Feel Like a Teen Again? Rediscover the Books You Read in School

This isn’t a trendy hashtag or challenge you’ve missed. But maybe it should be. Re-reading the opening chapter of “Animal Farm” feels like flipping through an old photo album. There I am, a teenager awkwardly dressed in a Punkyfish T-shirt beneath my white school shirt. Hair pulled back with plastic butterfly clips, the scent of my mum’s Amplex deodorant clinging to me, and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth from braces cutting into my cheeks.

Reading about Boxer and Clover’s quiet affection brings back memories of a boy in skater trainers. A boy who listened to Finley Quaye and constantly flicked his hair out of his eyes, creating a new muscle down one side of his neck. At 39, though, “Animal Farm” resonates differently. I’ve visited Russia, joined a union, endured local government meetings, and mixed cement on a building site. I’ve even delved into Orwell’s other books. The political nuances and the simplicity of the prose that eluded me at 14 now speak volumes.

The biggest surprise? I breezed through “Animal Farm” on one ferry ride to Dublin. It’s a short book! How did we drag it out over a whole term in school? Well, I’m about to find out because, like 26,955 others last year, I’m studying for a teaching qualification. “Animal Farm” will be on the curriculum. I can study part-time, a bursary will cover most of my fees, and most excitingly, I get to buy a new pencil case.

It’s not just “Animal Farm” that feels brief. “A Christmas Carol”? One could finish it in a day! Dickens, now clear to me after two decades in journalism, was a journalist himself. At 16, without exposure to other Victorian literature or editorial deadlines, I missed the snide details and idiosyncrasies he enjoyed as much as any modern political diarist or celebrity interviewer. But now, I appreciate how succinctly he hit his word count in 112 pages.

Reading “A Christmas Carol” doesn’t conjure memories of Tiny Tim or squalid London streets. Instead, I recall the view from my English classroom. The dinner hall serving street food nightmares: pizza baguettes, hot chicken tikka rolls, and ham and mayo-laden chips. I remember the Virginia Woolf poster on the wall and the starchy fold of my homemade skirt, stitched from wetsuit material, rustling like shuffled cards when I moved.

There are so many specific details I had forgotten over the years – Frankenstein hailing from Geneva, Boxer splitting his hoof, Jack making himself a crown – but the memories of my own life are vivid. The books blur into landscapes of scenes and characters, but skimming the pages brings my adolescence roaring back with striking clarity.

This is why I implore anyone who picked up exam results this summer to set a reminder to re-read “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” in 2053. By then, you might have lived in a tiny flat, dealt with bad relationships, and experienced the turmoil of wrong medications. Or tackle “Lord of the Flies” in 2051, after your children have started school and a colleague has bizarrely replaced all cutlery with wooden stirrers. Or revisit “Pride and Prejudice” at 40, married for a decade, spending evenings debating dishwasher logistics. These books will offer new meanings, and reading them will feel like traveling through time.

Source: The Guardian