Books offer space. When they are closed, they are cozy objects; when they are open, they speak softly. I think my stories—also called ideas—are like children who each want to have their own space. I build houses in the form of books for them one by one. My stories are rather private and trivial, so palm-sized houses are enough for them. A child who has one story sometimes looks around several houses until it meets the one that fits its story. Then, the child tells its story to the book’s pages, the feel of its paper, and all its folded parts. Small books provide just the right space, embracing them all.
The books, or rather, the children in them, speak. Feeling the readers’ eyes and touch, they whisper together.
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