Novelist Running Through Time

TL: KSD

“…You went all the way to Japan and came back after saying just that?”

Hearing Park Chang-woon’s account of his trip to Japan, Gu Hak-jun was stunned. Telling a young junior struggling with anguish to just endure with sheer willpower? Even a devil wouldn’t give such a advice.

But Park Chang-woon responded shamelessly.

“Then what should I have done?”

“Still, you should have at least helped him think it through….”

“Oh! Do you think he’d listen to me if I did? As I’ve repeatedly said, it’s impossible for one person to teach another how to write.”

The way and virtue are found within one’s own heart, not in the eyes of society!

Park Chang-woon, who acted according to his convictions, wasn’t ashamed at all.

“When writing, you can teach what not to do. But teaching how to write is fundamentally impossible. Every person has their own literature.”

This was Park Chang-woon’s philosophy.

And this philosophy was a kind of ‘button’ that triggered Gu Hak-jun’s rage.

“Ah, stop talking nonsense!”

Gu Hak-jun’s philosophy was the exact opposite.

“There is no unique literature. There is no unique creation. Thus, all literature must be a form of imitation. Because every human is the sum of their relationships.”

Therefore, Gu Hak-jun believed that learning and exchange were essential for improving literary qualities, which is why group projects were never absent from his classes.

This difference in beliefs stems from seeing humans as either social beings or independent entities. It’s a complex topic that can go on endlessly once started.

And frankly, it’s not that interesting.

But Gu Hak-jun and Park Chang-woon were seasoned, professional, and somewhat eccentric individuals who could carry on such conversations at length, so once their voices were raised, they didn’t easily quiet down.

Meanwhile, the issue of ‘Moon In-seop’s text bomb’ naturally got pushed to the back, and if there was one fact that the two would never know here…

-Ding!

“Ungh…!”

…was that Seo Woon-pil also fell victim.

EP 8 – Dark Adaptation

Park Chang-woon, a participatory writer of the past, couldn’t help a novelist in a post-war era. To him, literature was a tool for war.

Gu Hak-jun, a renowned pure literature writer, couldn’t help Moon In either. Thanks to the whims of time, Moon In had already internalized most of his teachings.

Moreover, Gu Hak-jun’s literature, akin to comparative literature traversing between European philosophy and Korean literature, didn’t quite align with Moon In’s slightly dark, unorthodox style.

Then, what about Seo Woon-pil?

Unfortunately, Seo Woon-pil couldn’t lift Moon In out of his quagmire of anguish either.

It wasn’t because the old monster’s demonic arts, who still held both political and literary power, couldn’t blend with Moon In’s pure inner strength, but simply because their acquaintance wasn’t deep enough.

Honestly, Seo Woon-pil and Moon In didn’t have a great start, and it was hard to say they were close.

Sending a serious text to a somewhat awkward acquaintance at dawn? It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Moon In, intoxicated by the dawn’s emotions, sent a text to someone he wasn’t very close to, and Seo Woon-pil, waking up, awkwardly tapped on his smartphone with his unfamiliar typing.

What they talked about quietly faded into the darkness of history.

Because neither of them would ever blab about it to others.

In fact, they probably wanted to erase it from their memories. It was truly, incredibly awkward.

Moon In regretted it immediately, banging his head on the desk after finishing the texts with Seo Woon-pil.

Did it really have to come to this?

But what could he do, the desperate have to put in the effort.

Moon In knew well how cruel and horrible a crime it was to send texts at dawn.

But he ignored this because of a rather ‘Gu Yuna-like’ reason.

Surprisingly, contrary to popular belief, Gu Yuna wasn’t that ignorant of social norms.

Although there are some gaps, like holes in a slice of cheese, thanks to her parents’ efforts and her exceptional intelligence, she ‘knows’ social norms and human relationship etiquette.

However, her own literature is just more important.

She is the complete opposite of Kim Byul, who loses her sense of self while trying to fit in with the director, her mother, the script, her role, and the atmosphere on set.

