Became an American Retro Novelist - Chapter 181



Only Noblemtl

181.

It felt like this.

It felt like someone was tying me up to a bed and feeding me strawberry-topped shortcake.

When you first eat it, it tastes good and you feel good, but the combination of sugar and fat that rises rapidly quickly makes you feel pain.

The problem was that the shortcake kept coming into my mouth without stopping.

And so the two-hour meeting came to an end.

‘I feel like my stomach is churning.’

There were probably one or two negative points that could have been mentioned, but that didn’t happen. Everyone praised ‘Country of Losers’ so much that their mouths were watering, and while listening to them, I thought that if my classmates came to me after class and asked for advertising money(?), I would give it to them without complaint.

Fortunately, that didn’t happen.

······Instead, a signing event was held.

It started when John Smith, who was sitting next to me, approached me as if he had been waiting for class to end.

“Hey, God! Can I have your autograph?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

I had to cut out my emotions and speak out.

Because if I didn’t, I thought I wouldn’t be able to bear it because it was too embarrassing.

Starting with John, students from all over gathered around me. And strangely, they all interpreted my silent attitude in their own way.

“As expected, he’s a popular current author! When I asked him for his autograph, he responded as if it was natural······!”

“How many places do you get asked for autographs?”

“That’s cool. Can I get your autograph too?”

“······.”

Guys. I’m in the same school and grade as you. This is burdensome.

I suppressed the urge to say that and continued to sign books that my classmates handed me, and finally I looked up at the last person standing in front of me.

It was Rebecca Wong.

“I read the book well.”

Instead of asking for an autograph, she just greets me briefly.

“I understand what you said a little bit.”

“Thank you. But what do you mean by what I said?”

“Don’t you remember when I said I’d like your new work?”

“Oh, that. Me.”

“It wasn’t easy to admit, but it was really good. So there’s one thing I wanted to ask you.”

“huh.”

“Is this a genre novel?”

“······Is that such an important issue?”

“For me. I hardly ever read genre fiction.”

“Well, can you give me some recommendations?”

“I would appreciate it if you would do that.”

Rebecca’s eyes light up for a moment.

In front of him, I answered without thinking much.

“How about ‘The Talented Mr. Ripley’? Or ‘Jane Eyre’?”

“I know about Jane Eyre, but you classify it as a genre novel?”

“It’s a really great romance novel.”

When I answered with a smile, Rebecca tilted her head.

“Well, I think Jane Eyre is a great piece of literature that has great historical value and also gives us a glimpse into the thoughts of people of that time.”

“Are you saying that if there are such elements, it can’t be a genre?”

“······hmm.”

“Then how about this? The ‘Detective Lamb’ series. It’s a detective novel set just after World War II. Wouldn’t these works have historical value in the future? The same goes for ‘The Talented Ripley.’”

“What about that novel?”

“I would like you to read it and judge for yourself.”

While we were talking, I suddenly felt a sense of Busan-like atmosphere and looked around.

“Jane, Air······.”

“Talented······Ripley.”

I saw students writing down what I said in their notebooks as if it were some kind of school assignment.

I’m going crazy.

***

Rebecca Wong cited her ability to take action as one of her greatest strengths.

As soon as all classes were over for the day, she went out of school to buy the novel recommended by God.

Then I stopped by a bookstore and asked the staff if they had ‘The Talented Ripley’, and when they said they did, I bought it without any hesitation. Then I went out and read the introduction written on the back of the book.

”The Talented Mr. Ripley” is a crime novel written by American crime novelist, Patricia Highsmith in 1955. The main character, Tom Ripley’s psychological changes and subsequent criminal acts… Oh, I guess it can be considered a mystery novel?’

Jane Eyre was also recommended, so I thought about buying it as well, but I already had the book at home and had read it before, so I didn’t bother buying it.

Instead, she spent the whole way back to her dormitory thinking about the content of Jane Eyre and relating it to the properties of the “genre” God had spoken of.

‘Jane Eyre’ is a novel written by British novelist Charlotte Brontë under the pen name ‘Currer Bell’, and is a work that deals with the passionate life of the main character, Jane.

