Became an American Retro Novelist - Chapter 148



Only Noblemtl

148.

“Um, um.”

The first short story written by Shin, ‘Hmm, umm, that thing’, was quite interesting from the beginning.

It was a novel that made me follow the ‘um’ sound without even realizing it.

Edward MacMillan took a sip of coffee to moisten his mouth and decided to enjoy this novel to the fullest. The Stanford University professor in his fifties, if you take away his “title,” was just a “boy” with a deep interest in the field of literature.

‘Hmm, ummm, that thing’ continued like this after the first sentence.

『“Ah, crap.”

I swore lightly.

It’s a song I clearly know, but I can’t remember it.

The memory that lingered in my head was like a tangled thread. I had no idea where to start, even if I wanted to do something. After thinking about it, I grabbed the thread that seemed to be sticking out from the end of the thread and slowly pulled it. A sound came out of my throat and out of my mouth.

“Um, um.”

It started with this.

“Euuum-. Ahh-. Woooo-.”

I think it sounded like this.

What on earth was this song? I couldn’t remember it at all. I hummed the song over and over again, groaning and not even noticing that the bacon in front of me was getting cold.

Then someone sat across from me.

“what’s the matter?”

Lily, a wife with a definite personality who comes home after finishing cleaning the kitchen before breakfast.

She was my best friend, my counselor, and at the same time, my partner in walking through life with me. I slowly opened my mouth, believing that my wife would be willing to share my concerns this time as well.

“Um, uhm. Uhhh-. Ahh-. Woof-.”

“······Honey, what are you doing? Does it hurt?”

“Do you know what this song is?”

“Huh? Was that just a song? Sing it again.”

“Um, umm. Uh-umm-. Ah-. Woo-woo-.”

“Um, uhm. Uhhh-. Ahh-. Woof-.”

Edward tried singing along.

Naturally, his own imaginative sound was incorporated into the lines.

Considering Edward’s age, it was probably closer to country music. As he hummed along and read the novel, Edward thought it was like jazz.

Well, babap, ttubap. Even though they are the same letters, they each produce different sounds.

‘This is real, ha.’

I was secretly shocked.

Is this the work of a freshman who just entered college?

The sentences were ordinary. However, the idea was good, and the energy that led it was great. The ‘um, um, that’ thing naturally played ‘music’ in the reader’s mind and made them come out of their mouths. The music that played based on personal experience would be different for each reader’s personality.

As an old man, I would think of country music, but a friend like John Smith, who seems to like rock music, would think of rock music.

Edward continued reading the novel.

Lily said:

[It’s a really good song? But, uh, I don’t know what song it is!]

[Are you kidding me right now?! Don’t you know this song?! It was so famous!]

[I’ll think about it. Hmm, umm. Uh-uhm-. Ah-. Woo-woo-. Is this right?]

[I get it!]

[Is it because your voice is low? It’s hard to follow along.]

[No. No. That’s the right note. I sang a little low. Hmm.]

‘I’ continued humming the song, clearing my throat.

Even after finishing breakfast and walking to work, a song kept playing in my head. It was a song I knew, but I couldn’t remember exactly what it was, and that was the frustrating and unpleasant feeling. I became more and more irritated when I couldn’t remember what the song was until I got to work.

Eventually, I ended up talking to my coworkers.

[Hey, do you remember this song? Um, uhm. Uhh-. Ahh-. Woof-.]

[What? I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere.]

[Oh?! Please tell me! I’m dying because of this since morning!]

[Ah~ That. I’m not sure, but the song is good, right? Sing it again.]

[Um, umm. Uh-umm-. Ah-. Woo-woo-. ······Damn, don’t just say it’s good, try to remember it.]

[It must have been a great song.]

[Yeah, that was probably the song from Woodstock.]

[Don’t even mention Woodstock! It’s the worst fucking memory.]

[Poohahaha! You went there?!]

[I went there in my mother’s arms when I was a baby.]

[But back then, rock ate me up. So, is that rock music?]

Everyone was talking about music in one way or another and wondering what kind of music ‘I’ was talking about. But no interesting answer came out.

As I went back through the history of music, I kept wondering what this ‘song that I’ve definitely heard somewhere and is really good but I can’t quite figure out what it is’ was.

