My name is Urano Motosu, and I am twenty-two years old. I love books. I really love books. I love books more than I love getting enough food.

  I love how the printed words let me reach out and touch another person’s ideas, their fantasies. My heart dances along the roads of thought laid down by the author, and I can’t help but smile. Absorbing the vast knowledge contained within just a single volume always leaves me feeling like I’ve grown as a person. The whole wide world, which I have never seen with my own eyes, is at my fingertips, stacked neatly within the shelves of bookstores and libraries; isn’t it intoxicating? The fairy tales of foreign lands, the glimpses of life in distant times and places, the reaches of every branch of history… when I absorb myself in a book, time evaporates around me.

  Psychology, religion, history, geography, education, folklore, mathematics, physics, geology, chemistry, biology, art, fitness, language, fiction… All of humanity’s accumulated knowledge and insight has been tightly packed into these books, and I love each of them from the bottom of my heart.

  Encyclopedias, stretching to fill the entire shelf; the collection of literature, with every volume in place; specialty magazines that look so simple on the cover, but hold such advanced contents; colorful periodicals full of photographs; countless novels, written with fastidious prose; light novels, lacking any depth but still selling fantastically; huge picture books, intended for children; manga, the comics that are the pride of Japan; comics and magazines published by and for fans… the rustling of each turning page is more intoxicating than the finest wine.

  I also love the smell of the darkest corners of the library archives, where the dusty, even a little musty scent of ancient books fills the air. Just slowly breathing in the smell of old books sends waves of ecstasy crashing through my body. The smell of new books is equally irresistible! The smell of fresh ink on new paper tells me that there is something new waiting to be discovered between those pages, and just thinking about it fills me with excitement.

  I want to live my entire life surrounded by books. If I can, I want to spend the rest of my life in a dark, but well-ventilated archive, where the books are shielded from the sun’s damaging rays. I’d spend every second I could reading, inseparable from my books, until my skin became ghostly pale, my body weakened from lack of exercise, and I forgot so many meals that I had to be pulled away by force. I want to die buried in books. I don’t want to quietly pass on in bed! Being smothered to death by a mountain of books would make me so unbelievably happy.

  …Well, I should use the past tense here.

  Because, just a little while ago…! There was a big earthquake, and I was crushed to death underneath a pile of books! Maaan, really, out of all my wishes to grant, why this?

  I really did want this, but I’m not really feeling like God did me any favors here. I had just gotten my librarian certificate, and had somehow managed, in this age of unemployment, to find a position at a university library!

  God, please. If I can, I’d like to be reborn. There’s still so much more for me to read. Even in my next life, I want to read.

  So, make me a librarian. Let me spend each day surrounded by books. Of course, I know that working as a librarian won’t let me read all the time. It’s a job, and I’ll be busy, and I know that. But still, other jobs won’t let me spend the entire day surrounded by books. Just being surrounded by books will make my happy. The intoxicating smell of ink and paper… who else could appreciate these feelings? Who else can feel this fluttering of my heart that occurs whenever I find myself looking back at all of this amassed history, these words written to preserve the insights of man, a uniquely human labor of the mind that is as old as writing itself?

  If I can just read, that would be fine. Please, God. If you’ve heard my wish, please let me be reborn. When I am, I can read again.