“. . . the value of an unread book is its power to get you to read it.” ~ Kevin Dickinson, from his article in Big Think
I’m happy to be able to say that I’m reading whole books again, and not just non-fiction or collections of short stories. When I finished reading Remarkably Bright Creatures, a novel by Shelby Van Pelt, I whooped out loud. Other than fast-food mysteries, it was the first novel I’ve read since before my sweetie got sick. And for me it’s a marker of progress through the grief journey: how else can I tell how I’m doing? On a road trip, I watch the signs: Cheyenne—150 miles; Cheyenne—75 miles; Cheyenne—Next Exit. And then I’m in Cheyenne. I understand that grief is a journey without directions, no GPS, no road signs--and a lot of trust that while there is no fixed destination, there is progress, change, and occasional flashes of clarity.
Tsundoku (Japanese: 積ん読) is acquiring reading materials but letting them pile up in one's home without reading them. It is also used to refer to books ready for reading later when they are on a bookshelf. ~ Wikipedia
Are you Tsundoku?
My oldest daughter shared this term with me a long time ago, and I recognized and embraced it: I love buying books almost as much as I love reading them. When I was preparing to sell my house, I gave up most of my books: I had read them, loved them, looked at them all my adult life. They were solid indications of how I had been educating myself, but did I really think I would ever again open and read anything in that hefty volume of Romantic poetry? I didn’t like the Romantics when I studied them in college back in 1982, but the marked-up pages were proof I had read them. I guess I needed that reminder—until I didn’t.
All of my college books went, with very few exceptions; most of the novels I had read, except a few hard backs with beautiful dust jackets; most of the non-fiction I had read and most of the non-fiction I hadn’t read.
What did I keep? All those novels I hadn’t read yet but knew I would one day. I’ve been in Colorado now for four months and I’m gradually filling the empty spaces in my books shelves because, even though I let go of many many books, I continued to buy new ones. Shopping for them makes me happy. Holding them makes me happy. Yes, I open and smell them. I find the right bookmark. I put them on a shelf with other books-I-am-for-sure-going-to-read. And sometimes I just sit and stare at those shelves: Here are the stories I get to enter, the places I get to go, the people I will meet and love or hate.
On the darkest days since my sweetie died, it’s easy to feel like I will never be happy again or feel normal again, but then I look at my shelves of unread books, many of them purchased after her death when I couldn’t read whole books, and I know that I’ve been embracing life all along, like nurturing the seeds of something that will grow and surface. I can’t see it yet, but I know it’s there.
What I’m reading now:
A series of smart, funny, well-plotted mysteries by Sherry Thomas about a female Sherlock Holmes:
A Study in Scarlet Women
A Conspiracy in Belgravia
The Hollow Fear
Up next:
David Copperfield by Charles Dickens—I’ve read this several times and am happy to read it again. I want to refresh my memory of the story before I dive into . . .
Barbara Kingsolver’s Demon Copperhead.
What are you reading now? And what will you read next?
What’s on your shelf of unread books?
I love this post and grateful for your generous description of being Tsundoku. I am glad you are finding some bit of joy in reading again or even the contemplation of reading. I share your sensibilities, although the kind of grief you are experiencing is beyond my own experience. I’m reading Annie Ernaux. I can’t wait to hear about the Barbara Kingsolver -- it’s one of my unread purchases! 😬
I smiled at your description of smelling the books and looking at your books on the shelf. It sometimes is like a meditation of its own, just looking with no other reason than to lay eyes on the shelves. I am currently reading Pilgrim by Timothy Findley, Allende's In the Midst of Winter & Killers of a Certain Age by Deanna Raybourn. I have a few non-fiction ones stacked up, Around the world in 80 trains, Magick from the Mat & Hardwiring Happiness: The new Brain Science of contentment, calm & confidence.