It’s perfectly respectable to re-read things. When digesting dense literary texts, it is mandatory. But that’s not what I’m talking about. What I do is much more akin to the comforting ritual of the young child, asking to hear the same story again and again…and again.

Most of the books I turn to have good old-fashioned morals–gentle lessons on how to be strong and live a good life. So I like to think that when I visit them, I do it in the same spirit that people bring to their study of religious texts. They reassure and anchor me in times of trouble and remind me to face the day with a smile.

Before I get too starry-eyed here, I will admit that there’s also a big dose of pure escapism. Many of my favorites kept me company in girlhood, and burying myself in them lets me detach from the world in a way that now feels like a luxury. They hearken back to times when my worries and responsibilities were much simpler. Though these books are deeply familiar, I am different every time I read them. I identify with different characters and scenes, and new passages linger with me.

Sometimes I am a little bit sheepish about this habit–it feels slothful and vaguely immature. But I suppose that on the scale of guilty pleasures, escapist reading doesn’t even register. And I confess that as my young daughter begins to show an attachment to particular books, I am cheering inside.

In no particular order, here are a few comfort books that I could not live without. If you have your own, please share them!

Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Anne of Green Gables series, Lucy Maud Montgomery

Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingsolver

All Creatures Great and Small series, James Herriot

Lord of the Rings trilogy, J.R.R. Tolkien

Harry Potter series, J.K. Rowling