And Moon In-seop’s personality was closer to Gu Yuna’s than Kim Byul’s.

From the start, Moon In-seop’s personality was formed by interacting with Gu Yuna.

Literally, it’s like staring into the abyss for too long and losing one’s mind a bit.

But contamination is just contamination; it doesn’t overpower the original source. Unlike Gu Yuna, Moon In-seop felt ashamed when he caused trouble.

Therefore, even though he committed all sorts of eccentricities for literature, he carried the burden of shame for both himself and Gu Yuna.

There was a time when something like this happened.

– “Hey, you passing couple! Would you like to try a duet song?”

– “Hmm. I’ve always wanted to experience singing on stage. What are you doing? Let’s go up quickly.”

– “W-wait a minute…!”

– “Don’t hesitate. It’s all for literature.”

– “Suddenly like this? Besides, you don’t even know many songs!”

– “It doesn’t matter.”

Gu Yuna then went on to sing a random song she didn’t know at a street concert for 2 minutes and 20 seconds before stepping down.

Initially, the crowd clapped out of politeness, but eventually, they grew tired, and the cold stares were directed at the poor boyfriend who was dragged along.

However, from that day’s experience, Gu Yuna could vividly depict ‘all professions that get on stage’ in her novels.

How surprised was he, marveling at her genius?

So, he couldn’t help but join in her next eccentric acts and later regret it, thinking, ‘Why did I do that?’ This had become a routine, and thinking this far, Moon In-seop chuckled.

“Ah… life….”

Moon In-seop took that emotion as a brief solace and continued with his painful literary contemplation.

It was a very lonely task.

There was no muse grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, dragging him through literature and inspiration like in the old days.

But soon after, a strangely familiar inspiration came to him.

* * *

To the students in Baekhak Arts Middle School’s Creative Writing Department, Moon In-seop was a truly complex figure.

While they were trying to become novelists someday, there was already an internationally successful novelist in their class.

It was strange not to feel complicated.

What happened when the boy first transferred to this class?

Inferiority complex, admiration, envy, jealousy, rivalry, longing, affection…

The sensitive teenagers had to manage these tumultuous emotions, losing sleep over them.

But two years have passed.

Unlike other departments, In Creative Writing Department there was only one class. The students in the department spent two years with Moon In-seop.

Admiration is a quickly cooling emotion, and jealousy is exhausting to maintain for long.

Now, his classmates in the Creative Writing Department could look at Moon In-seop with a cool-headed perspective.

No, they were seeing not the writer Moon In-seop, but the person Moon In-seop.

Even if they were not conscious of it, it happened. Humans are socially very sensitive creatures.

Thus, Moon In-seop began to be left out in class.

On the contrary, Gu Yuna, who was ostracized at the beginning of school life, was now well-accepted in the class.

Everyone realized that Gu Yuna wasn’t maliciously looking down on others; she just had a somewhat eccentric personality.

So now, no matter how aggressively Gu Yuna criticized, the students in the Creative Writing Department didn’t get hurt. They seriously took her advice to heart.

Moon In-seop was the exact opposite.

Of course, Moon In-seop wasn’t being bullied in the Creative Writing Department. How could they do that to someone in a different social position?

It’s not like the kids wouldn’t talk to Moon In-seop. You could easily find the Creative Writing Department kids praising Moon In-seop as he wandered around.

And then, you could see Moon In-seop running away in embarrassment.

But that’s about it.

Is there anyone in this class who knows Moon In-seop’s hobbies?

His favorite food? His type? His favorite book? Even his birthday?

No one knew anything beneath Moon In-seop’s surface.

At that point, everyone naturally came to realize it.

Moon In-seop was an alien existence.

At this age, teenagers’ primary interest is their peer group. They suffer through performance assessments and are desperate about their final exam scores.

In contrast, Moon In-seop’s primary interest was literature. Seeing him skip school and give up on exams to write made the Creative Writing Department kids feel complicated.

