Became an American Retro Novelist - Chapter 186



Only Noblemtl

186.

“······Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I guess I should say it’s too bland.”

Kate Moore, pushing up her glasses, began to speak slowly.

“I was wondering why the main character’s environment and the rural environment he moved to were described over two pages.”

“that······.”

“······Well, I think it was probably a scene intended to emphasize the protagonist’s situation and the contrast between the city and the countryside, the psychological alienation the male protagonist feels there, and the contrast between the boy and the girl later on.”

Sadly, in the review, the author becomes ‘absolutely’.

Since anything you say is an excuse unless you say it in your work, I explained my intentions on Rebecca’s behalf.

And when Kate Moore heard that, she tilted her head with a “Wow” expression (she almost hit me) and said,

“I get that, but it wasn’t very fun.”

Why don’t you just put a gun to Rebecca’s temple and pull the trigger?

“Usually in genres, the scene where the male and female protagonists meet comes out quickly, right? And it’s very dramatic and romantic. In ‘About T,’ the scene where Tony and Alice meet comes out quickly, and in ‘The Love of the Vampire Count,’ the story begins with the female protagonist entering the Count’s castle as a maid and meeting him. I really liked the scene in the beginning where the Count’s appearance is described in detail.”

······Kate. You’ve read a lot of novels without me knowing.

“The Love of the Vampire Count? I haven’t read it, so I’m asking, but why do you start by describing his appearance? Is it perhaps an important part of the novel? Does the Count’s appearance serve as some kind of foreshadowing for his future appearance, or does the character suffer from some kind of pain due to his inferiority complex about his appearance?”

“? He’s handsome.”

“?”

“?”

There was no conversation at all.

Kate Moore, who talks about the genre purely from the reader’s perspective, and Rebecca Wong, who tried to interpret the genre very seriously but unfortunately ended up making completely wrong moves.

Between two people who don’t easily have a point of intersection, I carefully sorted out the situation.

“So, Kate just thought that part was cool.”

“Yeah, that was cool. A vampire count. I wonder what’s going to happen. I was excited.”

“I······don’t quite understand.”

Rebecca said with her eyes wide open.

“Every scene and character in a novel should contain the writer’s consciousness. And I thought of romance as ‘understanding.’ It’s understanding each other. That’s why I tried to present two contrasting beings and give them a process of understanding each other.”

“Yeah. I definitely understand that part.”

“So, what?”

“The problem is that it wasn’t fun.”

“······Ho, could you explain the details of the Vampire Count?”

“Huh? Suddenly?”

“Sorry. I need to ask you. I want to compare it with my novel.”

“To summarize briefly, the main character, who entered as a maid, finds out the count’s secret. That is······.”

“as soon as?”

“It’s true that you suck blood!”

“It’s in the title?!”

“Because the maid didn’t know.”

“Just because the maid didn’t know doesn’t mean the reader doesn’t know······? So, anyway, what happens then?”

“The Count doesn’t touch the maid. The maid doesn’t understand why the Count, who sucks the blood of other women without hesitation and kills them brutally, can’t do the same to her. And in the latter half, the truth is revealed… Oh, is it okay if I spoil this?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

“There was a connection between the two of you from a past life!”

“············suddenly?”

“It’s not like it happened all of a sudden! There are foreshadowings here and there! Like the Count calling the protagonist by a different name, or sometimes asking, ‘Don’t you miss the old days?’······!”

Wow. They miss the old days too.

“The protagonist, who recalled her memories, fell into confusion! Before she knew it, she had fallen in love with the Count, but······.”

“Why do you love me?”

“Because I act weak in front of you. But you’re handsome.”

“Well, is that all?”

“If you read the novel yourself, you will never think that way.”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll buy it and read it later.”

“I really hope so. I think I couldn’t sleep for a day or two after reading this novel.”

“Oh, I see.”

Kate Moore, standing next to Rebecca, who is tilting her head but diligently writing something down, begins to give a long speech about what she thinks the romance genre is.

I watched the scene from the side and thought quietly.

‘Kate Moore, WIN. Perfect.’

Ding, ding, ding.

***

The long-running debate ended with Kate Moore’s complete victory.

Rebecca broke the rules of critique from the middle, conveying her intentions in the work and asking various questions to check the other person’s understanding.

