Chapter 67

Chapter 67

TL: KSD

Im not particularly interested in Japanese manga, but I know what Gomu Gomu no Pistol is.

Its a famous combat technique from Eiichiro Odas manga, One Piece.

It involves concentrating energy into ones fingers and striking with the force of a bullet, thus the name, with Gomu meaning finger and Pistol representing the gun.

It hurts more than youd think.

I know because Ive been on the receiving end.

Gomu Gomu no Pistol! Gomu Gomu no Pistol!

Alright, alright. Lets stop now, shall we?

You have no mother, how pitiful!

I started living in a dormitory from middle school. Unfortunately, middle school bullies had the intelligence to discern that it was less troublesome to pick on kids without parents than those with.

In a world where even children with both parents intact commit suicide due to group assaults, torture, and confinement, the bullying of an orphan in a dormitory isnt even newsworthy.

So, I would escape the dormitory and spend my after-school hours in the library. My long-standing habit of letter addiction probably formed around this time.

During this period, I briefly got into Japanese I-novels (Shishosetsu).

I-novels are characterized by their personal emotional narrative.

In this genre, the protagonist is not a fictional character but the author themselves or a projection of the author, drawing the story from their experiences.

The reason I fell into this genre is simple.

Mostly, these novels contain stories about screwing up ones life. Whether its getting a niece pregnant and fleeing overseas, being unable to adapt to the normal as a human and committing suicide, or harboring treacherous feelings towards a female student

Just as listening to sad songs when youre down can help sort out your feelings, reading novels about screwing up life can bring comfort during tough times.

However, I-novels face this common criticism:

Q. Whats the difference from a diary?

A. None.

Naturally, this criticism leads to another question:

Q. Can it then be considered literature? To begin with, can literary authenticity be found in the scribbles of the author?

To this, I-novel authors have responded:

A. Prove its literary value? Fine. Watch closely what I can do.

And not just one or two have ended their lives following this declaration.

Thus, I-novels have gained a cult following.

The self-confession that crosses the boundaries of human taboo, and the literary authenticity that exists beyond creativity in reality.

This extreme negative emotion and sentiment, or whats colloquially called darkness, has fascinated readers.

It made readers not just like the books, but also the authors themselves.

Those who appreciate I-novels acclaim that this genre has allowed contemporary Japanese literature to step away from grand social discourse and pay attention to the human interior.

However, there are also those who completely reject I-novels:

Writing a diary and committing suicide makes it a will, but publishing a diary and then committing suicide turns it into an I-novel.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

Eisaku Siedehara.

Rather than as a novelist, he started to make a name for himself as a literary critic in his younger days with such commentary, challenging the entire genre of I-novels.

The text must be complete in itself. Its certainly strange that a book sells well because, after putting out subpar writing, the author mumbles in interviews and one day suddenly dies.

Whether Siedeharas commentary ended the trend of I-novels, or his critique emerged as the genre was naturally dying out, is hard to tell.

However, Eisaku Siedehara was the son of a novelist who wrote an immortal I-novel and committed suicide,

and the sons critique, which denounced his buried father, propelled Eisaku Siedehara to the pinnacle of Japanese literature.

Decades later.

Eisaku Siedehara ceases writing with his last work, Harvest and Decay. Not long after, he passes away from colon cancer, which had been his chronic illness.

No will was made public.

However, his posthumous work, Harvest and Decay, says this:

The reason one person cannot give their all to another,

Why one being cannot completely surrender to another, is because there exists an absolutely untouchable, special part within everyone-

Thats what it says.

There are many interpretations, but heres what I think:

In his final moments,

Siedehara acknowledged that there was something special in his fathers literature, which he had denied all his life,

And he couldnt understand or inherit it precisely because it was special

Sigh

Bringing up the topic of ceasing to write to author Siedehara was a mistake.

It was almost a big problem. Or was it already a big problem?

Anyway, living in a different timeline from others is a bizarre and confusing experience.

Relax a little, and youll inadvertently speak of future events in the past tense.

Now Ive gone and asked Siedehara, who hasnt yet declared his cessation, This is your last work, isnt it?

How burdensome his shocked gaze was.

I managed to fumble through and escape, but Im terrified of what he might think of me. I feel like Ive become a weirdo. (Correct)

Author-nim, its about to start.

Ah, yes.

Regardless of whats going on in my mind, time ruthlessly moves on. Now, its time to go on stage for the reading event.

Youre familiar with the event order, right? If you get a difficult question, make sure to consult with me before answering. Promise?

