Of all my mostly petty complaints about living in Japan, one thing I do love is all the books.
For a writer, the words “People don’t read anymore” are probably four of the most terrifying words in English, and yet here we are. Magazines? Sometimes. News online? Maybe. Facebook (fucking Facebook)? Certainly. But books? Novels? Short stories? Poems? The second most common response I ever got from anyone in Vancouver when I told them I was a writer was along the lines of “Oh, cool. I can’t remember the last time I read a book.” (The first most common was, “Oh, I’ve always wanted to write a book!” or “I’m writing a book now about my life, because I’m so interesting!” But I suppose I’ll save that rant for another day).
That’s some miserable bullshit, right there.
Well, apparently the decline in readers has yet to bleed across the Pacific, though with the rise in smartphones here the first symptoms are perhaps beginning to appear. For now, though, bookstores are everywhere. There are used book sales in train stations. People still read on trains, if they’re not sleeping or peering at the glowing screens of the afore mentioned, now ubiquitous smartphones.
Sitting here in this bookstore café, watching the steady stream of people wander through, thumbing through books, fills me with… Well, joy might be too strong a word, but at least a vague sort of pleasure at the idea that I’m not completely wasting my time.
And 60-year-old business men in suits reading comics. That makes me happy, too. Manga is an accepted art form. No need to hide your comic book inside a day-old Wallstreet Journal and hope no one is looking over your shoulder. I’m not sure why comics are not more accepted everywhere, though it seems to be making a long-overdue comeback thanks to Hollywood. We’ll see. Mostly, it seems like in somewhere between cave paintings and Tolstoy the West lost its way.