I’m Afraid to Re-Read My Favorite Book

By Ben D’Alessio

I like books. I don’t just mean the stories, characters, historical recitations, or analyses inside of them, but the bound pieces of paper themselves. My bookshelf is my happy place. Oftentimes, I’ll stand in front of it and run my fingers across the worn spines of its many paperbacks. I’ll pull one down, flip to the title page, and review where I purchased or found it — my local bookstore, a well-known store in a city I’m visiting, the book-drop on the bike path — and during which month/year I read it. On that page, I’ll check for any notations I’ve made concerning sentences or paragraphs worth revisiting. For example:

“He was like everybody in war. He believed God was on his side. Everybody got God on their side in a war. Problem is, God ain’t tellin’ nobody who He’s for.” — The Good Lord Bird, pg. 102.

“We made love stories up so we could believe the night sky was not so vast, so unbearably vast, that we barely matter.” — The Book of Joan, pg. 192.

“But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.” — Brave New World, pg. 246.

As a writer and avid reader, I’m often asked, “What’s your favorite book?” How annoyingly vague and subjective. How can I compare Slaughterhouse-Five to The Sellout…