Back in February, Yumiko Kawane, 67, of Takamatsu city in Shikoku received a hefty cardboard box that was packed with 200 copies of her first self-published novel.
She said she was a bit scared at first because she’d been told, “Nobody’s going to want to read it.”
Working in welfare for many years, Kawane kept writing in her spare time but had no self-confidence. Still, she wanted her would-be readers to at least enjoy the book’s cover, so she chose with great care the picture of a sandy beach and the blue color of her favorite “kakitsubata” iris.
When she showed the book to a fellow member of a literary club she belonged to, the person’s reaction was “not negative.” And that was all she needed to be glad that she’d finally got her book published.
It then dawned on her that even though every self-published book must represent the author’s intense commitment to the work, they could remain unread and eventually fade into oblivion. What a waste and how sad, she thought.
This motivated Kawane in May to convert a corner of her home into a “bookshop,” which she filled only with self-published books.
As profitability was the least of her concerns, she just wanted the shop to be a place where self-published authors could meet and get to know one another.
She only gets sporadic visitors, but some authors have contacted her and asked her to display their works.
Perhaps people desire to publish their one and only book during their lifetime.
“It’s as if they want to leave proof of their existence in print,” Kawane observed. “And I can sense how determined they are to live their lives to the fullest.”
I asked her to show her collection. There was a historical novel written by the owner of a home electronics store, based on thorough research of local history. One volume was the result of three decades of scholarly research on cattle plowing.
Just looking at the titles was exciting enough, but once you got to know about each author, the volumes really began to sparkle with life, if you will.
The name of Kawane’s shop is “Tabisuru Hon-ya Rapport” (literally, “Traveling bookshop rapport”). She said she chose that name in the hope that people’s self-published books would end up in the hands of total strangers and “travel to some faraway places.”
—The Asahi Shimbun, Nov. 27
* * *
Vox Populi, Vox Dei is a popular daily column that takes up a wide range of topics, including culture, arts and social trends and developments. Written by veteran Asahi Shimbun writers, the column provides useful perspectives on and insights into contemporary Japan and its culture.
This post was originally published on here
