Surviving as a Writer in the British Empire - Surviving as a Writer in the British Empire chapter 36

Zaw(1)

Arthur Conan Doyle, the greatest detective novelist beloved by the British Empire, has had no taste for life lately.

“Damn it, why the hell!! Why does no one know the fun of my historical novels!!”

Even though it was close to a year since he killed Holmes, the madness of the public that harassed him only got worse as it got worse, but never weakened.

Strand Magazine was begging for even a short story, claiming that sales had fallen by one-tenth, and a mysterious document titled ‘Choose whether Holmes should be resurrected or you die’ was flying in every day.

Even the idiot who held Sherlock Holmes’ funeral in front of the house a while ago appeared…

It was no wonder that Arthur Conan Doyle grabbed Strand Magazine’s editor-in-chief, Hulbert Greenhoff Smith, who had come to persuade him today and complained.

“No, you wrote ＜The Exiles＞!? Read some!”

“Uh, um… sir. It’s fun, but…”

“But why!!”

“Honestly, compared to Sherlock, it’s zero.”

“aaa!!”

Because of this, even Arthur Conan Doyle, who had a strong soul and brilliant intellect, had no choice but to suffer the pain of losing his mind every day.

I lost contact with the Royal Society of Literature as well, but to be honest, the town wasn’t very helpful.

The biggest problem is.

“Arthur, it’s noisy, so eat something.”

“mother! Please tell my mother too. Aren’t my writings so interesting!?”

“Arthur.”

Arthur Conan Doyle’s mother, Mrs. Mary Josephine Doyle, looked at her eldest son with pitying eyes and said,

“Then why did you kill Sherlock?”

“Turn it off!!”

Even his mother, who should have been his greatest ally, was not on his side.

In the end, will his ambition to become the 19th century Homer, the author of historical novels that will go down in history, be thwarted!?

“no! I can never do that!!”

The important thing is an unbreakable heart.

No matter what happens, once again, I challenge the historical novel.

And again, to this British Empire, I will show the true nature of ‘literature’, different from trivial bathroom graffiti like mystery novels!

“Hey, Arthur. If you are going to play today, go to the market. The celery is gone.”

“I will go to the Metropolitan Police Department! I have an appointment!”

First, after clearing my head.

Mary Doyle smiled and said, looking at the back of her son, who showed an open expression of pout.

“Anyway, if you can’t be honest.”

really seriously.

Her proud oldest son’s biggest problem was that he couldn’t be honest with himself.

***

It was like running away, but it wasn’t a lie that Arthur had business at Scotland Yard.

Although it is used only in mystery novels such as damn bathroom graffiti, not historical novels, his brilliant intellect was certainly recognized.

And, most annoyingly, not in history, but in rhetoric.

Frankly, I don’t think that’s clearly what a writer of historical fiction is supposed to do… but what can I do, as a decent citizen of London, to help this Arthur Conan Doyle say a word or two for the peace and safety of his fellow citizens, of course. It was a service that could be done.

Of course, it was also an important reason that a small amount of compensation came out.

however.

“Hey, are you sleeping?”

“Uh… Doctor?”

“What are you doing in a place like this? No, it’s been a while!!”

A young Korean man whom I met at a pub the other day and gave me a fresh shock.

Seeing him standing idly by the London Metropolitan Police Department, Arthur Conan Doyle ran to him with a bright red color on his face.

“Oh my God, where have you been? Did it go up into the sky or go down to the ground? Otherwise, I thought I was going back to my home country!!”

“No, I was just in England. Because he is taking care of a servant in Devon.”

“Devon? Is it Devon? Heh heh heh! I see. So I must not have known.”

Speaking of Devon, along with Cornwall, it is a place that forms the tip of the South West of England.

Conan Doyle himself thought of going there someday, but he never went because he was not in a relationship.

If you were in such a small town, it was natural that you couldn’t find it.

“Come to think of it, Devon still has a lot of local smells, right?”

“Ah, it is. The house I am staying in is also quite old. You may not know it well because you are a local aristocrat.”

“Local nobility, an old noble family. And it’s a local land… it’s interesting, it sparks interest.”

From noble mtl dot com

It’s a feeling of joy that I feel after a long time.

Arthur Conan Doyle nodded and murmured.

“A local aristocrat who has accumulated wealth for a long time. In addition, the surrounding farmland is not well developed, so people cannot easily come in and out. The nobles who lived like the kings of a small kingdom in that land, however, could not overcome the trend of the times and only had one descendant left, but in order to take over the legacy, a hidden collateral plotted some kind of secret plan… Mmm! No, no.”

“teacher?”

Is it because you came to the Metropolitan Police Department? He shuddered at the fact that he was again thinking up a mystery story instead of a historical novel.

It shouldn’t be like this.

He made up his mind to write something more literary and that could inspire Londoners’ view of history.

“Sorry, I’m a bit confused because things haven’t worked out at all lately.”

“Oh, that’s fine. It can be.”

