If you accumulate books and do not read them, the Japanese have a word for that: you are "tsundoku"

I recently had to move, and boxes of books were taking up everything. More than a thousand books, had I read them all? What's up, in fact, I don't know where the books that I liked the most have gone and that you have to read at least once in your life; most have stayed in one of the many houses I have lived in since I left my parents'. But in this last move I started to look and at least a quarter of the books I had I had not read. It happens to someone else? I don't usually accumulate things, I barely buy clothes –well, shoes, sneakers and boots, yes, I admit it–, I don't feel any sentimental impulse to keep tickets, maps, brochures of places I've visited. And yet I accumulate books. I like to snoop around my favorite bookstores as others scan the shelves at sales, and even though I tell myself I'm not going to fall, it's impossible for me to leave the store without taking something with me.

I have always been fascinated that some languages ​​have specific words for concrete and common situations that in other languages, like ours, do not exist. Thus we have Schadenfreude, the German word that designates the feeling of joy or satisfaction generated by the suffering, unhappiness or misfortune of others. OIktsuarpok, which in Inuit denotes the impatience you feel when you're waiting for someone and you're all the time looking at the clock, the door, or even going out to see if they're coming. Someday I will do an article about all those words that I treasure and that fascinate me.

Thus, in Japan, Tsundoku arose, the one of the book hoarder, which is what they call someone who hoards books and, due to lack of time, a fetish for the object or simple postponement, piles them up. The word originates from the Meiji era (1868–1912). It comes from the Japanese folk-speak terms tsunde-oku (積んでおく, to pile things up, then use and then put them down) and dokusho (読書, to read books). As currently spelled, the word combines the characters for "piling up" (積) and the character for "reading" (読).

While here we pride ourselves on our personal libraries, in Japan being a tsundoku is almost like having Diogenes Syndrome, but bookish. I thought it was because of the small size of homes in large cities, but it's not because of that, or not just because of that. My friend Ainhoa ​​Calaf, who has lived in Tokyo for years, explains to me that Tsundoku has negative connotations because it is not about someone having a lot of books, but about leaving things half done, not finishing everything they do. A book is something that has been created and is there unused. without taking advantage Tsundoku is something that one can call oneself and that can only be said to someone with whom you have a lot of confidence, a bit like if you define yourself as a "disaster" here, or someone very close to you calls it, then, okay. But if someone we don't trust calls us a "disaster," we don't take it too well. Well something like that happens with Tsundoku in Japan.

The term arose long before Marie Kondo arrived with her organizing zeal. Although precisely Kondo is quite benevolent with books or Tsundokus. In The Magic of Tidying Up, Kondo suggests that your books will probably bring you more joy if you get rid of the ones you have no idea of ​​reading or rereading and probably never will. In fact, I sincerely doubt you'll read any of your books again. "Let's face it," he writes, bolding the next sentence: "In the end, you're going to reread very few of your books." But all of Kondo's advice is accompanied by the warning that if something brings you joy, you should keep it by all means. "Only you can know what kind of environment makes you feel happy," he explains. "The act of picking up and choosing objects is extremely personal." Basically, if a book-rich environment makes you happy, then you should keep your books.

The American writer, editor and book collector Edward Newton is considered one of the greatest Tsundokus in the world, since as far back as 1921 saying: "Even when reading is impossible, the presence of purchased books produces such ecstasy that it encourages the purchase of more books, which represents an infinite desire of the soul... we appreciate books even if they are not read, their mere presence emanates comfort, their easy access, tranquility".

But if you really are a full-fledged Tsundoku, the library you'll really covet is the one owned by the writer Umberto Eco and which I guess his children, Carlotta and Stefano, inherited.

Eco's personal library was legendary, because in addition to being huge and unfathomable, it had all kinds of rarities, like the good bibliophile and collector of unique books that he was. The philosopher did not use his books as a collection of read books but as a reference title tool, since unread books mattered more to him than read ones. In fact, Eco distinguished two types of people: those who see the personal library as a sample of what they know and those who see it as a reminder of what they want to learn. "I am one of the latter"; stated on occasion. "That's why I buy the books three by three. And I'm capable of buying another three without having finished the previous ones, I confess- And it's that I don't buy to have them, not even to read them at the moment, but to read them at some point. From In fact, just the act of buying it is a statement of intent, not just what I want to read, but what I want to learn."

A tsundoku of a book, and I apologize in advance for the poor pun.

The day Marie Kondo comes to my house she's in awe, and not just because of the stacks of books. She should stop shopping and go to libraries more. The network of libraries in Barcelona is wonderful, with more than 200 libraries and collections of all kinds, not only bibliographical, but also music, film and series. And the best thing about libraries are the activities, book clubs, meetings with authors, presentations. The most enviable example of what a library should be I found it in Finland. The Helsinki Central Library, baptized as "Oodi" (Oda), an impressive 17,000 square meter building conceived as "an ode to culture, equality and freedom of expression", in addition to housing books, it is a meeting place, a meeting point for the community, a huge living room for all citizens. It has the classic services and activities of a library: book lending, reading clubs, presentations, conferences, talks and colloquiums, but it also contains a film library, two cafeterias, recording studios, clothing workshops, welding station, printing laboratory 3D and soundproof rooms for music and video games. There is even a fully equipped kitchen. The public has at their disposal computers and printers (normal, vinyl, and even a plotter), musical instruments, scores, consoles and video games, movies and series, rehearsal rooms, game rooms, meeting rooms. Everything is free, and it is available to anyone. Oodi is the library of the future, which will allow us to accumulate less – and not just books – in the flats that real estate speculation has reduced to built-in closet sizes in large cities.

Anyway, the Tsundoku is an endangered species, or at least the physical book hoarder whose home has walls lined with ceiling-high bookshelves. There are more and more people who consume electronic books, I myself combine the paper book with the kindle. The digital Tsundoku exists, but it is smaller. Some people resort to piracy to get more titles on their devices, but, in general, when a book is available in electronic format, it does not run out, and it can always be bought, so the urgency of not letting go disappears. the opportunity to have it under our belt. And if you are a die-hard Tsundoku, one of those who loves to surround themselves with literature, remember how good second-hand bookstores are.