The tabby cat Tiger is a fantastical mentor figure who is the primary catalyst for Rintaro’s journey. He’s a magical realist character—a large, talking ginger tabby who embodies the soul and wisdom of literature itself. Arriving unannounced at Natsuki Books, Tiger is arrogant, sharp tongued, and often impatient. He bluntly assesses Rintaro as a “miserable, good-for-nothing shut-in” but simultaneously recognizes the boy’s potential and his deep love for books (16), which is why he seeks his help. Tiger represents the inherent power and agency of books, a living manifestation of the “tremendous power” that Rintaro’s grandfather often spoke of. This power calls out for Rintaro to save it from the various forms of mistreatment and corruption that the labyrinths personify.

As a classic guide archetype, Tiger initiates each stage of the quest, leading Rintaro into the allegorical labyrinths that physically manifest flawed reading philosophies. Although his personality is largely static, his role is crucial to the plot’s progression. He provides Rintaro with the necessary context for each challenge and offers cryptic but essential advice, pushing the reluctant protagonist to confront his fears and articulate his beliefs.

While Tiger often appears omniscient, quoting authors like Saint-Exupéry and dispensing philosophical wisdom, he also displays moments of genuine surprise, particularly when he realizes that Sayo can see and hear him. This vulnerability adds depth to his otherwise imperious character. Ultimately, his purpose is to guide Rintaro toward self-reliance. In the final labyrinth, he steps aside, acknowledging that Rintaro has developed the strength to face the challenge on his own and (in a rare moment of undisguised affection) calling him “[his] brave friend” (154).

Sayo Yuzuki

The deuteragonist of the story, Sayo, is a vital foil to Rintaro. As his class representative, she’s initially introduced as a “strong, no-nonsense type” who is pragmatic, direct, and socially confident (9), qualities that starkly contrast with Rintaro’s passive and withdrawn nature. She first visits Natsuki Books out of a sense of duty, bringing homework to her truant classmate and scolding him for his isolation. However, the novel quickly reveals that her actions stem from genuine concern, which Rintaro himself is slow to recognize. Sayo represents the outside world and the human connection that Rintaro has deliberately avoided since his grandfather’s death. Her presence grounds the fantastical narrative in a tangible, relatable relationship, preventing Rintaro’s quest from becoming a purely intellectual exercise.

Sayo’s character undergoes a dynamic shift that thematically reflects The Power of Books to Cultivate Empathy. Though not initially a passionate reader, she becomes intrigued by Rintaro’s world and, at his recommendation, begins to read classic literature like Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. This act of reading becomes a bridge between her and Rintaro, deepening their friendship as she comes to understand the world he values so deeply. Her ability to see Tiger is a key moment of characterization; as the cat later explains, this isn’t a supernatural power but a sign of her innate compassion, her ability “to have empathy for another human being” (146).

Her involvement in the labyrinth journeys transforms her from a well-meaning outsider into an essential partner in Rintaro’s quest. Her kidnapping in the final act motivates Rintaro, forcing him to fight not just for an ideal but for a person he has come to cherish. Through her growing relationship with Rintaro and her newfound appreciation for books, Sayo illustrates the novel’s core argument that literature’s true purpose is to forge and strengthen human bonds.

Though he’s deceased before the story begins, Rintaro’s grandfather is a foundational presence in the novel, a posthumous mentor whose philosophy shapes Rintaro’s entire journey. Rintaro remembers him as a quiet and wise man whose life was dedicated to a pure and profound love of books. His core belief, which becomes a recurring mantra for Rintaro, is that “books have tremendous power” (12). This power, in his view, isn’t for personal gain but for guidance and companionship; he advised Rintaro to treat books “like friends to you. They’ll inspire and support you” (12).

The bookshop itself, Natsuki Books, physically embodies his values as a sanctuary filled with literary masterpieces that he valued for their enduring wisdom rather than their commercial success. His teachings, which Rintaro recalls at critical moments, provide the moral and philosophical framework that allows Rintaro to dismantle his adversaries’ arguments. The grandfather represents an idealized form of readership—one that is patient, empathetic, and deeply connected to the world—setting the standard that Rintaro must learn to uphold.

The antagonist of the first labyrinth, the Imprisoner of Books, is an allegorical figure representing the corruption of reading for status and intellectual vanity. A well-known critic, he has amassed a colossal collection of more than 57,000 books, which he keeps locked in glass display cases like museum artifacts. His core philosophy is quantitative: He believes that what determines a person’s value is the number of books they’ve read and dismisses the idea of rereading as a “ridiculous waste of time” (35).

This ideology reflects a shallow engagement with literature, one that treats books as trophies to collect and display for self-aggrandizement rather than as sources of wisdom to revisit and reabsorb. Rintaro defeats him by exposing the superficiality of this approach, pointing out that his collection is incomplete and arguing that his treatment of books demonstrates a love for himself, not for literature. The Imprisoner is the first clear thematic example of The Corruption of Reading in the Modern World.

The antagonist of the second labyrinth, the Mutilator of Books, personifies the modern world’s demand for efficiency and the reduction of art to easily digestible information. As the director of the Institute of Reading Research, he champions a method he calls “The Streamlining of Reading” (74), which involves speed-reading and summarizing. He physically mutilates books with scissors, condensing entire literary classics into single, simplistic sentences. For instance, he reduces Osamu Dazai’s complex story “Run, Melos!” to the stark statement, “Melos was furious” (76).

His goal is to make great works accessible to a busy populace that lacks the time for deep engagement, arguing that masterpieces must adapt to survive. Rintaro counters his logic by comparing it to listening to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony on fast-forward, arguing that the struggle and pace of reading are integral to its value and that stripping a work of its complexity destroys its soul.

The antagonist of the third labyrinth, the Seller of Books, is the president of the world’s largest publishing company (World’s Best Books) and embodies literature’s complete submission to commercialism. He operates from a skyscraper where unsold books are literally thrown from the windows, treating them as nothing more than “expendable goods.” His governing philosophy is simple and cynical: “Sales are everything” (127). He argues that publishers shouldn’t concern themselves with truth or art but should instead produce whatever sells, which he identifies as cheap, easy, and sensational content.

The Seller represents the ultimate thematic extension of The Corruption of Reading in the Modern World, where a book’s profitability alone determines its value. Rintaro challenges him by appealing to the man’s buried love for the medium, arguing that those who produce books have a deeper responsibility than merely chasing profits.