The Cat Who Saved Books

Surrounded by the pleasant aroma of tea, Rintaro carefully opened his book.

A gentle breeze brushed the door bell, and it gave a cheerful ring.

‘Every difficult book offers us a brand-new challenge, huh?’ said Sayo, staring at her copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude.

‘I’m an innocent. Unlike some.’

‘What do you mean innocent? You’re always reading erotic novels like Lolita and Madame Bovary. I think you’re really a secret pervert.’

It was Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude. He’d started off recommending Jane Austen, moved on to Stendhal, Gide, Flaubert – all love stories, thinking they’d be enjoyable reads for her, but just last week Sayo had announced she was ready to try other genres. Rintaro had suggested García Márquez

Clematis was his grandpa’s favourite flower. The old man had a particular love of the deepest, richest blue variety.

Even if you try to destroy a book, it doesn’t disappear that easily. Right now, in places all over the world, people have connections to books. The fact that you are here with me now is the best proof of that.’

‘Books teach us how to care about others.’

‘These days people rarely pick up books any more, nor do they infuse them with their thoughts. Books are gradually losing their souls. But there are still a few people like you and your grandfather who love books with every fibre of their being. You really listen to their message.’

‘A book that sits on a shelf is nothing but a bundle of paper. Unless it is opened, a book possessing great power or an epic story is mere scraps of paper. But a book that has been cherished and loved, filled with human thoughts, has been endowed with a soul.’

‘Books have a soul.’