In Defense of Tsundoku

Most people in 2019 own books. Whether it’s a small collection of novels, a series of children’s books or a library of nonfiction, almost every American owns a book. In 2015, Pew Research reported that 72 percent of adults have read a book in the past year, and an online survey on Goodreads.com reports that, of the 1693 voters (of this blog’s publication; the survey is still live), 177 people owned 0 to 50 books and 230 people owned more than 1000 books. Some members of older generations have large collections of books that are older than they, but even many millennials are boasting large collections. In the world of book-buying, according to Nielsen, people aged 22 to 34 now comprise 37 percent of the market. Many of us know someone, a friend or family member, who has a sizable collection lining their walls or shelves throughout their living space.

When you visit these people, you’re probably inclined to ask, “How many of these books have you read?” If you’re like me, when asked this, you say something like “Quite a few” or “Not as many as I’d like to” or something vague to keep them from pressing further. I’m one of the millennials active in the book-buying market, owning short of 200 books. I, unfortunately, have not read as many as I would like to. There is a word for people like me in Japanese culture. Originating in the 1800s, it began as a slang term combining elements of the terms for “pile up” and “read.” To this day, it is used to describe those of us that pile theirs books up in hopes of one day reading them. It’s called “tsundoku.”

I hope to, and truly am determined to, read every single one of my books from front to back. At the beginning of every year, I complete a reading goal list on Goodreads. I make a goal of how many books I’d like to read by the end of the year; for the last two years, I have not met my goal. I’m happy to say that, for 2019, I’ve almost met my goal and it’s only July.

Nonetheless, I don’t see tsundoku as a bad thing, as some would infer. Admittedly, it seems obnoxious. True, some pile up their books in the pursuit of some pseudo-intellectual fellatio; the intent is to trick their visitors into assuming they’re well-read scholars. They may even abhor being asked, “How many of these books have you read?” given that the answer would eliminate the façade. Some even pile up their books for aesthetic. It’s actually one of my favorite things about owning so many books, in all honesty. I love lining my books shelves in my living room with books as part of the aesthetic. Alas, there should be no shame in surrounding oneself with so much information. In an age where limitless information is available on a device in your pocket, having a physical copy, a representation, if you will, of what it is one is reading and enjoying is something to be delighted in.

Don’t get me wrong, the pseudo-intellectual millennial who pretends to read books and listens to too much NPR for the sake of fulfilling a stereotype that, in their mind, is a manifestation of what it means to be a fully-engaged and liberal citizen is not someone who should be pandered to. But, in the strictest sense of optimism, I’m choosing to truly believe that this type of person, this type of millennial, is not the majority. Millennials are different in that they’re more likely to donate to charity or a crowd-sourced cause, more likely to oppose racism and bigotry, are more diverse and are more invested in transparency and social responsibility than previous generations. We, as did previous generations, contribute to the zeitgeist of our era in accordance to what we read and listen to and watch. In keeping regularly engaged, digesting ideas (via reading) appears to be part of what makes millennials, millennials.

I have not read about 75 percent of the books that I own. The way I see it, though, owning these books means I’m that much more likely to actually read them and engage with the ideas between the covers. Even as I’m not reading them, I’m still, to some unquantifiable extent, being engaged with their ideas. I’ll be reading an article on my computer and be reminded of any idea in a book that I can turn to and point at on my bookshelf; in turn, and by extension, I’m reminded of yet another idea in a different book, one that perhaps I have yet to read but am familiar with. I peruse their covers and summaries and am connecting ideas together and am absorbing this knowledge. I’m able to do this because of their physical presence, rather than virtual. True, the best of knowledge and ideas are within the covers, not on them. Hence why I do truly intend to read every single one of these books, and why I’m on track to exceed this year’s reading goal. Not only am I happy to immerse myself in these books, I am proud of myself when I manage to finish a book. It takes intention and purpose to set aside time specifically for reading; it requires one to slow down and focus, and I would argue that it’s better done when surrounded by other books rather than distracting technology.