[How about just making a song?]

[If it’s an original composition, it seems like a really good song.]

‘I’ let out a long sigh after hearing my coworkers’ jokes.

After that, I continued to ask people around me, but I didn’t get any satisfactory answers.

Then, I became interested in the fact that the people around me were listening to different music depending on the group they were in.

Thanks to my wife’s sophisticated tastes, the people at the ‘social gatherings’ I often went to mostly talked about jazz or classical music, my parents-in-law often talked about country music, and the kids talked about hip-hop.

But in the end, it was none of those things.

‘I’ was in trouble.

It’s definitely one of my favorite songs.

He organizes the songs he listens to as if he is exploring his inner self. At first, my wife said that I was making a fuss, but soon she started helping me after seeing my serious attitude.

Then, while the two were organizing their LP albums at home, they recalled memories of when they were dating, and the friendly atmosphere continued.

‘Hoo.’

In this work, ‘music’ is depicted as a tool to express a person’s life.

‘My’ music is rock. ‘Me and My Wife’s’ music is jazz. ‘Me and My Family’s’ music is country music. The composition recalls past memories by going back through the music that was formed in that way.

It made Edward think about what his music was like.

And the ending of the piece was also great.

[Ah, this is it!!]

After playing the LP that had been buried in a corner of the house, I finally figured out what the music was.

[The most famous song from the album I listened to the most in high school! The greatest music in the world!]

The story continues without any further specific description, leaving room for the reader’s imagination.

As he cheered excitedly, his wife Lily looked at him with a bewildered expression and asked back.

[Hey, where in this song······ is that part?]

[The intro part here is ‘Um, uhm. Uh-uhm-. Ah-. Woo-woo-.’]

[What’s that sound?! Why does it sound like that there?! It’s ‘Doo-bap-bap! Doo-doo-doo-bap! Doo-bidoo-bap, doo-bidoo-ru-bap!’]

The wife shouted as if it was absurd.

When I heard that, I froze for a moment and then shouted in disbelief.

[Stop talking nonsense!]

A fight that started over differences in opinions about music.

Edward smiled gently, placing the manuscript of ‘Hmm, umm, that thing’ that ended with that scene down in front of him.

As a professor, I knew that critical thinking about the work should be a priority for the development of students, but now I felt like savoring the pleasant satisfaction I felt after reading the entire novel and the interpretation of the subject matter called ‘music’.

In this novel, God expressed music as something that reveals the life a person has lived.

‘So what is my music?’

Edward smiled as he faced the emotions that were clearly rising within him.

***

A few days after submitting my novel assignment.

While returning to the dormitory after class, Shin happened to run into Edward MacMillan in the school hallway.

“God, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Oh, yes. Professor. Hello.”

It’s only been two weeks since I started school.

The situation where a professor asks to talk to a new student is bound to be a huge psychological burden for the new student.

But God didn’t really care. Not only had he diligently completed a four-year college education in his previous life, but Edward Macmillan was smiling gently right in front of him.

“I want to use your novel as our first collaborative piece for class next week.”

“Oh, okay. Okay, I understand.”

“If you’re nervous, tell me in advance. I’ll give you some candy so you don’t get nervous.”

“Are you only working on my work?”

“No, that’s not it. I’m thinking of about five right now.”

“okay.”

“Haha, you look burdened.”

“Oh, no.”

“The work is good.”

Edward, who pats Shin on the shoulder and does not spare encouragement.

In front of him, Shin thought that he had an unusually easygoing personality for a professor who was the head of the department.

Although I had not heard his name anywhere, nor was he known as a famous person in the future, the old professor’s personality was clearly drawn in my mind based on the big data I had accumulated over the years.

A person who is sincere in his/her field, and although he/she may sometimes be a bit fearful of those around him/her because of that, he/she is fundamentally someone who has something to learn from.

In fact, the ‘Writing 1’ class he teaches is quite interesting and enjoyable because it incorporates Edward’s accumulated philosophy on novels.

And in that lecture, his own novel was selected as the first joint work.

It would be a lie if I said I was happy but didn’t feel any burden in my heart.

‘I wonder what kind of class it will be.’

As I was attending the next class with a vague doubt in mind, a graduate student suddenly came up to me after class and handed me a gift(?) from Edward MacMillan.

