Hunchback

by Saou Ichikawa

Holding in both hands an open book three or four centimeters 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. I loathed, too, the ignorant arrogance of all those self-professed book-lovers so oblivious to their privilege.

Irritation and contempt were, after all, not things one felt for people far removed from oneself.

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