Again and Again and Again

I just finished reading WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IN THE CASTLE by Shirley Jackson.  I don't know how many times I've read this book since I found it when I was ten years old, or why I've read it so many times, but I love the book.  I love Jackson.  I love the way her words fall on the page, in my minds' ear.

There are a few books that I read over and over...

ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF IVAN DENISOVITCH by A. Solzhenitsyn.  This book never fails to lend me some strength.  This one, as well as CANCER WARD are two, I believe, of his best.  They both speak of mans' incredible power to  overcome adversity and shine on through whatever darkness is inflicted on him.

OF HUMAN BONDAGE by Somerset Maugham.  This autobiographical novel rings like a bell, and, again, I love the lay of his words.  He writes so well and so effortlessly (or so it seems) that I will sit reading the same paragraph a dozen times just because it sings to me.

GONE WITH THE WIND by Margaret Mitchell.  Okay - fucking sue me already.  I just like the book, I like Scarlett, and I am deeply and profoundly in love with both Ashley and Rhett.  Bite me...

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD by Harper Lee.  This book knocks me out every time.  It's such a shame she only wrote one book because her words take you right... there... and you can't ever forget them.

IN COLD BLOOD by Truman Capote.  Capote wrote a lot, and I like most of it, but this book truly is his masterpiece.  Every other true crime book strives to be as good as this, and none of them has, as yet, even gotten close.

Anything by Tennessee Williams - plays, short stories, interviews.  I love this man, and his wounded characters are the heart of the American south.  No one can do brooding heartache the way he can.

There are others, but it's after three in the morning, and I'm too tired to write about them.  My point is this:  Why do those of us who read feel drawn to certain works and keep them close?  I do notice that the common thread among the ones I read are adversity, and emotional turmoil.  Sometimes, the characters 'win' - like Solzhenitsyns' people  - but, most of them, fail, but fail gloriously, beautifully... you almost feel they sacrificed themselves just for the beauty of their destruction in the end.