During all that conversation, Kate kept telling me her thoughts right up until the end: Rebecca Wong’s first genre novel, In the Woods, was boring, very boring, and just plain boring.

······I don’t know how many times I’ve said the same thing just by changing the modifiers.

However, Rebecca, as expected from the coolest intellectual in Stanford Creative Writing, seemed to take the criticism with a grain of salt. Her mentality did not break down even in the face of harsh criticism, and she simply expressed her desire to mix it up and write her next novel.

I looked at Rebecca walking beside me and opened my mouth slightly.

“Rebecca.”

“Yeah, God.”

After parting ways with Kate, we were moving together to attend our next class.

Since the classroom was nearby, we decided to walk there together.

“Are you okay? I wonder if you’ve been criticized too harshly from the beginning.”

“I expected this much. This is my first time writing in this genre, and I originally specialized in poetry.”

“······But why did you start writing genre novels?”

“Oh my, you’re asking that now. I’m surprised.”

Rebecca smiles like a feline after hunting a gazelle.

“While watching ‘Country of Losers,’ I was a little curious about what genre it was, what it was that was so popular and people liked it. I wanted to know why. Right? Novels are a dying content. They’re being pushed back by new cultural industries like movies, television, and comics.”

But genre fiction is not like that. It still serves as inspiration and source material for countless movies, comics, and television shows.

It seems that he started reading more diverse genre novels and even writing his own because he was curious about what value there was in the field that was expanding in that way.

Besides, the novel I recommended suited my taste.

“I really enjoyed ‘The Talented Ripley.’”

“That’s great. Should I recommend it again?”

“Um, can you list them slowly? I think I should start with ‘The Love of the Vampire Count’.”

“Yes. I hope that novel will be a great inspiration to you.”

“······Is it okay? A vampire count? A past life? I don’t know what’s going on. Oh, God. Where did all that come from? Like magic, or something like that······ It’s an explanation that only appears in genre novels. Do you know?”

“It’s like a rule of a genre that has continued for a long time.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“Rather than learning it, it’s more like naturally learning it while reading similar works. The details are different for each novel, so it’s considered one of the fun things about reading the works. Well, in the case of magic, if you trace its origins back to alchemy books from the Middle Ages. You could say that it has a long history.”

“A vampire or a reincarnation?”

“Vampires are probably a legend······ No, you probably know about their past life.”

“Well, my father said that if you commit a sin and die, your tongue will grow long in hell and cows will farm on it.”

Wow, that’s a harsh punishment.

“Is romance like that too?”

“Well, Harlequin did lay out the general tone.”

“harlequin?”

“A Canadian genre fiction publisher.”

Harlequin is the name of a publishing company, founded in 1949.

At the time, it had a humble beginning as a publishing company specializing in reissues, but it soon grew significantly after accurately identifying the needs of the female reader market.

By now, even those who don’t know much about genre fiction would have heard of the term “Harlequin Romance.” It was as if the brand had become a common noun, like “slime,” “elevator,” or “sharp.”

“Harlequin Romance······. What is the difference between that novel and mine?”

“Do you want to hear the answer? Or do you want to find out for yourself?”

“I want to find it myself. But I need a hint.”

“Then I guess this is appropriate. Genre is not what people read when they write something.”

“then······?”

“Think about the rest.”

“hmm.”

Rebecca Wong in distress.

As she neared the classroom, she muttered something to herself, blah blah.

“Was the age of the two main characters a problem? Was the romantic situation a problem? But it definitely goes as far as Chu-. It was a device to show that the two are ultimately animals belonging to nature. But Kate said that it didn’t really hit home. What’s the problem? What on earth is… Ako!”

Then, Rebecca Wong, who was walking slowly, bumped her nose into a streetlight.

······This kid shouted, ‘Ako!’ It was a surprisingly cute sound, unlike usual.

Oh, no. That’s not it.

If I had known, I would have stopped him, but he was mumbling to himself and tripping so much that I couldn’t even look around because I was watching him from the side.

“Ugh, ugh······.”

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Um, it’s okay. It hurts a little, though.”

Rebecca stands up, wiping her nose.

Red blood flowed down.

“······.”

“······.”

“Hey, guys.”

Just then, a tall man suddenly jumps out from behind us.

John Smith was the only extrovert among the first-year creative writing students at Stanford University.

