The Cat Who Saved Books

“There are timeless stories, powerful enough to have survived through the ages. Read lots of books like these—they’ll be like friends to you. They’ll inspire and support you.”

Rintaro’s grandfather’s words of wisdom establish the novel’s central philosophy regarding literature, using the simile comparing books to friends. This personification suggests that the value of reading lies not in accumulating knowledge but in forming a supportive, personal relationship with stories. The grandfather’s words are a moral and thematic touchstone for Rintaro’s journey, providing the core principles he uses to combat the corrupted philosophies he encounters.

“‘It looks like it’s full, but in fact it’s empty.’ The cat’s response was very Zen. ‘There’s no philosophy behind it and no taste.’”

Speaking about the labyrinth’s mansion, the cat’s paradoxical observation concisely summarizes the allegorical space. This statement critiques a superficial approach to culture, in which possessing an abundance of books masks a void of genuine understanding or guiding principles. The line directly introduces The Corruption of Reading in the Modern World as a theme by exposing the emptiness of treating art and literature as mere decorations or status symbols.

“‘Reread them? Are you an idiot?’ […] ‘I don’t have spare time to reread things.’”

The antagonist’s rhetorical question and indignant dismissal of rereading starkly define his flawed philosophy. He treats literature as a commodity to be consumed for quantifiable status (a “monthly quota”) rather than providing an experience to savor for its depth and emotional resonance. This characterization presents his values as a direct foil to Rintaro’s grandfather’s values and embodies a behavior that the novel critiques: prioritizing efficiency over meaningful engagement.

“Books have tremendous power. But take care. It’s the book that holds the power, not you.”

This aphorism, which Rintaro recalls from his grandfather, marks the climax of his argument in the first labyrinth. The statement refutes the antagonist’s belief that amassing books grants personal power, arguing instead for a humble relationship between the reader and the text. By channeling his grandfather’s wisdom, Rintaro claims his own agency and articulates the book’s core argument against using literature for self-aggrandizement.

“Her upbeat voice was like the unexpected arrival of spring in the midst of winter.”

This simile concludes the first part of Rintaro’s journey, encapsulating the change in his internal state after completing the trial. The contrast between the “midst of winter” (reflecting his grief and isolation) and the “unexpected arrival of spring” (conveying the joy of rebirth) signifies the nascent hope that genuine human connection can bring. The description of Sayo’s voice demonstrates that Rintaro’s fantastical adventure has produced a tangible thaw in his real-world emotional landscape.

“‘He simply changed his approach.’ […] ‘Your grandfather opened a wonderful secondhand bookshop. And by doing that he was able to get all kinds of amazing books into the hands of many people. He believed that way he might be able to begin to right some wrongs, straighten out some of the things that had gotten twisted.’”

Speaking to Rintaro, his grandfather’s former colleague reframes the bookshop not as a retreat from failure but as a deliberate and meaningful continuation of his grandfather’s life’s work. This passage establishes Natsuki Books as a symbol of quiet, impactful resistance against a world in which morality has become “twisted.” The description of this work provides Rintaro with a legacy of courage to draw upon, framing his quest to save books as an extension of his grandfather’s principles.

“If it’s not dangerous, then it should be no problem for me to go with you. If it is dangerous, then it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to let you walk into it alone. Am I right?”

Sayo confronts Rintaro with this line of binary logic, dismantling his attempt to protect her by keeping her out of the labyrinth. Her directness and sense of responsibility contrast sharply with Rintaro’s passive indecisiveness. Her insistence on joining him is a key plot point that forces Rintaro into a social connection, directly advancing the theme of the courage to emerge from isolation by demonstrating that courage is often born from responsibility to others.

“The style is free from any individuality, expressions are deliberately kept to those in common usage—the passages are touched up to achieve the utmost plainness and simplicity. In this way, a story that used to take, say, ten minutes to read can now be polished off in under a minute.”