Yeah, promise

I awkwardly hooked my pinkie with Baek Seols extended hand and sealed it with a thumb press.

Above the stairs, the stage lights waited for us, softly glowing.

EP 5-A Love Story

Booker International Prize.

A literary award that not only is one of the top three literary prizes in the world but also honors both the author and the translator.

Therefore, for translator Yohei Iwamoto, the Booker International Prize was not someone elses affair.

In fact, its one of the highest honors one could achieve in the profession of translating.

So, until not too long ago, it seemed Yohei Iwamotos life was on the rise.

He had emerged victorious in the fierce power struggles within the publishing company to translate Eisaku Siedeharas writings, and this translation was recognized by being nominated for the Booker International Prize.

If, just if.

He were to actually win the Booker International Prize, translator Yohei Iwamotos next several decades would practically be paved with gold.

But the situation is not looking good.

The cause is undoubtedly, those people.

Those damned Koreans!

When Yohei Iwamoto heard that someone named Moon In-seop had the audacity to be nominated alongside Eisaku Siedehara,

Before being a translator, as an editor, he had a hand in the companys Moon Out campaign.

Its absurd.

A teenage prodigy author?

Clearly, its either manipulation or exaggerated marketing.

Moreover, the only fame Moon In-seop has is from Red Hunter, a low-quality anti-Japanese commercial film that briefly became popular.

That was the industrys consensus.

So, after giving them a few hints to understand their place, those Koreans, for some reason filled with spite, brought journalists from their country and turned the Booker Prize venue into a flea market.

Now I understand this unacceptable behavior.

A conglomerate heiress?

It all came down to the reckless spending of the high and mighty. A conglomerate heiress wanted to gain honor as a translator, sullying the sacred literature with camera shutters and OTT mess.

How has literature fallen so low?

For decades, Eisaku Siedehara, who left his mark in the history of Japanese literature with his writing alone,

Is it right for him to be on the same level as a teenager who rose to fame through fabricated renown, and a conglomerate heiress with nothing but her lineage to boast about?

Its just as pathetic that the Brits who nominated them for the Booker Prize first round did so just to draw attention.

At this moment, an invisible yet potent soft power moved the hearts of the audience and readers.

?

The boy who looked at the audience pouring applause at him with a puzzled look.

Eisaku Siedehara, watching the boy, smiled contentedly, contributing to the endless applause for the young author.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe, a bald man watching the scene also clapped, tears welling up in his eyes. His name was Lim Yang-wook.

He resolved to include a section on the writing motivation revealed at this event in the Authors Note of the upcoming A Love StoryBooker Nominee Edition.

And somewhere in Baekhak Groups headquarters, a middle-aged man, dressed sharply, was scheming a sinister plot while looking at Baek Seol. He was Baek Seols great uncle.

The chief manager of an online bookstore located on the 23rd floor of a high-rise building in LA decided it was time to promote Moon In-seops works in a more visible spot.

In a secluded room on the second floor of the house registered under Gu Hak-juns name, Gu Yubin, lying face down on the bed with weary eyes, watched Moon In-seop and covered herself with a blanket in self-derision fueled by a sense of inferiority.

In the room next door, Gu Yu-na, unlike her sister, couldnt take her bright, sparkling eyes off Moon In-seop amid the applause and cheers.

Thus, the series of events surrounding the Booker Prize influenced many peoples thoughts.

But there were also those whose lives were affected, not just their thoughts.

As Eisaku Siedehara and Moon In-seop were being eliminated from the first round of nominees, Moon In-seop was shocked to realize the future had changed.

Someone entered a quiet bookstore.

Ex, excuse me!

It was late evening, just before the bookstore was about to close, and it was the quietest time when most customers had left.

Hello, you havent closed yet, right?

The clerk couldnt identify the customer.

The customer had their face hidden with a hood, mask, and sunglasses, and murmured in almost a whisper, making it impossible to discern even their gender.

What a strange person,

the clerk thought but nodded.

Yes, we havent closed yet.

Thank you! Thank you so much

The clerk found it odd to be thanked for not closing the store, but the customer dashed inside as if their life depended on it.

Such an odd customer naturally drew the clerks attention.

The clerk watched the masked customer look around guiltily before cautiously picking up a book.

The number one bestseller, with a pink cover, A Love Story.

The customer turned the first page with trembling hands.

They had seen this book before.

-I didnt believe in eternal love.

-Until I met that person.

The novel started with a story about love.

An East Asian boy, abandoned and adopted in the US.

He didnt believe in love.

-Why did you help me?

