Collected Works*
Essentially I am not the type to form attachments easily. Outside of collecting insects while I was in elementary school, up until now there has been nothing I felt passion for. Therefore I feel something like respect for those of you who desperately amass matchboxes (of course!) or items from even oilcans or posters to the works of the great artists, old and new. From time to time I feel something like wonder mixed with a small amount of disgust.
Books are no exception. By nature of my trade I have some small collection of books. However, I have not collected these works. Rather, they have collected of their own accord. Were we to suppose that they are collected works, we would have to have prepared a wholly understood reasoning. But I offer as proof that the books on my shelf are collected works their exceedingly jumbled and disorderly state. There is hardly any reasoning there.
Well, it is not necessarily totally without rhyme or reason. The books on the shelf indicate my tastes, at least. Or perhaps the changes in my tastes through various periods. On that point—on the point that it indicates me, I have no selections of my own works. For a long time I have written down the date I added the books to my collection, and I thought I might write some sketch which would suggest the changes throughout their owner’s life. However, I found a story written by a Westerner which it was too similar to, and so it ended there. Doubtless it is to the joy of the country that it ended there. But at any rate you must say that it is charming that the books on a shelf reflect their owner like a mirror, or if not charming, an unpleasant truth. (Therefore, ‘improving’ the works of another” is as ethically improper as “bid rigging” at an auction.)
I am not blessed with the joys and sadnesses known only to collectors. Anyway, because I buy what I find while browsing in bookstore, or while reading the catalog, the result is I have no strong feelings for my purchases. It, of course, does not cost me much money.
Despite this, I have my doubts as to whether or not this matter is a story of enjoying books.
(July 1924)
*This is a pretty close translation of the title, but it’s obviously not a pun in Japanese.