Letting go

I re-read a book recently. Not something I do very often. Only The Great Gatsby can I remember re-reading before. Once, when forced to at university, and then again about a year ago for enjoyment.

This time I re-read Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. It's a stunning work. One of the saddest, most moving books I've read. It's coming out on film later this year with pencil necked beauty Kiera Knightly in the secondary role of Ruth.

Re-reading books is interesting. I knew the story, although bits of it were lost in the five years since I last it, but overall my memory of it was clear. But other things, little sentences and asides, suddenly resonated more because, knowing the context, they made more sense.

Re-reading books is a bit like watching films again, something that for the most part is pointless. Not that it's bad, but because you're denying the chance to see something else you might enjoy. But, at the same time, re-watching and re-reading, offer a second view, a second perspective on something you have either misremembered, or plain forgotten.

I await the film with interest, if only to see if they manage in anyway to capture the tragic, dull ache the book subtle threads throughout, without ever overtly trying too hard to tell you how to feel. It probably won't, but let's see.