Became an American Retro Novelist - Chapter 149



Only Noblemtl

149.

It is said that music is the art of time that uses sound as its material.

But Edward Macmillan simply remembered that definition in his head and did not take it literally.

He had his own definition of music. And he thought that a novelist, and a person, should live by his own definition of the concepts he encounters.

‘Because they come together to become the self.’

It was an essential part of living so that people would not fall into futility.

But lately he’s been thinking.

With the advent of media that can easily manipulate human consciousness, such as television, aren’t people increasingly losing their sense of self and being swayed by what the media and politicians say?

Aren’t humans dominated by materialistic secularism?

But the consciousness that was heading towards such pessimistic nihilism slowed down a little bit every time I saw the appearance of the new students coming in every year. Even though they were not yet mature, every time I saw the expression of a fresh and special self that the 50-year-olds could no longer do, I became a little more hopeful about the future of this country.

The novel of God was exactly like that.

He defined music as the uniqueness of each individual.

The expressions of the mood and music of ‘Hmm, umm. That’ and ‘Parasite’ were polar opposites. One had a bright and warm atmosphere like a sketch comedy, and the other was closer to a thriller.

Edward looked over the manuscript again while the students talked about the novel of God.

The last part of ‘Parasite’ described music negatively.

To be precise, it is the ‘memory’ that results from it.

“It finally occurred to me.

But I didn’t recall it. When I got home, I felt an unbearable sense of discomfort and took a can of beer out of the fridge. I didn’t even have time to open the cap and pour it into a cup, but I drank it down. Like the foamy liquid going down my throat, I wanted to let this memory sink somewhere deep.

Still, it wasn’t something I could do as I pleased.

That son of a bitch made me fear people.

‘Hey, that’s why you get ignored by people! Don’t you know how to do this?!’

‘Honestly, who else but me can handle your personality? That’s why you’re called socially awkward!’

He used all kinds of gaslighting to manipulate people and make them do whatever he wanted.

It wasn’t a relationship. It was just a slave-master relationship. Because of his behavior, I became increasingly discouraged, and the relationships around me were gradually cut off because of him, so I couldn’t get along with anyone throughout college. Even now, I’m scared of talking to people at work.

‘I even received psychiatric treatment.’

The guy who was like that eventually left me because he had an affair with another woman. That moment, that time, was still vivid in my mind. I cried more out of a sense of liberation than out of sadness over being betrayed. And I still went to the hospital to heal the wounds he left behind.

I tried to shake off these thoughts by practicing the breathing techniques I learned at the hospital.

But the melody kept playing in my head. It got stronger. The lyrics came to me. Even the son of a bitch’s voice became clearer. I kept drinking beer, and even though I knew it was late, I couldn’t help but play the song on the LP, filling the room. It was Bill Evans.

But the parasites he left behind were even more disturbing to my mind.

“Ugh······.”

It was a song he composed on guitar when he first seduced me.

I tried desperately to shake off this memory until the neighbors came knocking on the door.

Like other works, this novel starts from the memory of ‘what was this song?’

But the results were completely opposite.

One is about a couple recalling memories of a song, and the two experience difficulties because of their different interpretations of it, but the other ends up enjoying the pleasant daily life of a couple.

The other ended with the woman’s efforts to somehow forget that memory.

Music is like a trace that permeates a person’s life.

But whether that is a good trace or a bad trace varies from person to person.

The song I heard when I broke up with my lover always left me with a bitter aftertaste, even after a long time had passed. So music······.

‘Ah, I guess I should ask God directly.’

Edward looked at the students who were continuing their discussion with a smile.

At first, they were a bit awkward because they couldn’t adapt, but now they were talking on their own.

“Actually, since a critique is not helpful if you only say good things, I tried my best to find the shortcomings, but it was difficult. That’s why I wanted to hear other people’s thoughts during the critique, but when it happens, everyone listens to their own music, so I think the intention becomes clearer.”

“That’s right. I found it interesting that everyone reads the written melody in their own way!”

John Smith agreed with Rebecca Wong’s comments.

In Edward MacMillan’s eyes, the two men were ‘writers’ with diametrically opposed personalities.