“······.”

And then the guy who found Rebecca flustered and bleeding from the nose tried to pass us by with a cowardly, nonchalant expression on his face.

I grabbed the guy by the back of his neck, stopped him in his tracks, and shouted.

“Do you have any tissues?!”

“Oh, there isn’t any.”

“Bring it! Quickly!”

John, who heard me say this, ran to the building right in front of him and came back.

In the meantime, I calmed down Rebecca, who was about to panic, and after a while, the tissue that John had brought was placed in her hand. I saw her not being able to wipe properly, probably because there was no mirror, and I said this to her.

“Just stop the bleeding and go to the bathroom first. I think you need to wash yourself thoroughly with water.”

“Oh, I see. Are you okay now?”

“First of all, I don’t see any bloodstains.”

“Whew······. What is this?”

She sighed and quickly greeted John.

“Thank you, John. I was a little embarrassed.”

“Don’t mention it. How did this happen?”

“We stopped talking about genre fiction.”

“Oh, right! That’s right. God, I wanted to tell you something.”

“······What is it?”

“Here it is.”

John rummaged through something in his bag and then suddenly took it out and held it out to me.

It was a pile of paper that, no matter how you looked at it, looked like nothing more than a novel manuscript.

“I want to join that pulp fiction club too.”

“······huh?”

When did we become a club?

***

While he was working on the revisions to ‘Country of Losers’, Simon remembered that he had a meeting with Archibald Piper when Miss Brown mentioned that she had an outside schedule.

That left him rushing out of the office late at night, and Simon took a taxi to Beverly Hills, arguably the wealthiest town in California.

Simon usually took the bus more often than a taxi, and the subway more often than a bus, but the time crunch and the word ‘company money’ that Miss Brown had suggested slightly paralyzed his sense of money.

‘Besides, I think I’ll drink a lot today.’

It was exactly a week ago that I had told Archibald that I was interested in entrusting him with the distribution business of Part 1, and he had replied that he would bring in an outside person and that we could discuss the terms of the contract.

As the business progressed steadily, Simon promised himself not to be swayed by the advice of God, but to calmly assess the situation and make judgments.

But once we arrived in Beverly Hills, that idea was a little bit cracked.

‘What kind of neighborhood is this?’

My eyes were dazzled by all the dazzling buildings.

Beverly Hills, which is also used as a tourist destination due to its wealthy nature, is full of amazing stores that Simon would not normally be able to visit. Despite it being night, the lights were flashing here and there, making it feel like daytime. Simon felt a little nervous as he entered the store.

Bar BBB.

‘what?’

Simon, who was wondering why the name was like that, immediately realized what one of the B’s meant when he saw two women standing inside the store preparing to open the door.

It was Bunny.

“Welcome. Are you alone?”

“I think the reservation is made under Archibald Pfeiffer’s name······.”

“Ms. Piper! You’re a group! I’ll help you guide them!”

The interior of the store I entered that way seemed to be a mixture of vulgarity and elegance.

With Bunny Girls milling around everywhere, Simon was led to a private room inside, where he found Archibald Piper standing in front of it, smoking a cigarette.

His neat and cold impression seemed completely out of place in this place, and looking at his face, Simon quickly realized why it was like this.

‘It’s the other person’s taste.’

What kind of great person must he be to do something like that?

Simon approached her with that thought and spoke lightly.

“Mr. Piper.”

“Ah, Mr. Carver. You’re here.”

“Yes. Oh······ It’s a great place.”

“It’s a matter of personal taste. Don’t worry about it. Just think of it as meat wandering around.”

A remark so cold that it seems to freeze the surroundings.

Simon was momentarily dumbfounded, but when Archibald told him not to feel pressured and to have a light business conversation, he took a deep breath, came to his senses, and went inside with them.

In the private room, two men dressed in suits were sitting.

“Ah, you’re finally here.”

One side was a balding middle-aged man, the other a tall man with a gentle expression.

“Nice to meet you. Hardboiled publisher······.”

“This is Simon Carver.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Jeff Robinson from Noir Publishing. This is······.”

“nice to meet you.”

A gentle-looking man standing next to the balding man extended his hand.

“This is Henry Smith of Noir Publishers.”

My first encounter with a noir publisher I had only heard about.

Simon felt saliva trickle down his throat.