As a being who struggles with life, Jane encounters many problems, but she perseveres and grows through her struggles between herself and the world.

Especially when she read the sentence at the end of the book, “Readers, I married him,” Rebecca, as a child, felt an indescribable joy. As I read the novel, I remembered being moved by the thought that Jane, who had always wanted to be free, had achieved her dream.

‘Hmm.’

As I thought about it that way, many other thoughts began to spread out.

Why did God describe ‘Jane Eyre’ as a great ‘genre literature’?

It is clear that ‘love’ is treated as an important element in the work······ Is it because of that element that it is called a genre?

In search of answers, Rebecca returned to her dorm room, sat down with the sandwich she had bought for dinner, and began reading The Talented Mr. Ripley.

The work was much more interesting than I expected.

The whole process of how the character ‘Tom Ripley’ got involved in crime and how he dealt with it afterwards captured Rebecca’s heart.

The process of understanding a character whose heart was sorely lacking was a great joy, and before I knew it, a whole day had passed while I was reading absentmindedly.

“Phew.”

It was just past midnight.

Rebecca was troubled as she put down ‘the talented Ripley’ in front of her.

‘I can’t come to a conclusion.’

What is the difference between genre literature and pure literature?

‘The Talented Mr. Ripley’ was a good novel that gave us a glimpse into the mood in Italy and other parts of Europe right after World War II, namely, how they treated Americans. In the Cold War atmosphere and the poverty caused by defeat, they had no choice but to please the Americans.

Such details further highlighted the personality of the protagonist, Tom Ripley, who pursues wealth and power.

A ‘liar’ from birth, he faced the threats coming towards him by perfectly acting out other people’s lives.

As Rebecca read the novel, she couldn’t help but be amazed by the profound message it contained.

So, I couldn’t help but doubt myself even more up until now.

As if I were a citizen who found out about the existence of ‘The Book’.

‘All the knowledge I have, in the end, I learned from others.’

It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps the philosophy and reason I thought were mine might not actually be so.

‘I understand why God told me to read ‘Country of Losers.’

First of all, I realized what God meant.

I felt embarrassed.

I realized that I was truly narrow-minded in thinking that genre literature was inferior to pure literature.

I also realized how petty and arrogant the question I had asked God was, ‘Why can you write a deep novel but not ‘About T’?’

That’s why I wanted to know more.

“Phew.”

Rebecca glanced around and called out to her roommate, who was still awake and sitting at her desk.

“Sarah.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Do you have any genre fiction?”

“······hmm.”

“I’d like to read it, can you lend me some?”

Sarah’s head shook slightly on her hunched shoulders.

She was a white girl from Louisiana with a timid temper, and she felt a strong affinity for Alice from ‘About T’. So she couldn’t help but be a little scared of Rebecca, who was always and everywhere strict about what she wanted to say.

······This was a fact that Rebecca herself was completely unaware of.

“Uh, um. Which one would you like? ‘About T’?”

“I’ve read all of that. Anything else?”

“I, I don’t have much either······.”

She was leafing through the narrow bookshelf on her desk when she took out a book.

“How about this?”

Volume 1 of the single-volume edition of ‘Defiest Dungeon’ written by author ‘V’.

I bought this book because I liked the picture of a cloaked man standing in front of a sinister cave.

Rebecca’s eyes lit up as she accepted it.

“thank you.”

“Oh, no. Have fun~.”

“When you have time this weekend, do you want to go buy some genre novels together?”

“Is that so?”

Sarah is weak-hearted and cannot even refuse, so she accepts right away.

“Okay. Let’s watch a movie together after we’re done.”

On the other hand, Rebecca, who had developed an interest in genre literature, nodded confidently.

***

There is one chronic disease that I think writers have.

It was the fact that once you get ‘inspired’ you can’t stop.

Some writers find this ‘inspiration’ on their own, some find it through their own routine, some are never-ending, and some are somehow able to obtain it through writing.

I was obviously the second one.

And sometimes it would be the fourth case, usually when I got a lot of thoughts.

How should I structure this manuscript? Where should I start?

It felt like every single thought was floating in my head. And this state was created only when I was constantly thinking about writing and concretizing it.