Rebecca Wong has a style that analyzes each work in detail and then structurally dismantles and deals with the art of ‘writing’, while John Smith, on the other hand, has a style that imagines so freely that there is no such thing as form. Even in the appreciation just now, it seemed like there were conflicting tendencies.

In any case, the majority of people said that they enjoyed the piece more than its shortcomings.

Edward mediated the situation.

“If you enjoyed it, that’s enough. It’s good to try to understand the strengths and weaknesses of the work in detail, but I don’t think you need to. One work doesn’t reveal everything about the author. Besides, you’re still in the process of growing.”

Edward thought that everything was okay as long as one did not think of God as a ‘SEEN’ frame, but he did not express that opinion out loud. He thought that by saying it, the students would actually become aware of it.

“Then, shall we now ask the author one last question?”

He looked at the god who was sitting at the very back.

“God, what kind of music were you trying to express through this piece?”

The moment God heard those words, his eyes widened.

I thought that a novel is art, and that art is something that is thrown into the world, not something that explains each and every intention, so I didn’t prepare any explanation of the work’s intention.

But since it was a school class, it seemed like the professor wanted to use even the writer’s thoughts as a learning process for the students.

God quickly organized the thoughts floating in his head and opened his mouth.

“I think music is a tool for expressing emotions. When a composer first presents his music, we each condense it into the form we want and store it in our memories.”

Upon hearing those words, exclamations of admiration could be heard from all over the place.

That one sentence just now described these two novels so well.

***

The joint review meeting for the ‘Writing 1’ class continued.

At the end of the joint review of my two novels, which had progressed almost as one, I felt a surge of elation welling up in my chest.

It was because my novel was recognized by them, but at the same time, it was because I had the opportunity to talk about novels that had interpreted the subject of ‘music’ in a completely different way than I had.

John Smith’s ‘Journey to Rock’.

Rebecca Wong’s ‘Confessions of a Jazz Artist’.

Clark Garrett’s ‘To My Deaf One’.

All three were good works. Reviews may vary, but that’s how I felt about them.

And among them, the one that received the second highest rating after mine was Rebecca Wong’s work.

‘Confessions of a Jazz Artist’.

A work containing the thoughts of a jazz artist who, in his later years, confessed that his music was not actually created with as much inspiration as the world had thought.

As I read the novel, which is mostly made up of monologues and flashbacks, I felt as if I was actually present at the interview.

I rated this novel as ‘correct’.

Each sentence was delicate, and the scene transitions and details felt here and there were also excellent. If it had been polished well, it would not be an exaggeration to say that it was a work written by a mature professional writer.

But at the same time, the use of ‘material’ was a bit disappointing.

Rather than focusing on ‘music’, it focuses on the materials that come along with it.

The story of a jazz artist who had easily reached a realm that no one could reach with blood and effort, but who began to become addicted to drugs when he began to feel that the recognition and money of others were meaningless.

It definitely felt like it was written with a bit more emphasis on ‘talent’ than ‘music’.

The song that made good use of the material of music was Clark Garrett’s ‘To My Deaf One’.

A work explaining what music is to a hearing-impaired younger sister.

I thought that the author did a good job of expressing what he thinks music is in a short story. It was a novel that explained in a way that allowed us to fully understand what kind of emotions the art created through beats and pitches of sound evokes in people.

‘But overall, it feels pretty okay.’

Although everyone can agree and say, “Yeah, yeah. That’s what music is,” it can be a bit boring because the author fails to provide a more detailed argument.

In the realm of such ‘quirkiness’, John Smith’s ‘Journey to Rock’ certainly does it well, even if it is absurd.

The twist that ‘Rock’ is not ‘rock’ but ‘music’ was actually noticed from the beginning of the novel. However, even though the shock of encountering the twist was less, honestly, the imagination of carving a rock to make drums and guitars and playing them with spirit made me laugh and admire them.

And John Smith said, “That’s music.”

The power to move people through the pleasure of sound, passed down from ancient times.

In the work, he asserts that ‘music’ is a force that unites people and is the driving force that has enabled mankind to develop to this extent. He expressed this through unique devices such as ‘rock drums’ and ‘rock guitars’. It was as if a slightly manic metal band like ‘Tenacious D’ that would come out in the future would borrow it as a ‘setting’.

