Novelist Running Through Time - Chapter 194



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The Novelist Who Leapt Through Time Episode 194

Before we knew it, the sunset was setting between the buildings, and the ultramarine blue of the night was slowly coloring the sky.

However, the lighting in the fast food restaurant did not reach all corners, so the surroundings were dark.

Following the grammar of light mastered by film director So Tae-woong, darkness creates mystery.

Ahn Joo-hee, a woman who is easily influenced by an atmosphere (although she would not admit it even if she died), looked at the writer, intoxicated by his mystery.

I raised my glasses and asked a question to get something more valuable out of the mind of the genius boy whom the whole world was paying attention to.

“If Minha is you and the baby is literature from your past… Does this mean that to you, the literature of your past was like an abortion baby with a crushed face?”

“yes.”

“… !”

Ahn Joo-hee’s literary synesthesia, which is outstanding enough to offset her personality flaws, vividly conveyed to Ahn that she was delving step by step into the literary world of current writers.

And that brought great joy to Ahn Joo-hee, as much as she loved literature.

Ahn Joo-hee continued asking questions, unaware that her voice was trembling slightly due to the excitement.

“why?”

“Because I beat up a child who was beaten and crushed without even being able to raise him well.”

EP 11 – All kinds of things

The pleasure Ahn Joo-hee felt through this conversation was quite perverted.

Although it is not sexual pleasure, it is so shady that the average person cannot understand it.

To know this pleasure, we must understand Ahn Joo-hee’s aesthetics.

Since ancient times, humans have longed for cruelty and decisiveness that they cannot freely commit.

It is violent.

So, a warrior who tore people alive became a chief, Alexander the Great, who jumped into a shower of arrows, gained immortal fame, sorcerers smeared blood on their faces, and until the modern era, group fights willing to kill were the world’s worst. Everywhere, it was carried out in the form of tradition and play.

It may seem a bit like a fool, but the beauty of this grotesqueness is recognized by famous novelist Koo Hak-jun.

However, in modern times, such violence and violent culture have been completely castrated under the administrative power of a powerful state organization.

Therefore, the greatest violence that modern people can demonstrate for the sake of showing off is, at best, smoking, tattooing, and playing games.

If you were born in Harlem, Detroit, you might consider driving a stolen car and randomly shooting people on the streets.

However, Ahn Joo-hee has outstanding political and social intelligence, having served as student council president twice.

Therefore, it was recognized that if you moved around with a gang and got a tattoo, you would end up in the lower class, not the upper class, in modern social categories.

And that is a direction that cannot satisfy Ahn Joo-hee’s dark ego, which wants to become superior.

So Ahn Joo-hee found a way to express her violence more beautifully, and that was literature.

Under the category of literature, forbidden things can be discussed. Sex, adultery, murder, war, stabbing, assault, dead bodies, suicide, abortion, etc… .

Even topics that are so uncomfortable that they cannot be brought up in everyday conversation can be touched upon within the scope of literature.

The more explicitly, crudely, and passionately it is said, the more artistic it is evaluated.

That was the aesthetics of violence that An Joo-hee chose instead of Iljin Play.

Therefore, Ahn Joo-hee felt a sense of joy as if she had become special whenever arguments such as ‘an abortion child with a crushed face’ or ‘a child who was beaten to death’ came up in a conversation among first-year high school students.

What reindeer in the world could say such explicit and violent conversation?

While the idiots who are addicted to idols are complaining and muttering about how their school lunches are so damn delicious, Ahn Joo-hee is sitting face to face with the writer and talking about ‘adult’ literature.

That’s really… .

It’s the best feeling.

And what felt even better than that was that the desire that had been hidden deep in his heart all his life, sometimes so secret that he was not even aware of it, was coming out from the writer’s mouth.

“okay… My literature was like a crushed abortion. Literature that had been beaten and crushed by the world came out raw, without any care, consideration, or refinement. Without the long period of growth that literature should have. “Dead.”

“ha… ha… .”

“But people saw it and liked it. Because it’s raw pain. Because a child writes something like that. I don’t even know what beauty there is in my literature, but they sympathized with the darkness and violence of this society contained in my writing and gave me the first prize. Then they too become good people who take care of the darkness in society… .”

Ahn Joo-hee was immersed in the conversation with the writer, feeling as if her ego as a student of literature was completely satisfied.

However, he was not a writer.

There is a wall called ‘time’ between the two.

What Joo-hee Ahn thinks of as ‘old literature of writers’ and what writers think of as ‘old literature of writers’ are completely different.

And the old literature of writers that writers know, that is, the literature they wrote during their adolescence while being beaten in school dormitories, the early studies that have disappeared into the minds of countless reviewers across the country.

Such ‘immature writers’ have disappeared beyond time.

The current writer is a mature writer who grew up with Gu Yuna.

When everyone looks at a writer like that and applauds him for his ‘maturity that is not typical of a rookie,’ it’s as if the writer can’t smile comfortably and instead smiles in a somewhat pathetic and self-mocking way.

The writer couldn’t help but smile like that when he saw An Joo-hee.

Ahn Joo-hee does not know and cannot know who the real writer is.

Therefore, the writer was now carrying on a monologue rather than a conversation.

“This is very shameful.”

Since humans can be most honest with themselves, the writer’s monologue was quite honest.

“Ahn Joo-hee, as you always say, perhaps this is incomparably more shameful than the success of receiving undeserved attention thanks to one’s young age.”

