For a long time, I used to feel quite uncomfortable as I saw that the predominant strategy of my successful colleagues was to cultivate just a narrow range of carefully chosen topics, such as ghosts in Victorian narrative or Western fairy tales in Japanese translation. They were really good in those topics, and published on them in prestigious journals and editing houses, while apparently, I was an eternal beginner, starting from scratch all over again, and again, and again. And I worked hard to get more focused, to make my definitive choice; this is how the years went by. Meanwhile, I always felt that exploring new areas was the source of intellectual thrill, and flow, a sort of intellectual drug. The plurality of disciplines and areas of study became the defining trait of my scholarly personality. Even more than that, metalepsis became the dominant strategy of my intellectual performance as I went on employing my keywords in an endless variety of contexts. Now, I guess, it is too late to change it. On the other hand, I had my secret hope. That precisely the plurality and the metalepsis connecting distant areas and topics might make my research stand out, give it a personal touch and style. There was a time when I tried to draw a map of my own interests or strong points, and I could not manage; later on, I discovered that I could not solve the puzzle, because I did not have all the elements on my table yet. So I went on adding things. Currently, I am no longer worried about the odour of the luxuriant and the revolting excess of my work, that may, and often do, appeal for resistance in the academic world. I am rather concerned with the search for an original formula of writing, across the usual boundaries of scholarly essay as a genre. I try to work hard to be informative and insightful, and make the pleasure of vastness compensate the shortcomings.