I very rarely meet books I don’t like. I can usually find something of value between two covers. Unless the content is deliberately ugly, some piece of nastiness designed to lower the state of discourse and human society, in which case I tend to judge and condemn without cracking the spine.

I don’t need to eat worms to know I won’t enjoy the experience.

As to the rest of the books, however, bring on the do-over. Familiarity may breed contempt, but I often find it leads to contentment.

Non-fiction lends itself well to the reread because you can always learn more in this life. Fiction’s great for the same reason – I learn much from novels – but revisiting stories allows you to check back in on characters you enjoyed and missed. I usually find a turn of phrase or bit of prose I missed in previous viewings that adds to my total enjoyment of the experience as well.

I don’t limit myself to books for grownups, either. Sometimes, happiness is revisiting those old friends you spent time with in childhood. When I’m feeling particularly down or stagnant, a little dose of Anne (of Green Gables) or Sarah (Crew, A Little Princess) can be just the kick in the pants I need.

I don’t get that kind of motivation from adult rereads. Rereading adult fiction I enjoy is more for when I want to embrace the wallow. Embracing the wallow is mostly how I’m rolling so far this spring. I’m in a motivation-free rut, and I’m struggling to break loose. Bits of grief and nihilism compete for my attention as I try to light some kind of internal fire.

Further challenging my efforts to get going is the chaos my daughter is currently dealing with. She and my two grandsons are staying here while things for them are in a state of flux. And I love helping and having them here.

But…

I don’t do change and encroachments into my space all that well, even if it is family. I was already reeling a smidge from adapting to the changes that come with adopting a dog, and this has made settling into a new normal more of a challenge.

What both situations have in common are boundary issues. I struggle with boundaries. I tend to give way to keep things easy, but doing that builds resentment. I need to hold onto my particular lines to avoid that outcome. That’s a hard ask when one’s default setting is people-pleasing.

These feelings of struggle and ambivalence that are currently occupying my attention are another reason to hit up Avonlea again. Anne’s fierce when it comes to self-advocacy, and she holds her ground well, enforcing the line in the sand I too easily erase and redraw.

It’s funny that I resist open and honest conversations out of the fear that things will go badly, and that I worry there will be hurt feelings and unhappiness as a consequence of communicating. In truth, it’s silence that tends to lead us to relationship issues.

If you’ve not read the Green Gables books, I heartily recommend giving them a go. Don’t tell me if you pick up the whole series as a boxed set, however. I’ll have boxed set envy, and I can’t justify buying new copies of books I already own.

Unless a set should show up at the second-hand book store. Fingers crossed. I love books, I love a reread – mostly, and happiness is a boxed set.

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