The complexity was more like, ‘How can someone spend every moment, except for eating and sleeping, writing?’ rather than ‘He doesn’t have to take exams.’

There was even a kid who, following Moon In-seop’s example, skipped school to write, causing their homeroom teacher to struggle between problem children and Park Chang-woon’s antics.

(Rumor has it there was such a problem child in the third year of Baekhak Arts High School’s Creative Writing Department too.)

Anyway, just as the students were getting used to Moon In-seop’s cold demeanor, which would have earned him the nickname ‘Ice Princess’ if only his gender were different.

“Hey guys. What do you think literature is?”

Moon In-seop went crazy.

“What is literature? What on earth is literature…?”

“What, what did you say?”

The Moon In-seop who had returned from Japan, had become some kind of strange person.

Moon In-seop’s success in Japan wasn’t particularly surprising. ‘Guitar’ was number one at the Korean box office too, and it wasn’t the first time Moon In-seop had turned the world upside down.

But this was surprising.

Moon In-seop who kept a distance from the kids to the point where jokes like ‘That guy definitely doesn’t know my name’ were made, had begun to actually talk to his classmates.

And the topic of conversation was strange.

What is literature?

It’s hard to answer something like that out of the blue.

In the end, the unfortunate student caught by Moon In-seop spouted whatever came to mind.

“Lit-literature is literature, what else could it be…?”

“…”

Moon In-seop stayed silent.

He just stared without a word.

The student was terrified.

Eventually, Moon In-seop nodded and let the student go.

“I see, is that so…”

“…?”

“That was a good answer.”

The student caught by Moon In-seop had a dazed expression even as he was being pulled away by his friends.

Soon, Moon In-seop stood up to find his next victim.

The students in the Creative Writing Department did their best to avoid Moon In-seop’s gaze, but another unfortunate victim was eventually caught.

“Ah, no, stop…! Don’t do this!”

“What do you think literature is?”

With things getting to this point, the guardian of the Creative Writing Department finally stepped in.

It wasn’t Park Chang-woon. He skipped school again today.

It wasn’t the homeroom teacher either. The scarecrow homeroom teacher had no real authority.

Then who was it?

Naturally, it was Gu Yuna, the longtime boss, street leader, great white shark, inquisitor, and adorable mascot of the third-year Creative Writing Department at Baekhak Arts Middle School.

“Your. Question. Troublesome.”

With just one word, Gu Yuna stopped Moon In-seop, who had been bombarding the students with indiscriminate questions.

Then, with a flick of her finger, she isolated this problematic criminal from the class.

“To the club room.”

Moon In-seop, as if bewitched, followed Gu Yuna.

* * *

Of course, Gu Yuna didn’t take Moon In-seop to the club room to beat him up out of sight.

Gu Yuna considered herself Moon In-seop’s first disciple, so how could she dare commit such a rebellious act against her mentor?

However, as the guardian of the third-year Creative Writing Department, she was willing to pinch his side with the pinch of justice if Moon In-seop caused a bit more trouble.

Fortunately, Moon In-seop followed Gu Yuna willingly, and Gu Yuna didn’t have to resort to any ‘excessive measures’. So, for everyone involved, it was a good outcome.

Even someone like Gu Yuna, who was quicker with actions than words, started with a question.

“What on earth is going on?”

“Well….”

Moon In-seop didn’t have the knack for explaining difficult matters easily. So, he laid out his complicated worries in a complicated manner.

However, thanks to this, Gu Yuna was able to understand precisely what kind of agony Moon In-seop was going through. He had lost his literary direction and was staggering—this was the gist.

Gu Yuna’s sharp mind saw through the turmoil in Moon In-seop’s heart, but Moon In-seop didn’t have high expectations for Gu Yuna.

The Gu Yuna before him lacked the experience of ‘those days’ when she and Moon In-seop faced various literary challenges together.

To Moon In-seop, the current Gu Yuna was more like a level 1 chick.

