The magic books

This is a very personal post about some books I have read. When I was fifteen or sixteen I read For Whom The Bell Tolls (Ernest Hemingway). All the scenes are etched in my memory as if I finished reading it this morning and had just fallen asleep for a few hours. Later in life I came across The Grapes Of Wrath (John Steinbeck), Twenty-Four Eyes (Sakae Tsuboi), and then again, The Rainbow And The Rose (Nevil Shute). Two years back I read The Shadow Of The Wind (Carlos Ruis Zafon). These books have mesmerized me with their eerie miracles. I have not read them more than once each. I keep forgetting parts so many wonderful books I like, but these gluey books are like stickers on my mind. I have an uncanny feeling about what could happen if I read these books for a second time like I read favorite books so many times over and over again. Will the magic outlast another reading? Some day, when I am older and crankier, I may try and find out, though not yet. I remember them too well for the present.