“what? Like a crushed abortion baby… Violent literature?”

“okay.”

The writer quenched his dry throat with a sip of cola.

Even though the sweet sugar water hit my tongue, my appetite was still bitter.

The bitter story continued.

“To put it bluntly, Ahn Joo-hee, no matter what you do, you can’t write a story more ‘dark’ than mine.”

“What does that mean? Because of talent?”

“no. It’s because of experience. “Do you, who has both parents, know more about the sorrow of not having parents than I do?”

“ah.”

Ahn Joo-hee stiffened.

The writer pushed Ahn Joo-hee as if he were whipping her.

“Can you immediately recall the story of a girl who was forced out of her adopted home after being sexually assaulted, but went into selling her body because of poverty and was murdered by a customer?”

“… … no.”

“I guess so. I can do that. To me, it’s not fiction. Her name is Moon Ha-young. He was a senior who left the orphanage seven years ago, and the teacher and older brothers and sisters who were close to him still visit the funeral home every year. “Director Moon Chung-jae has not used the name ‘Hayoung’ since then.”

“… … .”

“It’s like that. Although I didn’t experience everything directly, I was born at the bottom of this society. I was beaten up for not having a mother, I was discriminated against by teachers at school, the middle school students selling drugs were not in the news, they were friends of friends, the guy who was bullied and brandished scissors and blinded someone grew up in the same orphanage, not to mention poverty. I have often seen seniors who left orphanages join gangster organizations or enter the entertainment industry, and in the meantime, I have also seen people demonstrating to move to orphanages because of falling housing prices. I also know how to crouch down to avoid pain when being beaten by several people, and I hold back when I am personally attacked. There were a lot of things I had to do… Anyway, I was raised that way since I was young.”

“… … .”

“Truth contains literary quality. Ahn Joo-hee, why can’t you answer me right now? Look at this. Even though you tell the raw truth as it is, it intimidates people. So, how shallow and easy was my literature? Even if I mix my experiences appropriately and mix them into a novel, the judges say, ‘The naked gaze toward the underprivileged… ‘, ‘The darkness of Korean society… “They gave me an award saying, ‘Blah blah.’”

“… … .”

“Now that I think about it, it really can’t be called literature… It was the raw pain of being twisted and beaten. “I received applause for putting kindling on fire like that, so it’s no wonder I became a writer who only knows how to write about pain.”

The writer mocked himself.

“Now I’m receiving that karma. “The past is staring at me.”

“… … .”

Ahn Joo-hee could not bear to comfort the writer who laughed at herself like that.

This was because he did not have the ability to advise anyone who wanted to go beyond his literary world view.

However, even if there were people like Koo Hak-jun and Park Chang-un who were capable of comforting writers, the writers would not have been able to receive comfort from their words.

Because the writer’s suffering was not directed at the ‘literature of violence’ he had written.

The suffering was due to my immature self, who only knew how to use raw violence,

To my companion Gu Yuna, who transformed me into a more proper novelist.

And for making Gu Yuna get hurt twice-

-He was heading towards his unsightly self.

“That’s why I used the Manjong.”

The moment she heard this answer, Ahn Joo-hee finally realized what a novelist was.

Writers did not look at by-products such as money and fame that came from novels.

For this boy, the novel seemed to be an end in itself, even more than that.

Rather, it feels like life is buried in literature… .

That kind of feeling.

“This is about my past… “It’s a long process of facing the truth.”

“… … .”

“In order to move forward, you will eventually have to accept it.”

Really, it felt like my life depended on writing.

Ahn Joo-hee thought that look was somehow cool.

* * *

“The baby doesn’t disappear.”

“The baby that I would have erased from my life will not disappear.”

“I realized that it doesn’t really matter whether this baby is God’s judge or an illusion created by my guilt.”

“At least the baby exists in my world, and its existence weighs on my heart. Even if everyone in the world denies the existence of a baby, at least the baby exists within me.”

“So the baby doesn’t disappear. “Even if you perform a rite, make a donation, find the father, or take medicine according to the doctor’s prescription, the baby will not disappear.”

“Then what should I do?”

* * *

I grabbed the edge of the blanket and played with it for a while.

It’s a small struggle to soothe one’s nervousness.

The voices of children playing in the park and the fluttering wings of pigeons seemed to not bother me, but they pierced my highly sensitive ears.

How long did you have to endure the wait?

The sound of someone’s footsteps entering the park entrance could be clearly heard.

It’s a manger.

Gu Yuna, dressed in the pretty clothes she had seen on the school trip, walked towards me with an expressionless expression.

I quietly stood up before she could get close.

Gu Yuna slowly approached and stopped in front of me.

“Why did you call me?”

I hesitated for a moment, then opened my mouth.

“I have something to apologize for.”

Gu Yuna was silent. I couldn’t read any emotion from Gu Yuna’s expression.

Before I knew it, the Gu Yuna in front of me had already become completely identical to the Gu Yuna in my memories.

Because I couldn’t look straight at it.

Therefore, I had to understand Gu Yuna’s mood through her voice, not her facial expressions.

She was asking me with a slightly trembling voice.

“What are you sorry about?”

“For rejecting your confession like that.”

“How is that like that?”

“The confession you must have made after much thought and hesitation was cut off without even explaining the reason. “So I’m sorry.”

“So will you accept it now?”

“I’m sorry-”

“No, don’t answer.”

“Woof!”

Gu Yuna’s soft palm covered my mouth.