As a result, students strongly criticized this absurd novel, but I, on the contrary, praised it greatly. It was because I felt that it had a genre novel-like flavor for some reason.

And after reading the novels selected this time, I felt like I could naturally understand why Edward MacMillan composed his reviews in this way.

Each work had its own charm and distinct shortcomings. I only heard praise, but apart from that, I didn’t think there were any parts of the work that needed to be revised.

‘I was going to write two, so I feel like I wrote them in a hurry.’

I think that the message was more powerful when the two works were viewed as one, but if that hadn’t been the case, it would have been less powerful than it is now.

Looking back on it, I reflected.

‘From now on, I think it would be better to focus on just one work.’

But somehow, through today’s class, I think I learned why there is a group called the Creative Writing Department.

I felt like my horizons were broadening as I read articles on the same subject from different perspectives.

“good······.”

After class ended like that, I started the car and smiled.

During the first semester, I had trouble adjusting to school, so I thought I would just take regular classes, but as I thought about the thoughts that came to my mind while taking classes, I realized that I couldn’t just sit still.

‘Besides, the school is also actively encouraging it.’

Surprisingly, the school did not impose any restrictions on auditing.

As long as I told the professor, there were no restrictions on taking other classes, and I gathered information from the department office after class and decided on a few classes that I wanted to audit.

It was physics and sociology classes that helped me write the novel I would write in the future.

‘Of course, I don’t think you’ll be able to understand that class 100%.’

But shouldn’t we at least hear it?

I headed to another college on the other side of the school, smiling with anticipation.

***

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles.

Alexa Flair was shaking like an aspen leaf as she sat on a chair in the waiting room that could hold about a hundred people.

‘Oh, oh, oh, what should I do?’

I finally made it this far.

This is the audition scene for ‘About T: Drama’.

Even though it was a place to select supporting actors, many aspiring actors gathered. In this industry, just getting your face on the screen once is enough to make a career out of it.

And today, hundreds of people gathered to fight for this spot. That meant there were other waiting rooms besides this one. Still, it was quiet without any commotion, and the only noise was the occasional name being called and someone going out, which made me even more nervous.

Alexa, who had been a cheerleader captain and had competed in national competitions and never trembled in front of anyone at school, was different now.

This was society and at the same time, it was a scene. It was natural for her to be nervous as she was encountering this situation for the first time.

In addition, everyone around her was tall, so Alexa couldn’t help but feel even more intimidated. Her skin was also a very healthy tan, and no matter how much she got sunburned, she still had a pale complexion, so it was bound to be depressing for Alexa.

Not only that, but I was separated from my colleagues(?) who came with me and was assigned to a different waiting room by myself.

‘What the hell is going on, sir!’

While she was so nervous, her name was called. Alexa tried to calm herself down by thinking about the acting practice she had had over the past few weeks.

After leaving the waiting room, she stood in the long hallway line again, trying to concentrate while remembering what was required for the audition.

Facial acting, gesture acting, and free acting.

Each of these three will be presented for 20 seconds.

It was a short audition, only about 1 minute and 30 seconds long, including the greetings before and after.

It was like a scene where people were being carried on a conveyor belt. The waiting line slowly decreased, and the expressions of those who auditioned first and came back were all close to the worst. It couldn’t be otherwise. They practiced countless times for this audition, but the time to show it was extremely short.

But that was the ‘entertainment world’.

Unless you were exceptionally talented, had connections, or were already well-known, everyone here was treated like livestock.

And Alexa, who jumped into the scene herself, ran inside as soon as her name was called and greeted people as she had learned.

“Hello! This is Alexa Pollair, number 91!”

And then I made a mistake right away.

From that moment on, Alexa became even more nervous and started sweating coldly on her temples.

“Oh, okay······.”

Jeremy Thompson, a producer at California Pictures, who was watching her absentmindedly from across the room, thought:

‘You have white skin.’

It would be perfect if she appeared as a nerdy girl character who borrows books from Alice at the library.

······As such, the reason Alexa was selected from this audition was not because of her skills, connections, or fame.

It was because of her white skin, which she considered a complex.

In other words, it’s just luck.

In a sense, this could be said to be a point suggesting the vanity of art.

End

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