Reread a book you loved at thirteen. Notice which parts you now side with. That’s how you measure growing up.

The book has not changed; your place in it has. At thirteen you were with the kid who ran away. Now you catch yourself understanding the adult who was worried, or noticing a character you skipped past entirely. That shift is hard to see from the inside, and an old book is one of the few things that holds still long enough to show it.

Pull one off the shelf and read forty pages. Pay attention to who annoys you now and who you forgive. You are not looking for a verdict on the book but for the difference between two readers with the same name.