Leave it to the Japanese to have a word that perfectly describes my book obsession.
Tsundoku—the quiet, beautiful accumulation of books, stacked high with the best of intentions yet left unread. It is not hoarding, not neglect, but something softer, something more reverent. Each unread book is a possibility, a doorway, a question waiting for the right moment to be answered.
I have books piled on my desk, books stacked beside my bed, and books lining my shelves in double rows. Some have been waiting patiently for years, their pages still untouched, their spines unbroken. And yet, I can’t stop acquiring more. Bookstores pull me in like a tide, and I leave clutching new volumes like treasures rescued from the deep. I tell myself I will read them soon, but soon is a flexible concept, stretching into weeks, months, and years.
And yet, I don’t feel guilty about this.
the beauty of the unread
There is something sacred about an unread book. As long as it remains unread, it exists in a state of potential—holding within it infinite possibilities. Before I turn the first page, the book is perfect. It could be life-changing. It could hold an idea that will crack my world wide open. In that moment before reading, the book is quantum, existing in a superposition of brilliance and disappointment.
And so I let them wait.
Sometimes I find that a book I bought years ago suddenly calls to me. Its time has come. The words on its pages were never meant for my past self but for the person I have since become. This has happened too many times to be a coincidence. I wonder, then, if tsundoku is not a bad habit but a practice. An intuitive way of curating knowledge before I even know I need it.
the library of the self
A personal library is more than just a collection of books; it is a map of the self. Looking at my shelves, I see the various versions of me—the ones who once existed, the ones still in flux. The phase when I was obsessed with ancient philosophy. The season of mysticism and tarot. The deep dive into postmodern literature. The never-ending love affair with science fiction.
Many of these books I have read. Some, I have not. But they are all part of me.
Nassim Nicholas Taleb calls this the antilibrary—the collection of unread books that remind us of everything we do not yet know. The unread books are more valuable than the read ones because they represent the vastness of knowledge still beyond our grasp. They keep us humble, aware of the limits of what we understand.
And maybe that is the real beauty of tsundoku—it is a quiet acknowledgement that we are always in the process of becoming.
a tsundoku manifesto
- Accept that you will never read everything. And that’s okay. The goal is not to conquer books but to let them live alongside you, shaping you even in their silence.
- Trust that books will find you in their own time. The unread book today may be the one you desperately need tomorrow.
- Let go of guilt. An unread book is not a failure. It is a promise, a possibility, a seed waiting for the right soil.
- View your books as companions, not obligations. Some will whisper to you immediately. Others will sit quietly on your shelves for years. Both are worthy.
- Remember that unread books still shape you. Even if you never read them, they are part of your intellectual and emotional landscape.
tsundoku as a philosophy
Could tsundoku be a way of thinking? A kind of bibliophilic Zen?
- Books as Oracles – A tsundoku’d book, picked up at the right moment, might deliver a message precisely when it’s needed. It’s as if the unread book waits for the reader to be ready.
- Non-Linear Learning – Traditional education demands structured reading, but tsundoku allows for an organic, chaotic approach to knowledge. The mind collects and circles around ideas, allowing them to interconnect in unexpected ways.
- Curating the Self – The books we acquire reveal our evolving identity. Looking at our tsundoku stacks is like looking at a fossil record of past selves, glimpses of our shifting intellectual and emotional terrain.
I think I will always be a tsundoku practitioner. My books will continue to multiply, to pile up in the corners of my life, to whisper their unread stories. And I will continue to love them, not despite their unread status, but because of it.
What unread books are waiting for you? And what might they be waiting to tell you?

Discover more from soulcruzer
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Up until recently I was buy one book read it put on the shelf. But now my curiosity has found me with unread and partially read books. I’m so happy there is a word for it.