The director of the Institute of Reading Research explains his method for “The Streamlining of Reading,” which involves stripping books of their unique style and complexity for the sake of efficiency. This philosophy is the central conflict of the second labyrinth, an allegorical thematic representation of the corruption of reading in the modern world. The director’s dispassionate, clinical language (“touched up,” “utmost plainness”) characterizes this approach as a sterile act of mutilation rather than a helpful innovation.

“Reading isn’t only for pleasure or entertainment. […] And the result of all this hard work and careful study is that suddenly you’re there and your field of vision expands. It’s like finding a great view at the end of a long climbing trail.”

In a pivotal memory, Rintaro recalls his grandfather’s wisdom, which provides the philosophical counterargument to the director’s methods. Rintaro’s grandfather used an analogy comparing the struggle of reading a difficult book to the arduous process of climbing a mountain. This imagery reinforces the value of slow, deliberate reading, arguing that the effort and patience required are precisely what make the intellectual and emotional reward (the expanded “field of vision”) so valuable.

“‘The Ninth Symphony has to be played at the Ninth Symphony’s pace—if you want to listen to it properly.’ […] ‘Books, too’ […] ‘You’re saying that they’re the same?’”

Rintaro confronts the antagonist of the second labyrinth by fast-forwarding the Beethoven symphony that the man claims to love, creating an auditory parallel to the scholar’s summarization of books. This action is an analogy, demonstrating that stripping a work of art of its intended pace and structure destroys its meaning. The scholar’s halting, questioning response conveys the breakdown of his flawed logic, marking a moment of victory for Rintaro that he achieves not through force but through empathetic reasoning.

“Behind this boy’s passiveness and unreliability, she’d just glimpsed something—someone totally earnest, honest to a fault.”

After their return from the labyrinth, Sayo’s perception of Rintaro shifts, marking a significant step in his character development. This moment of interiority from Sayo’s perspective provides external acknowledgment of Rintaro’s internal growth, showing that his actions have begun to reshape how others see him. This signals that Rintaro’s journey into the allegorical labyrinths tangibly affects his real-world identity, transforming him from a passive hikikomori into a person of substance.

“When I saw my classmate holed up in his bookshop reading, I thought I’d try reading something, too. But every time I open it up, my shoulders get horribly stiff. There’s so many words. And so many pages!”

Sayo’s admission reveals how Rintaro’s passion for books is beginning to influence those around him, initiating her character arc. Her complaint about the difficulty of a classic novel alludes to the value of slow, deliberate reading, contrasting deep engagement with the efficiency-obsessed philosophies that Rintaro confronts in the labyrinths. The passage highlights how personal connection can provide a gateway to the literary world, thematically touching on The Power of Books to Cultivate Empathy.

“‘If anything happens to me,’ it said, in its deep and powerful voice, ‘please take care of Mr. Proprietor.’”

Tiger’s request to Sayo foreshadows that the third labyrinth’s master poses a significant threat. This line of dialogue also marks a crucial shift in the narrative, positioning Sayo not just as a companion but as essential in supporting him, thematically reinforcing the courage to emerge from isolation. By entrusting Rintaro’s safety to Sayo, the magical guide, Tiger, underscores the necessity of human connection for the protagonist’s journey to succeed.

“The stuff that looked like snow—cascading from all the windows, hovering for a moment in the air, and then tumbling to the ground below—each and every piece was a book.”

This passage uses a simile, comparing the falling books to snow, to create a surreal and disturbing visual metaphor for the mass commodification of literature. The image of a “print wasteland” physically manifests the president’s philosophy that books are disposable, transforming them from treasured objects into anonymous, discarded matter. This imagery critiques the publishing industry’s prioritization of volume and profit over substance, thematically illustrating the corruption of reading in the modern world.

“Sell books that sell—that’s the rule.”

The company president’s tautological statement distills the ideology of the third labyrinth into a single, cynical business principle. It reveals a worldview wherein literary or cultural merit is irrelevant and the sole arbiter of a book’s value is its market performance. The simplicity and finality of the phrase underscore a philosophy that strips literature of its artistic and intellectual purpose, treating it as a product for consumption according to popular demand.

“You said it just now: books need to metamorphose if they are to survive. If you really just saw books as expendable goods, you would never have said that.”

