Maybe after all of that, Irvine was right? About the perfunctory element of having sex for the first time? And maybe it’s the same with reading novels as well.
Having sex with Nikki was excellent but it was that first-shag syndrome: no matter how good it is there’s always a perfunctory element which you can’t help but find distasteful.
The first time I read Norwegian Wood it was all about finishing it, about getting to the end. As it is with every novel. But the second time round I was able to linger in the moments more easily, for longer, & become more critical of them too.
Because when I first pick up a novel (especially if i’ve heard lots about it) it glows with the promise of conquest (all books are doable superman) and I register it with the desire to know: why did this book coin the world? Will it change me? Will I fall in love with the author? What will I write down?
But once I start reading usually I forget whatever illusory thing I thought I came for: knowledge, really? Progress?pah. What about more sensibly the passing of time in page form, an amateur origamist-baker learning how to crease and fold—an alibi to sit on a bench in a park?—a restaurant alone—and it’s true, somewhere as if by accident I do, I’m swept up by the drama of thought and/or catch feelings for the main character. This is good. I feel lucky to have thoughts. To be lost in the sweet urgent seriousness of them.
Still, the first time reading a book I’m just like every other normie addict, propelled forwards without tact or omniscience by the engine of narrative or the exponent of completion, “The End” when what I could be doing is reading the thing more than once and becoming a kind of god or zen monk, I know that now... we should call this “tantric reading”…
Because the first time you read a book you are blind. You know nothing. The entire first read is basically a honeymoon period or an awkward first date. Your emotions are getting played and you’re none the wiser. You’re a guinea pig scrambling, scrambling, towards the end…
But after the last sentence? When that final full-stop is placed (ceremonially)—well then, there is no more and you should take comfort from this because now you can go back to the beginning. And go slow…
But first, move one seat to the left closer to the author. Now you can anticipate the pleasure of seeing if only a little little how they’re pulling your heart strings which tool, when and how hard. No you won’t automatically turn into a god of this tiny universe (that role is reserved for the author) but you will sidle a little closer… maybe breathe on their neck as you start noticing their flaws?
Reading a novel twice turns something you might have done for pleasure into something a bit more laboured and painful… but really this is good and interesting work. The author probably read it a hundred times over so the least you can do is read it twice… and if you’re a process perv it’s really worth it because you’ll catch a revealing glimpse of the author at their craft.
Dutifully now,
Tilly