Novelist Running Through Time - Chapter 67

TL: KSD

I’m not particularly interested in Japanese manga, but I know what “Gomu Gomu no Pistol” is.

It’s a famous combat technique from Eiichiro Oda’s manga, “One Piece”.

It involves concentrating energy into one’s 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 you’d think.

I know because I’ve been on the receiving end.

– Gomu Gomu no Pistol! Gomu Gomu no Pistol!

– Alright, alright. Let’s 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 isn’t 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 one’s life. Whether it’s 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 you’re 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. What’s 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 what’s 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.

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. It’s certainly strange that a book sells well because, after putting out subpar writing, the author mumbles in interviews and one day suddenly dies.

Whether Siedehara’s 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 son’s 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-

That’s what it says.

There are many interpretations, but here’s what I think:

In his final moments,

Siedehara acknowledged that there was ‘something special’ in his father’s literature, which he had denied all his life,

And he couldn’t 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 you’ll inadvertently speak of future events in the past tense.

Now I’ve gone and asked Siedehara, who hasn’t yet declared his cessation, ‘This is your last work, isn’t it?’

How burdensome his shocked gaze was.

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

“Author-nim, it’s about to start.”

“Ah, yes.”

Regardless of what’s going on in my mind, time ruthlessly moves on. Now, it’s time to go on stage for the reading event.

“You’re 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 Seol’s 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 else’s affair.

In fact, it’s one of the highest honors one could achieve in the profession of translating.

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

He had emerged victorious in the fierce power struggles within the publishing company to translate Eisaku Siedehara’s 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 Iwamoto’s 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 company’s ‘Moon Out’ campaign.

It’s absurd.

A teenage prodigy author?

Clearly, it’s 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 industry’s 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?

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

Harboring such resentment, Yohei Iwamoto glared at Moon In-seop and Baek Seol, who were being interviewed next to him, with a smile on his face.

(Anyone Japanese would understand what kind of expression this was)

It was during an active Q&A session with the audience. Apparently popular, a flurry of enthusiastic questions came from the audience.

Baek Seol translated questions posed in English for Moon In-seop, and then translated Moon In-seop’s answers back to the audience.

-I went to the US to understand the daily lives of 20th-century Brooklyn residents. But I found it completely changed from then. So, I researched over 40 movies depicting 20th-century Brooklyn. It wasn’t an elaborate analysis; with friends in a hotel room, we prepared a checklist and skipped through parts, extracting here and there to include in my novel. It was research for the novel, but also a very enjoyable memory for me personally.

-Thank you for the answer. May I also ask about the composition of the novel?”

-Of course.

-At the end of Part 1, you beautifully flower a love story, only to brutally destroy it at the beginning of Part 2……

-Ah.

-Did you have to be so cruel to feel satisfied?

-What?

-Did taking it all away make you feel satisfied?

Even during the Q&A session with the readers, Yohei Iwamoto couldn’t concentrate on the event.

It was unbearable for him to watch Moon In-seop and Baek Seol, who seemed intent on taking away his Booker International Prize.

-Yes, let’s move on to the next question. Does anyone else have a question?

At some moment, Yohei Iwamoto realized that everyone in the hall was looking at him.

He hurriedly straightened his clothes and corrected his posture, but couldn’t understand why he was receiving such attention. Had he failed to manage his expression while looking at Moon In-seop and Baek Seol?

Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. The focus of everyone in the hall wasn’t on translator Yohei Iwamoto, but on the person sitting next to him, author Eisaku Siedehara.

“May I ask a question?”

Eisaku Siedehara was raising his hand.

* * *

Those attending the Booker Prize ceremony are individuals with a high interest in literature.

Naturally, they were aware of the conflict between the Korean and Japanese nominees who made it to the Booker Prize shortlist.

Therefore, the moment Eisaku Siedehara raised his hand to ask Moon In-seop a question, the hall filled with murmurs.

Had this been in the East, a tense silence might have prevailed, but here, a few cheeky individuals anticipated a confrontation and exclaimed, “Ooh.”

-Ah, yes! Of course! Please, go ahead!

