THERE is a term for it and the term dates as far back as the Japanese Meiji era (1868 – 1912).
Do you buy more books than you can possibly read? Do you have an ever-growing pile of unread books at home or in the office? And despite this pile of books that continues to grow each year, do you continue to buy, anyway?
My answer is a resounding “Yes” to all three questions above.
I love books. And I buy them—whenever I can, from all over the world—though I buy much less now due to cost and space constraints. Much as I would love to take them all home with me, I have to break my heart and leave so many of them on the shelf because they cost a small fortune and they take up space in my luggage.
So while I still buy books, I can wait—till they go on sale. After all, when I buy them, it could be years till I actually read them. So it makes no sense for me to pay premium price to be first.
Electronic books? Not just yet. It will happen. Soon. I know. I can’t stop evolution. For practical reasons, I will have to succumb.
But till that day comes—I will savor these obscure moments of bliss—the feel of the printed book in my hands, the gentle turning of the pages as the story slowly unfolds, the quick turns with bated breath as the story picks up. After the peak, the pages to be turned starts to thin. Another kind of quiet anticipation begins--now of what the end will bring.
Reading a book, to me, is an orgasmic experience.
I don’t buy books to collect them. I buy books to read them--at least, that is my intention. But as you know—life happens. You make plans. You get excited. Then something comes up—something that must take precedence over your plans for an orgasmic experience. So that’s how it doesn’t happen.
These piles of unread books that are waiting to be read—the Japanese have a term for it—tsundoku. This habit of mine, after all, is not an aberration. And even in modern times, I am not alone.
Black Swan author Nassim Nicholas Taleb cites Umberto Eco who had a library of 30,000 books. Eco did not get to read them all. But having them was enough.
According to Taleb, unread books are far more valuable than read ones because they signify all that we do not know. He calls it an antilibrary—a valuable research repository that feeds one’s intellectual curiosity. An acknowledgement of one’s intellectual limitations. A symbol of one’s aspirations for greater learning. A sign of intellectual humility.
Wow. Never realized unread books had such profound undertones.
Personally, I think of my pile of unread books as a symbol of hope—of all that I can still do and be. I don’t despair I’m not yet there. I derive as much thrill in the anticipation as in the actualization. If I read every book I desired today, I would have nothing to look forward to.