There are so many things I want to write about, but they are floating around in my head and I am hesitating to put them down.

So it was a bit difficult.

Yet one of the reasons I love writing so much is because the moment of liberation that comes after all that hard work is so sweet.

At that time, I felt an incredible concentration, as if I was a first-class athlete entering the ‘ZONE’. It was to the point where I couldn’t tell if I was the novel or if the novel was me.

A week passed and I finished a 25,000-word manuscript.

The working title is ‘Country of losers: Part 2’.

‘I’m so tired I could die.’

In the early morning, feeling both liberated and exhausted, I slumped into my chair.

I still used a typewriter before I moved on to a word processor or a personal computer like the ‘APPLE II’.

I was so used to the typewriter that I didn’t feel much discomfort, and also because I thought the ‘Hard-Boiled Nine Thousand’ had a special meaning to me.

A heavy black mechanism with the signature ‘RT Chandler’ stamped on the side of the body.

Given the times, it could never be the typewriter of the famous writer Raymond Chandler, but I thought that because of the meaning of the name ‘hard-boiled’, I wanted to use it for as long as possible.

That is, until I wrote about 23,000 words.

Around that time, the ‘Z’ key suddenly broke.

I wanted to take it apart and check, but ‘Z’ is not a frequently used alphabet, and I was worried that my intense concentration would waver, so I just wrote it as is.

After going to class and investing all my remaining time, I managed to complete the manuscript with this guy who seemed to have lost one of his fingers while fighting in repeated wars.

‘Thank you for your hard work.’

I smiled as I patted my precious comrade who had finished the fight with an uncomfortable body.

Where can I get it repaired? While thinking that, I tapped the manuscript, which was densely written, on the desk and organized it, when John Smith, who had been sleeping without even snoring, woke up.

“Ugh······.”

“Are you awake?”

“Uh, uh······. Did you wake up at night?”

“It just so happened.”

“Isn’t it the fourth day?”

“Exactly three days. Weren’t you uncomfortable sleeping?”

“I’m fine. Rather, the sound of the typewriter is somewhat regular, so it’s comfortable······.”

The guy yawned deeply, got up from his seat, grabbed his toiletries, and went out of the room.

I was reorganizing the manuscript to check the order before going to class to fax it to Simon, and as I was doing that, John Smith, who had just returned from washing up, thrust something in my direction.

“here.”

“huh?”

It was canned coffee.

“Thank you for letting me sleep well. Please take care of me next time too.”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“Huh, why?”

“I think it’s broken.”

“Typewriter? When?”

“Roughly, I think it was when I just started writing.”

“······But you kept using it?”

“It wasn’t that hard because the broken thing was ‘Z’.”

If a key like A, E, or I had been broken, I would have been completely unable to use it, but since it was Z, I could at least use it by thinking of a replacement word.

After hearing that explanation, John blinked his big eyes and continued speaking.

“You’re really amazing. You know a lot of words.”

I felt like I was being amazed in a strange place.

Anyway, I drank the canned coffee I was given in one gulp, finished organizing my manuscript, and since we were in the same class anyway, I left the dormitory with John.

The weather was still clear today.

I started the car half-asleep, basking in the caffeine and bright sunlight.

“Are you okay with driving?”

“It’s okay. There aren’t many cars driving around here.”

After going to the administration office of the College of Arts and Sciences to send a fax, I went back to attend my first class, German. I started to feel sleepy as I was almost there, and I was barely able to come to my senses.

As I entered the circular lecture room, I greeted my classmates who had arrived earlier.

“God, you’re here?”

“good morning!”

“hi.”

It was a moment when everyone came to greet me first, smiled faintly, and returned the favor one by one.

I caught a glimpse of someone standing up nearby.

‘Rebecca?’

She took a notebook out of her bag, approached me briskly as if she had been waiting for me to come, and started talking to me out of the blue.

“Wait a minute, can I talk to you?”

The area under my eyes is dark.

Are you having trouble sleeping like me?

“What is the reason for this?”

“I would like you to evaluate the novel.”

“······huh?”

I couldn’t help but open my eyes wide at the sudden story.