“Then, with your permission, I’ll ask.”

“……!”

Baek Seol, having responded in English out of habit, was startled upon realizing that Siedehara was quite proficient in Korean.

Though a bit slow and slightly muddled at times, his pronunciation was fluent enough not to lose decorum in a public setting. It didn’t sound ridiculous.

Suddenly tasked with translating a Korean conversation into English for the audience, Baek Seol was more worried about something else.

With the conversation happening in Korean, Moon In-seop would answer directly, leaving no room for Baek Seol to intervene……

“…….”

‘Hell’s mouthpiece’.

Suddenly, another nickname for Moon In-seop that floated around the internet came to Baek Seol’s mind.

What if Siedehara mentions Moon In-seop’s work being banned in Japan? Criticizes “Red Hunter” for being too anti-Japanese? Or if he makes other aggressive remarks, scratching that terrifying delinquent’s pride?

Baek Seol couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of disaster would unfold.

Amidst Baek Seol’s anxious observation, Siedehara asked,

“I wanted to ask about the motivation behind writing ‘A Love Story’…….”

Phew. Baek Seol sighed in relief, her heart calming down.

Fortunately, it seems to be about the writing.

“……Is it about your parents?”

‘……!!!’

While Baek Seol was panicking, Moon In-seop calmly nodded.

“Yes. It’s about my parents.”

‘……!!!’

Baek Seol, who had been glaring at Siedehara with a look of horror, quickly turned to look at Moon In-seop.

The conversation between the two seemed to progress in a context that was at first incomprehensible.

It started with Siedehara’s meaningful question.

“Parents……. It reminds me of something. By any chance, Author Moon, is there something you would like to ask me?”

“Huh?”

“I mean about the book.”

Siedehara then silently gazed at Moon In-seop for a while. Baek Seol wondered why he was behaving like this, but then Moon In-seop, as if struck by a thought, began to speak.

“……Ah! Perhaps, is the message of ‘Harvest and Decay’ also directed towards Author Siedehara’s father?”

“That’s right. So, in a way, it seems we both wrote about the same subject.”

Siedehara smiled contentedly, as if Moon In-seop had hit the nail on the head. Baek Seol watched the conversation between Moon In-seop and Siedehara, feeling as if there was an invisible thread connecting the two.

“It’s embarrassing to admit, but in my youth, I made a name for myself by disparaging my father’s literature. Yet, ironically, as I aged, I started to realize that he too had his own struggles. However, the pain my mother and I endured was too great to understand and forgive him. I could not comprehend the literature of a father who abandoned everything for literature and left this world. It led me to wonder, is it possible for me to understand my father? And further, if a person cannot understand another, how can one person fully inherit everything from another?”

“……Can specialness be inherited?”

“Yes. Identity. I posed such questions while coming to recognize and accept the identity my father had. It was necessary for me to sort out the knots in my heart before I die. It’s somewhat funny that I, who have always denied I-novels, ended up writing about a personal theme.”

During the Booker International Prize reading event, the dialogue between the two authors was a precious scene.

Especially since there was a war brewing over the two individuals’ books.

Numerous eyes and cameras were fixed on them, but they looked at each other, not the cameras.

“However, what worries me, and what I want to ask is this. I have seen the hatred in Author Moon’s ‘Red Hunter’. At first glance, it could be misunderstood as the hatred Koreans have for Japan, but as Author Moon himself has said in the media, I read it as the hatred you have towards your parents.”

“…….”

“Isn’t ‘A Love Story’ the same?”

A sharp gaze and the ultimate test, ‘Is the person who wrote this truly you?’, were directed at Moon In-seop.

Eisaku Siedehara mercilessly threw his question like a dagger.

“There are two perspectives on looking at love. The first is as a chemical reaction, and the second as a divine aspect of humanity. And ‘A Love Story’ starts with the first and ends with the second. It was the love a parent has for their child.

So, isn’t it true that Author Moon wrote ‘A Love Story’ to condemn those who abandoned that sacred and unchanging love, the eternal love in the heart of the one who gives love?”