-What, should I just stand by while someone is getting beaten up?

Love came to the boy.

-I dont have a diamond ring to give you. I have no money, no home, and even my skin is yellow. But theres one promise I can make. I swear, with all I have, to love you and only you, forever.

-Thats all I need. You.

The love bloomed.

-How can someone do that! How can someone be like that!

-Shut up, you piece of trash!

-Its over for us. Get out of my house.

The love faded.

-That woman, no, my ex-wife, no, no, no!

-Father, please calm down

-Dont lie, please! My wife is dead?

Ultimately, it was crushed.

But there was someone who didnt give up on love.

Someone pondered the remains of shattered love until the very end.

-Ah.

-There was something that didnt change.

He finally found love.

-It was inside me.

The truly eternal love is not the love received but the love given.

Not the love from others, but ones own love can be eternal.

That brilliantly shining love, the love a parent gives to their child.

A love so bright.

To those who abandoned that love, it was an equally severe curse.

That curse was truly cruel.

The customer had run to the restroom unable to suppress the surge of nausea the first time they read the book.

Literarily speaking, it was the soul unable to bear the weight of sin; medically, it was the brain and guts twisted in extreme stress.

But this time, there was a new sentence beyond the last page.

It was the Authors Note.

-The following paragraph is intended to unequivocally clarify the writing motivation mentioned at the Booker International nominee reading event, which became a topic of discussion. At the same time, it serves as a message to the two individuals who inspired the creation of this work.

The customer read the Authors Note as if reading a letter addressed to themself, slowly digesting each word.

-When I was young, there was a woman who took care of me. She wore a school uniform, fed me with a bottle, and smiled whenever I did something cute. I thought she was my mother. But she was Bong Jeong-ah, a volunteer who later became a nursery teacher at New Light Spring Orphanage, becoming a childcare worker named Bang Jeong-ah. . Im sorry to Ms. Bong Jeong-ah, but the moment I realized that fact, I felt that my life began to decisively go awry.

-Being born without parents is not just an abstract problem of being robbed of a birthright. Its closer to being pointed at and ostracized in school for not having parents. I can say I learned to hate through the violence, poverty, and contempt that stemmed from being born without a mom. It was hatred towards my parents.

-Instead of hating the children who collectively assaulted me, I hated my parents. Whenever I was discriminated against for not having parents, I hated my parents, not those who discriminated against me. Whenever I couldnt live the life I wanted due to lack of money, I hated my parents.

-All my suffering was propelled by my parents, and they were my greatest sinners. Yet, when looking into that sin, its dismally straightforward. Simply put, its the sin of failing at love.

-But loving someone is truly difficult.

-My parents loved each other at a too young age, deluded that their love would last forever, and failed to love a wrinkly newborn resulting from their quarrels.

-I couldnt forgive them before. I believed a parents love was sacred and obligatory. Now, I think differently. Human actions cant always be perfect, and the same goes for love. It can fail.

-I was no exception. Ive failed at love, causing great harm to someone as much as they did. Only after inflicting irreversible harm on my most beloved did I understand their feelings. Love is indeed a difficult task.

-I recently met my parents again. They were ordinary people. Neither good nor evil, but ordinary people who were foolish enough to regret their past.

-We failed to love each other there, inflicted wounds on each other, and parted ways again. This novel began right after that incident.

-So, Ive included the words I couldnt say then in this book.

-I hope you never give up on love. I hope you someday remarry, find a new partner, have children, and love them.

-Even if you fail, I hope you pick up that love again and continue loving. I will do the same. So, Ill find my love, and youll find yours.

-Perhaps thats our most dignified farewell.

-As its customary with writings of this nature, Ill take a moment to express my gratitude to a few individuals. Thank you to Lim Yang-wook and editor Baek Seol, who treated this book as their own through editing, translating, and publishing. I also extend my gratitude to my friend Gu Yu-na and her sister for helping with research. I want to thank the family at New Light Spring Orphanage and Kim Byul Sunbae and Min something Sunbae for their support during the difficult times of writing.

-Finally, though somewhat reluctantly and with mixed feelings, I extend my thanks to my parents for bringing me into this world (despite everything that happened).

-Concluding A Love Story.

-With love.

-Moon In-seop.

* * *

The clerk glanced at their phone, deciding to clock out 30 minutes late today.

Although it was time for the bookstore to close, the clerk, being a lover of books, had the empathy to wait a little longer for someone so deeply moved to tears by a book.

After all, isnt it almost a destiny for all avid readers to experience magical moments when a single book can transform their lives?

*****

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