Hunchback

by Saou Ichikawa

Holding in both hands an open book three or four centimetres in thickness took a greater toll on my back than any other activity. Being able to see; being able to hold a book; being able to turn its pages; being able to maintain a reading posture; being able to go to a bookshop to buy a book – I loathed the exclusionary machismo of book culture that demanded that its participants meet these five criteria of able-bodiedness.

Able-bodied Japanese people have likely never even imagined a hunchbacked monster struggling to read a physical book. Here was I, feeling my spine being crushed a little more with every book that I read, while all those e-book-hating able-bodied people who went on and on about how they loved the smell of physical books, or the feel of the turning pages beneath their fingers, persisted in their state of happy oblivion.

Yes, all those able-bodied people didn’t know how good they had it. They could make erudite-sounding pronouncements about how they just liked the smell of books, or the feel of the paper, or the sense of tension that came from the thickness of the remaining pages reducing beneath their fingers, and others would listen unquestioningly to what they were saying.