“Okay, how have you been? Come to think of it, if you were in Devon, the talk about your hometown would have been lightly talked about, and you wouldn’t have known that either.”

“Is this my hometown?”

When it comes to hometown, are you talking about Joseon? What? Looking at the startled young man’s face, Arthur Conan Doyle felt as if the delusions piled up in his head were being released.

Yes, such a refreshing meeting was the driving force that moved him.

“Yeah, was it last year? What was that, presented by Isabella Bird Bishop at the Royal Geographical Society? I have presented a research proposal for ‘a project to study the country, geography and ethnic characteristics of the Mongolian peoples’. Among them, there was a story about the country you came from, Joseon or Korea.”

“Korea and Joseon are the same thing. Goryeo was a country in that region before Joseon was established.”

“Hmm, then did the Joseon people come from somewhere else and conquer Goryeo? Like the Germanic people conquered Gaul?”

“no. At the end of the Goryeo Dynasty, the royal family made a big mistake. It’s hard to explain at length, but anyway, in the midst of these and other problems, maybe it was the Black Death? Because of that, the people’s sentiment became very violent, and a man who grew up in power in the north… well, a nobleman about the size of a Margrave staged a coup d’état. That’s why the name of the country was changed to Joseon.”

“It’s the Black Death! Interesting.”

Arthur Conan Doyle’s eyes sparkled as if he had found a jewel.

Yes, these historical secrets were the real truth that piqued his interest.

No more pulp fiction printed on poor quality paper!

“The Black Death is a disease that caused great damage in Europe as well. Was the Black Death epidemic in your country? But I heard that country was at the eastern end of the Asian continent? Even though it’s an epidemic that swept Europe, how could it infect Asia?”

“Oh, that’s simple.”

The young man smiled. And Arthur was able to hear a clear answer as if lightning struck in front of his eyes.

“Goryeo was also invaded by the Mongols.”

“aha! Mongolia! That’s right, Mongolia was the largest empire in the world before the British Empire, which came from the far east and ruled over Russia and Eastern Europe in the west and India in the south!”

Go ahead, if so.

Arthur Conan Doyle’s rich imagination was able to quickly stitch together the fragmentary knowledge of 19th century Asia like patchwork.

“Amazing. Then, was it not internal turmoil or external aggression that destroyed the great empire, Mongolia?

ok, very good

With such an attractive subject matter and a fresh perspective, it is possible to write a historical novel that will sound an alarm to the present British Empire, which dominates the largest territory in the same world.

Arthur was delighted like a child and took the young Korean man’s hand and shook it.

“Thank you, young man! You are my wonderful muse! Last time you provided an idea for peace in London, and this time you gave me a great writing!”

“Well, for a man to hear, it’s a bit cocky.”

“That goes for me too. But what is it! The important thing now is that this time I can write a historical novel that will move London!!”

“A historical novel? Aren’t you a doctor?”

Oh, come to think of it, didn’t I explain?

Arthur Conan Doyle scratched his head in embarrassment.

Last time, we only talked about our careers as doctors, so we didn’t hear each other’s names and occupations.

“I’m sorry. I was too short of an explanation.”

“Oh, no. it’s okay.”

“Well, yes. I used to be a doctor, but now I’m out of practice. I told you last time, but no spirits came.”

“Ah… I’m sorry.”

“no. But instead, the side job is doing well.”

“Aha, that side job must be a historical novel, right?”

“Well, yes. To be precise, I don’t just write history… but I think I can write a proper masterpiece this time. I think I can do that with this material you gave me!!”

Arthur Conan Doyle said it proudly.

Of course, it was far from being confident at the point of not being able to honestly say that the previous work had failed, but the attitude itself was confident anyway.

And the Korean young man looked at Arthur and asked with a warm smile.

“okay. If you don’t mind, can I hear what kind of book you wrote? I also have my own knowledge of novels, so I want to read it.”

“Ah… Ha ha ha! Okay, I’ll let you know, so read it later… Ah. that is.”

I can’t tell you.

Honestly, how do you tell a story about a novel in which the majority of people don’t even know how it’s ruined?

It was at that time that Arthur Conan Doyle slightly avoided his gaze.

“Miss Conan Doyle! Are you here?”

“Ah, Detective Hopkins!”

“No, what are you trying to do if you say you’re coming and you’re here like this!”

“huh? Ah, time has already passed like this.”

I can’t help it.

Arthur Conan Doyle nodded, quickly took out a notebook from his bosom, wrote something down, and handed it to the strangely dumbfounded Korean youth.

“Young man, I was so happy that I didn’t notice the time passing. If you have time, be sure to come here. Got it? You must come!”

“yes? Ah yes. Uh, okay.”

“Sir, hurry up!”

“Oh, I see! Mr. Be mindful! I will definitely wait!!”

Arthur Conan Doyle screamed and was dragged away by Detective Hopkins.

And in the place where he was left alone, the Korean young man Jin Han-sol—Han Seul-ro Jin, mixed with astonishment, shouted loudly in a Korean language that no one could understand.

“No, was that a nobleman?!”