The Japanese have a word for it: tsundoku*.
That is, buying more books, even though you haven’t read all those you have at home. To Western ears, that term may sound like criticism, but in the Far East it’s regarded as reasonable.
I’m clearly living in the wrong country. Despite being a speedy reader, I buy books faster than I read them. My to-read list never stops growing.
Compounding the problem is my delight in rereading old favourites. I often choose old over new.
- Rereading a familiar book is like watching repeats on television. We do it because we know we’ll enjoy them. Even if we have a nagging feeling that we’re squandering time, we’re not. They make us happy.
- Every time we reread a book, we notice details we missed on first reading. This is particularly true in crime writing, where we spot red herrings that fooled us before, or in any fiction featuring unreliable narrators whom we originally trusted.
- Our experience of a book also changes at each reading because we have changed as people. We’re not the same person at each encounter. The longer we leave it, the more our perspective may alter. Different factors resonate with us every time.
An extreme example is rereading children’s books, which I often do. Revisiting E Nesbit’s The Railway Children last year, I identify now with the children’s mother.
As a child, I empathised with Phyllis. As the youngest of three siblings, my sympathies naturally gravitated towards the smallest child in stories. Having recently read the author’s biography added fresh insights into her fiction.
Even when we buy books with the best intentions, sometimes we grow out of them before we can find time to read them. There’s no shame in disposing of books you’re never likely to read, and there’s no shortage of good homes for them. Look no further than the bus stop in Hawkesbury Upton High Street, where a new, larger shelf unit built by my husband is about to be installed, thanks to the Parish Council’s kind grant for materials.
How many books are too many to have in your home?
In her debut self-help book, Japanese decluttering guru Marie Kondo recommended owning no more than 30. Never hesitate to part with books, she advised, because in the age of the internet, if you change your mind, it’s easy to track down a replacement.
At least, that’s what I think she said. I can’t check, because, I confess, my copy of The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying has long since left the building. The Japanese have a word for that too. I I just looked it up online. It’s 皮肉.* Pronounced: ai-ron-i.
*The Japanese characters making up this word literally mean “skin-meat”, but its meaning as well as its pronunciation is the same as our irony.
(This article first appeared in the June 2025 edition of the Hawkesbury Parish News.)
IN OTHER NEWS
Behold – the official unveiling of my next book, Death at the Village Christmas Fair, which will be launched on 16th August, in plenty of time for Christmas. I had great fun writing this one, with the suspect playing hard-to-get in a Santa Run, in which everyone is dressed as you-know-who! It also gave me lots of opportunities to write about knitting, one of my favourite hobbies. Yes, there is a connection between the Santa Run and knitting – but you’ll have to read it to find out what it is!
This is third book in the Cotswold Curiosity Shop series, the first two being Death at the Old Curiosity Shop and Death at the Village Chess Club. Both of these have been Amazon Bestsellers, so I’m crossing my fingers for this one to join that heady status.
In the meantime, I’m wondering what to write next – another adventure in one of my series (the others are the Sophie Sayers and Gemma Lamb cosy mysteries), a new stand-alone story, or a novelisation of my first play, which debuted in April, The Importance of Being Murdered.
My involvement with the Badminton Benefice Festival of Music (see previous post) is also making me hanker after writing a series of mysteries in musical settings.
I’m sending several outlines to my publisher, Boldwood Books, for them to choose. If you have a preference, do tell me, and I’ll pass it on to Boldwood. I’ll be sure to let you know what they decide.
In Sophie’s most recent adventure, Murder Lost and Found, there is a sub-plot about Hector’s private collection of secondhand books, which Sophie is pressing him to turn into a commercial venture. When he employs a pretty young student to catalogue them for him, she begins to wonder whether this was such a good idea.
On 
I’ve been involved for many years with 
