3 . In the mid-1990s, Tom Bissell taught English as a volunteer in Uzbekistan. He left after seven months, physically broken and having lost his mind. A few years later, still attracted to the country, he returned to Uzbekistan to write an article about the disappearance of the Aral Sea.

His visit, however, ended up involving a lot more than that. Hence this book, Chasing the Sea: Lost Among the Ghosts of Empire in Central Asia, which talks about a road trip from Tashkent to Karakalpakstan, where millions of lives have been destroyed by the slow drying up of the sea. It is the story of an American travelling to a strange land, and of the people he meets on his way: Rustam, his translator, a lovely 24-year-old who picked up his colorful English in California, Oleg and Natasha, his hosts in Tashkent, and a string of foreign aid workers.

This is a quick look at life in Uzbekistan, made of friendliness and warmth, but also its darker side of society. In Samarkand, Mr Bissell admires the architectural wonders, while on his way to Bukhara he gets a taste of police methods when suspected of drug dealing. In Ferghana, he attends a mountain funeral (葬礼) followed by a strange drinking party. And in Karakalpakstan, he is saddened by the dust storms, diseases and fishing boats stuck miles from the sea.

Mr Bissell skillfully organizes historical insights and cultural references, making his tale a well-rounded picture of Uzbekistan, seen from Western eyes. His judgment and references are decidedly American, as well as his delicate stomach. As the author explains, this is neither a travel nor a history book, or even a piece of reportage. Whatever it is, the result is a fine and vivid description of the purest of Central Asian traditions.

8 . Returning to a book you’ve read many times can feel like drinks with an old friend. There’s a welcome familiarity — but also sometimes a slight suspicion that time has changed you both, and thus the relationship. But books don’t change, people do. And that’s what makes the act of rereading so rich and transformative.

The beauty of rereading lies in the idea that our bond with the work is based on our present mental register. It’s true,   the older I get, the more I feel time has wings. But with reading, it’s all about the present. It’s about the now and what one contributes to the now, because reading is a give and take between author and reader. Each has to pull their own weight.

There are three books I reread annually. The first, which I take to reading every spring, is Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast. Published in 1964, it’s his classic memoir of 1920s Paris. The language is almost intoxicating (令人陶醉的 ), an aging writer looking back on an ambitious yet simpler time. Another is Annie Dillard’s Holy the Firm, her poetic 1975 ramble ( 随 笔 ) about everything and nothing. The third book is Julio Cortázar’s Save Twilight: Selected Poems, because poetry. And because Cortázar.

While I tend to buy a lot of books, these three were given to me as gifts, which might add to the meaning I attach to them. But I imagine that, while money is indeed wonderful and necessary, rereading an author’s work is the highest currency a reader can pay them. The best books are the ones that open further as time passes. But remember, it’s you that   has to grow and read and reread in order to better understand your friends.

10 . When the explorers first set foot upon the continent of North America, the skies and lands were alive with an astonishing variety of wildlife. Native Americans had taken care of these precious natural resources wisely. Unfortunately, it took the explorers and the settlers who followed only a few decades to decimate a large part of these resources. Millions of waterfowl ( 水 禽 ) were killed at the hands of market hunters and a handful of overly ambitious sportsmen. Millions of acres of wetlands were dried to feed and house the ever-increasing populations, greatly reducing waterfowl habitat.