This quote marks the turning point in Rintaro’s confrontation with the president, showcasing his analytical growth. Rintaro uses close listening to identify a contradiction in his adversary’s argument, exposing the man’s hidden desire for books to “survive” despite his claims of treating them as mere commodities. By deconstructing the president’s logic, Rintaro reveals that even this seemingly cynical figure harbors a deep, albeit corrupted, love for books.

“‘Shutting yourself away in a bookshop is fine,’ said the cat in its rich, deep voice. ‘What worried us more was that you’d retreated into your own shell.’”

Tiger’s parting words reframe the purpose of his intervention, revealing that the true mission was not only to save imprisoned books but also to rescue Rintaro from his grief-induced isolation. The distinction between the physical sanctuary of the bookshop and the psychological prison of Rintaro’s “shell” is crucial, clarifying the novel’s central argument about emerging from withdrawal. This statement confirms Tiger’s symbolic role as a catalyst for Rintaro’s emotional healing and thematically articulates the courage to emerge from isolation.

“What’s important is the ability to have empathy for another human being—to be able to feel their pain, to walk alongside them in their suffering. […] The problem is that most people have lost touch with that ability in the hustle and bustle of their daily lives. Like you have.”

Speaking to Rintaro, Tiger the cat reframes the ability to perceive him not as a supernatural gift but as a human one rooted in empathy. This statement explicitly states the novel’s central theme, the power of books to cultivate empathy, by defining it as the core “power” that connects people. The direct address, “[l]ike you have,” confronts Rintaro with his emotional withdrawal and sets up his ultimate realization.

“But a book that has been cherished and loved, filled with human thoughts, has been endowed with a soul.”

Tiger explains the novel’s central conceit, which personifies literature as having a living essence derived from human connection. This concept provides the foundation for the story’s magical realism and establishes the stakes of Rintaro’s missions. The quote elevates reading from a passive activity to a reciprocal relationship, suggesting that readers imbue texts with life just as texts enrich readers.

“The usual Rintaro would immediately have raised the white flag, turned on his heels, and fled. […] Instead, he held his ground, putting all the strength he could muster into steadying his trembling knees. This time he hadn’t just come along on the spur of the moment; he had a purpose.”

This moment of internal narration contrasts Rintaro’s past self with his present resolve, marking his character development. The passage thematically demonstrates the courage to emerge from isolation by showing his transformation from a passive hikikomori into an active protagonist driven by his connection to Sayo, who has been kidnapped. The juxtaposition of his “trembling knees” and his internal “purpose” highlights that his courage is a conscious choice, not an absence of fear.

You succeeded in changing their values, but as a result, they’re all now in trouble. If they have to suffer like that, what was the point of what you did?”

The final antagonist, a neglected book appearing as an elderly woman, confronts Rintaro with the unintended negative consequences of his actions in the previous labyrinths. This dialogue introduces moral complexity to the novel, challenging the righteousness of Rintaro’s quest and forcing him to defend his ideals on a deeper level. The question is the final test of Rintaro’s convictions, moving the conflict from a physical challenge to a philosophical one.

“I’m going to say it as loud as I can. Empathy—that’s the power of books.”

This declaration is the climax of Rintaro’s intellectual and emotional journey, providing the definitive answer to the question posed throughout the novel. By articulating this, Rintaro fully internalizes his grandfather’s wisdom, fulfilling his character arc and thematically emphasizing the power of books to cultivate empathy. His speaking “loudly” asserts his rejection of his previous silence and reclusiveness, representing his full emergence into the world with conviction.

“If you find it difficult, it’s because it contains something that is new to you. Every difficult book offers us a brand-new challenge.”

In the Epilogue, Rintaro confidently explains to Sayo the value of challenging literature, directly echoing his grandfather’s philosophy. This quote demonstrates the completion of Rintaro’s transformation: He’s no longer just a recipient of wisdom but a proponent of it. This dialogue reinforces the value of slow, deliberate reading, contrasting it with the superficial consumption that Rintaro critiqued in the labyrinths and asserting his mature understanding of literature’s worth.