It’s rare that I return to books. By and large, I read them once and never again. Perhaps it’s because I’m conscious of how many stories there are in the world, and saddened by the thought of how few I’ll be able to read in one lifetime. Looking back has always felt like a waste of time that could be spent going on a new journey.

But in the quiet of self-isolation, my reading habits have started to change. Rather than conquering enormous tomes, I’ve found myself flipping through novellas on my phone, which gives me a much-needed sense of progress in this strange interlude. In the thick of this staccato reading spree, the idea of opening an old favourite now appeals. Both fresh and familiar, rereading could connect me to the concrete past, and armour me for the unknowable future.

In 2001, I watched The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, and for the first time, I saw a woman use a sword. As soon as the credits rolled, I ran to a bookshop to buy the whole trilogy. Unfortunately in the book, Arwen doesn’t fight the Nazgûl – a realisation that crushed a 10-year-old girl who longed to see herself in the stories she loved. Except for the Harry Potter books, I didn’t pick up another fantasy for years.

Eventually, when I was about 14, a friend persuaded me to read Sabriel. From the first chapter, I couldn’t get enough of it. This was a thrilling, extraordinarily detailed fantasy that centred on a young woman, to the point that her name was the title of the book. It not only restored my faith that fantasy had room for me, but helped convince me I could write my own.

At some point, I mislaid my copy. I bought another in 2017, when I did two events in Australia alongside Garth Nix – something my younger self would never have believed would happen. When I opened that copy a few days ago, I did feel a glimmer of worry. Would it hold up, now I’m twice the age I was when I first read it?

It was fascinating to see which sections had anchored themselves in the back of my mind after reading it once 14 years ago. It’s the visceral moments, the sensory language: the salty taste of blood, a “savage” kiss, the scent of lemons. The atmospheric and chilling settings, such as the ship graveyard and the long grey river of Death. The comforting warmth of Abhorsen’s House. Nix’s evocative writing, more than the plot, had left a deep imprint on my memory.

The book seemed shorter than I’d remembered – either because I’m a faster reader now, or because I’m now accustomed to the scope of epic fantasy. The love story also made more sense. When I first read Sabriel I hadn’t the slightest interest in relationships, so the romance seemed to come out of nowhere. As an adult, I’m more attuned to the subtleties; I can chart the slow awakening of Sabriel’s interest in Touchstone and admire the solid relationship that emerges, rooted in mutual respect.

Sabriel never becomes defined by her sexuality, as many female characters do in fantasy. What I appreciated most during my reread was how well Nix intertwines competence and fallibility in her character. Sabriel is a respected figure in her world – she’s never sexualised, belittled or disgraced, never has her power wrenched away. No one expects her to fail because of her gender, or finds it shocking that a woman holds a position of authority. You know she’s excellent at what she does because she’s worked at it all her life. Nix permits her to be capable.

At the same time, you fear for Sabriel. She isn’t invulnerable. Nix pays close attention to the physical and mental toll of her exploits, details her exhaustion and her hurts, and in doing so establishes her as flesh and blood. And that was all I really wanted as a child: a capable, authentic and complex female character spearheading her own adventure.

With the future more and more uncertain, returning to Sabriel felt like finding an anchor in a rough sea. Far from feeling like a waste of time, retracing my steps reminded me of how and why I came to write the kind of books I do, and reassured me that no matter how much the world changes, or we change, books will always be there to help us make sense of it.