Rintaro seemed unfazed by the warning. He had neither the majesty of the tabby cat, nor the wit of his friend Sayo, but in his dull uneventful life he had come across his fair share of crazy predicaments and crises.
The white-coated scholar in the middle of the room was still brandishing the scissors in his right hand, book in his left, as if conducting the music. Each time both hands came together, snippets of white paper flew through the air.
Rintaro knew nothing of “The Streamlining of Reading.” However, it was obvious to him that speed-reading or reducing a book to a synopsis would completely take away its power. In the end, chopped-up sentences were nothing more than fragments.
Hurrying means that you miss out on many things. Riding a train will take you far, but it’s a misconception to think that this will give you more insight. Flowers in the hedgerow and birds in the treetops are accessible only to the person who walks on their own two feet. Rintaro pondered all this before stepping toward the scholar.
He took his time, didn’t rush, made no hasty decisions. He reached out with his right hand toward the cassette player on the desktop. Immediately, the scholar’s pudgy hand shot out and grabbed Rintaro by the sleeve.
“Please don’t turn off my music.”
“I’m not going to turn it off.”
Rintaro’s amicable tone seemed to confuse the scholar, and Rintaro was able to reach out and press the fast-forward button.
There was a whirring sound and Beethoven’s Ninth came tumbling out at three times the speed. A headlong, breakneck, and rather unsettling “Ode to Joy.”
“Stop that! You’re ruining it!”
“I totally agree,” said Rintaro quietly. His finger never left the fast-forward button and the cacophony continued. “But if I fast-forward, you’ll be able to get so much more out of your beloved Ninth Symphony.”
The scholar was about to reply but he suddenly raised his eyebrows and swallowed his words.
“However,” Rintaro went on, “it also means the music will be ruined. The Ninth Symphony has to be played at the Ninth Symphony’s pace—if you want to listen to it properly.”
Rintaro took his finger off the button. The chorus resumed its majestic song.
“This is the speed at which this song should be heard. Fast-forwarding sucks.”
The chorus shifted one octave higher. Freude! Freude! they sang in rapturous joy.
The scholar looked at Rintaro.
“Books, too . . .”
His mumbled words were barely audible over the music.
“You’re saying that they’re the same?”
“I’m saying that speed-reading and quick summarizing is just like listening to the finale of this symphony on fast-forward,” Rintaro said.
“The finale on fast-forward . . . ?”
“What I mean is, it might be interesting and stuff, but that’s not Beethoven’s symphony. If you love Beethoven’s Ninth, you’ll understand—it’s the same way that I love books.”
The scholar froze in place, his scissors still clutched in his hand. He stayed a few moments in thought, then he turned his heavy-browed eye on Rintaro.
“But books that aren’t read disappear.”
“Yeah. It’s a pity.”
“But you’re okay with that?”
“No, like I said, it’s a pity. And I think it’s just as much of a shame that ‘Run, Melos!’ has been compressed into one single sentence. In the same way that music is made up of more than notes, books are more than just words.”