting to re-read it. Soon.
Happiness, a novel by Aminatta Forna, was selected as a “best book” of 2018 by a long list of magazines and reviewers. But I didn’t hear about it in 2018. I didn’t notice when she was reading right here at the Harvard Bookstore—rats! My loss. But fortunately I caught up. I read it, loved it, and immediately began recommending it to every reader I knew. And planning to read it again, which I just did and loved it even more the second time around.
What makes a book you’d want to re-read? There are plenty of excellent books I’ve read—deep, complex, rewarding books–that I’ve never been tempted to open again. Why these re-chosen few? It may have something to do with the characters. Definitely in the case of Happiness. The American woman who designs rooftop gardens and studies urban wildlife and especially the larger-than life Ghanian psychiatrist who specializes in war trauma and who loves to dance are people I don’t want to say goodbye to.
In this case there was also the issue of how I was spending time with them. As a reader I’m mode-neutral. I love the physical book, the feel in my hand, the presence of books surrounding me in a room. But, unexpectedly, I also love reading on a screen, specifically the screen of my phone. So tiny, you may think, and yet I’ve read long books. The Forsyte Saga! Chernow’s Grant! David Blight’s biography of Frederick Douglass! (Ok that one was less satisfying on the screen, but I found it a less satisfying book anyway.) Close as I hold a book in my hands, the screen in my palm feels like a particularly private, intimate communion. It doesn’t feel right for every book. I read poetry only in hard copy. Something like Jill Lepore’s These Truths also hard copy. John Lewis’s memoir, Walking with the Wind.
But Happiness in my hand—perfect. In fact, I can’t let go of it. This second time around I haven’t finished it. I’m on the next to last page. Next to last screen. I know what’s next and it makes me teary. But for now here I am, with an ant carrying a crystal of sugar across a table. The noticing, the savoring. Yes, definitely happiness.