KYLE DOMINY: The art of the master: practicing tsundoku

For some time now, the spring season has been associated with cleaning.

I understand the association. I mean, what better time to freshen and declutter your living space than during the season of new growth? Nobody knows this better than parents, especially those with kids hitting regular growth spurts, forcing the purchase of new wardrobes every couple of months and outgrowing toys and other interests. Items always flow into the house quicker and easier than they flow out.

Children are natural hoarders. My daughter has clothes she has long since outgrown but refuses tooth and nail to release them. If I wasn’t afraid she had a prison-style shiv hiding somewhere in her mess, I’d forcibly remove them. But girls fight nasty; she’d go for the face. I can’t risk it. That’s how I make my money.

Lifestyle magazines and television programs create a simulacrum of what a clean house should look like. Kitchens and living quarters always appear immaculate, no matter how many children or dogs live there. If you want to see how a home looks, go on a random Tuesday afternoon.

A lot of people dream of living in a spotless space. That’s why videos of people deep-cleaning everything from carpets to refrigerators are so popular online.

Though I tend to be more of a neat freak, I can’t always blame the messes and piles of things on the other residents of my house. Apparently, I have a problem with books. Every available surface of my home office is lined with books. My mini-library is divided into two sections: books I haven’t finished yet and volumes I haven’t started yet.

People who brag about how many books they read on social media make me sick. I’m really supposed to believe you’ve had enough time this week to read a 1,000-page Dostoyevsky, take a selfie with it and write an essay for your feed? Give me a break. Just simmer down.

I’m not the only person in the world who has this problem. There are countless people seemingly addicted to collecting tomes with the intention of reading every word, but never being able to actually do so. So much so that the Japanese have a word for it. Dating back to 1861, someone who collects reading material for later reading is known to be practicing tsundoku. It’s a mash up of the words meaning to read and to pile things up. What a magical language.

Though later seldom comes, at least there’s a little validity in the stacks collecting dust in my office.

Maybe this spring I’ll change my ways, whittle the collection down to a few keepsakes and books with sentimental value. Maybe save a little money by not buying books I know I’m not going to take the time to read.

Probably not. Just call me a tsundoku master. It’s got a nice ring to it.