It took a lot of time and effort for the Japanese translator to translate Eisaku Siedehara’s questions into English for the audience.

Even as the content delved into profound matters, Baek Seol noticed that the translator’s mistake meant the audience didn’t fully grasp the question’s intent.

However, it seemed unimportant to Moon In-seop. What mattered to this young man was his literature. Thus, his response came without a hint of hesitation.

“No.”

Baek Seol translated. No.

“I’ll admit what needs to be admitted. ‘Red Hunter’ is a story filled with hatred. It’s essentially a curse towards my parents who abandoned me. Because of them, everything was destroyed. The conflicts and divisions of the older generation tainted the world that the younger generation has to live in with hatred. People should love each other as parents love their children, but the world has become dark and dreadful because of those who broke this norm. That’s the mindset with which I wrote the novel.”

But Moon In-seop realized,

He was no different from them.

Like the parents who abandoned him, he had abandoned Gu Yu-na.

The world is too cruel for one person to love another.

“…But love is difficult. Just as my parents abandoned me, I too have abandoned someone and inflicted pain upon them.”

Here, Moon In-seop’s literature asked. Then, should love be given up?

“Should we give up on love then? No. Love must go on. Even if one fails in love once, one must constantly seek and yearn for love. As long as we do not give up, love can continue. I’m not talking about romance or sex. Maintaining the intention to care for another ensures a person can preserve their humanity. That’s why I believe love is both a chemical reaction and the essence of being human.”

Even as Baek Seol struggled to convey this answer to the audience in the most fitting language, Siedehara looked at Moon In-seop with a meaningful smile.

And so did the press Baek Seol had brought from Korea and the people beyond their cameras.

To them, Moon In-seop said,

“I no longer wish for my parents, who abandoned me, to suffer eternally. I only hope they find love again, remarry, have new children, and do not repeat their past mistakes. And even if they do make mistakes and face failures again, I hope they never lose the love in their hearts and continue to love. This is my wish for both my parents and all the readers of this book.”

Moon In-seop appeared both troubled and relieved as he set down the microphone.

Baek Seol’s simultaneous interpretation ended the moment Moon In-seop casually placed the microphone on the table.

Then,

―!!!

Applause filled the building.

In a structure designed for the speaker’s voice to reach the audience, the sound of applause and whistles was directed towards the stage.

The power of language is weak. Yet, the message created with those words can reach the hearts of people on the opposite side of the Earth.

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 ‘Author’s Note’ of the upcoming ‘A Love Story–Booker Nominee Edition’.

And somewhere in Baekhak Group’s headquarters, a middle-aged man, dressed sharply, was scheming a sinister plot while looking at Baek Seol. He was Baek Seol’s 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-seop’s works in a more visible spot.

In a secluded room on the second floor of the house registered under Gu Hak-jun’s 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, couldn’t 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 people’s 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 haven’t closed yet, right?”

The clerk couldn’t 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 haven’t 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 clerk’s 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 don’t have a diamond ring to give you. I have no money, no home, and even my skin is yellow. But there’s one promise I can make. I swear, with all I have, to love you and only you, forever.

-That’s all I need. You.

The love bloomed.

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

-Shut up, you piece of trash!

-It’s over for us. Get out of my house.

The love faded.

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

-Father, please calm down…

-Don’t lie, please! My wife is dead?

Ultimately, it was crushed.

But there was someone who didn’t give up on love.

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

-Ah.

-There was something that didn’t 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 one’s 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 ‘Author’s 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 Author’s 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. . I’m 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. It’s 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 couldn’t 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, it’s dismally straightforward. Simply put, it’s 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 couldn’t forgive them before. I believed a parent’s love was sacred and obligatory. Now, I think differently. Human actions can’t always be perfect, and the same goes for love. It can fail.

-I was no exception. I’ve 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, I’ve included the words I couldn’t 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, I’ll find my love, and you’ll find yours.

-Perhaps that’s our most dignified farewell.

-As it’s customary with writings of this nature, I’ll 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, isn’t it almost a destiny for all avid readers to experience magical moments when a single book can transform their lives?

*****

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