“Freshmen, Professor MacMillan said that he will critique the novels here in the next class, so please read them and come back with your opinions. Come and get one.”

A graduate student with a somewhat fragile appearance handed out photocopied novel assignments to freshmen.

The list of five novels in total was as follows:

Students who saw that couldn’t help but tilt their heads.

‘God has two novels?’

‘So you submitted two?’

‘This guy is really different.’

While the students remained in the classroom for a while, looking at each other, Shin, sensing the atmosphere, tried to sneak away, but was caught by Rebecca Wong who approached him.

“God, you wrote two novels?”

“Yeah. I had two ideas, and I wanted to try them both.”

“That’s amazing. Both of them were selected for the joint evaluation.”

“I was lucky.”

As I was chatting lightly, John Smith came up to me and shouted.

“That’s really amazing! I barely used one, when did you use two?!”

Everyone looked amazed, surprised, and at the same time amazed.

But whether or not, God was rather looking at the list and becoming interested in Rebecca, John, and Clark’s writings.

So, the Stanford Creative Writing freshmen spent the remaining week reading each novel selected for the group critique and reflecting on their own thoughts, and the next week, it was time for Edward MacMillan’s ‘Writing 1’ class.

The students sitting in their seats had shining eyes, like twinkling stars.

Edward MacMillan smiled softly at them and explained.

“We will conduct a joint critique through free discussion for 30 minutes for each novel. And since most freshmen are concerned about this, I will explain in advance that the five novels we will critique today were not selected simply because they were ‘well written.’ This is a ‘class’ and a process for you to cultivate your ability to write novels. And as Franz Kafka said, I think a novel should be ‘an axe for the frozen sea of ​​our hearts.’ Each novel selected this time was chosen not because of its excellent craftsmanship, but because it could be such an axe for us.”

The class starts like that.

With the freshmen crowded into a small circular lecture room, Edward began by giving a joint critique of one of Shin’s two novels, Parasite. First, the professor gave a brief introduction to the novel.

“Parasite” is about a woman who has a certain song constantly playing in her head.

One day, by chance, on a really good day, it happened.

On a sunny morning, while enjoying a bagel and coffee at a cafe, a song suddenly started to float into my head. The first thought that came to mind when I hummed it was ‘longing’.

The woman tilted her head, trying to recall what song it was, going back through her memories.

And that thought didn’t reach a conclusion and only increased the discomfort.

The woman asks those around her about the song she was humming. However, since she does not have a wide network of friends, she is unable to find an answer, and she struggles with the desire to know what the song is.

And it became stronger and stronger as the thought passed.

The woman described the situation this way:

[Parasite in the head.]

The real debate began and someone raised their hand.

It was Rebecca Wong.

“I thought this novel shouldn’t be read by itself. I honestly thought it was a bit unfair. It was a novel that unravels the thought that anyone would have, ‘Oh, what was that song?’ in completely different ways without overlapping. It’s about the ‘happiness’ and ‘unhappiness’ of life. Both were so good.”

“······Miss Wong, you’ve shown courage. But for now, can you just talk about ‘Parasite’?”

“Oh, yes.”

Then, the female student sitting behind Rebaka Wong raised her hand.

“I felt like it was a good way to express something that everyone would feel.”

“I could relate to it a lot. It was also fun to imagine the ‘sounds’ in the novel in my mouth!”

“I, I······.”

Two weeks into the semester, a male student who had barely spoken until then mustered up his courage and shouted.

“Since we all live different lives, wouldn’t we imagine different sounds when we sing ‘Uppaba Doobi Doobap!’?!”

······Since he was a friend who didn’t usually talk, he spoke louder than a normal person. He even mixed in a song.

And there John Smith laughed and shouted.

“’Uppappa doobidubap!’! It’s ‘Uppappa~ doobidubap!’”

From then on, it was total chaos.

At the point where they were almost singing ‘Barabap Doobi Doobap Dooburu Doobap’ in unison, Shin couldn’t hold it in any longer and dropped his head on the desk.

‘So this is what the place was like.’

I was prepared, but preparation and reality were ultimately different.

He was a young man who would feel embarrassed when someone else was telling him the story of his novel, and a ‘good’ story at that, and he was a fooled old man.

End

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