A fledgling like that couldn’t possibly solve a dilemma that even Gu Hak-jun, Park Chang-woon, and Seo Woon-pil couldn’t address.

But Moon In-seop overlooked one thing: Gu Yuna was both his disciple and his reader, then and now.

Writers like Gu Hak-jun viewed Moon In-seop’s books from a ‘producer’s’ perspective, but Gu Yuna saw them from a ‘consumer’s’ viewpoint.

And while industry insiders nitpick and demand this and that, consumers enjoy it with a clear mind, laughing and liking it.

In this way, the still-young Gu Yuna, who hadn’t formed preconceived notions, opened her heart without bias and accepted Moon In-seop’s literature as it was.

And unlike Moon In-seop, who was caught up in delusions, Gu Yuna’s clear perspective and sharp intuition allowed her to understand Moon In-seop’s literature more accurately than he did in some ways.

Through Gu Yuna’s eyes, a certain flow became apparent.

It seemed like Moon In-seop’s literature was heading in a specific direction.

Therefore, she couldn’t understand Moon In-seop’s distress. With such a clear path visible, why did he claim not to know where to go?

Instead of giving a clear answer, Gu Yuna asked back with a puzzled expression.

“Wasn’t your next work supposed to be about the world?”

“…What?”

“That’s what I was expecting.”

* * *

In Moon In-seop’s mind, all his novels were stories about ‘me’. They were confessional novels, narrow in scope, a kind of cathartic act of discharging pain onto paper in a gloomy way.

Gu Yuna agreed with this. Moon In-seop’s novels, much like modern Japanese literature, focused more on lyricism than narrative. They had a relentless quality of digging into the human psyche.

For someone like Gu Yuna, who was curious about humans, there were no better novels.

That was true in the past and still is now.

However, as an acknowledged Moon In-seop fanatic, Gu Yuna could detect a trend in his literature that even the author wasn’t aware of, a trend that directly contradicted Moon In-seop’s assertions.

Moon In-seop’s writing wasn’t confined within the existence of ‘me’.

It began from the deepest part of ‘me’ and extended infinitely outward.

“…Can you explain a bit more?”

“Sure, it’s not a difficult thing.”

Renowned authors in history often have dedicated fields of study solely focused on them. Shakespeare, Tolkien, Arthur Conan Doyle, Cao Xueqin, Jin Yong…

But ‘Moon In’ had not left a name in history, and even more so for ‘Moon In-seop’. Who would study an obscure author from an orphanage?

However, Gu Yuna did. She gladly did. She loved and studied Moon In-seop’s writings as passionately as if placing them among the greats in history.

And this wasn’t because of his life’s trajectory but because of an inherent imperfection they both shared.

Defective items recognize each other.

So, both then and now, Gu Yuna recognized Moon In-seop’s writing.

“The sixteen novels you wrote before your debut were, how should I put it… a bit all over the place. I liked them because they had a raw feel to them, but you can’t see them as a cohesive collection.”

That was only natural. Each story was written whenever a distressing event occurred in his life, and suffering didn’t arrive in a sequential order.

Eventually, Gu Yuna, who only spoke at length when discussing literature, began to showcase her expertise in ‘Moon In-seop studies’. It turned out that Moon In-seop wasn’t the only expert on Gu Yuna.

“The specific flow started to become noticeable from ‘Cause of Death’….”

‘Cause of Death’ was a story about death, while ‘Guitar’ was a story about life.

Death and life are things beyond human control, determined the moment one is born.

These are stories about existence.

“I still don’t know why death came before life….”

Muttering a hypothesis that briefly made Moon In-seop’s heart sink, Gu Yuna moved on to the next piece of literature.

‘Demonic Sword’ dealt with independence and dependence. ‘A Love Story’ dealt with love. ‘The Show Must Go On’ dealt with dreams.

These are things that humans can decide by their own will.

In other words, they are stories about actions.

“And after that….”

“Isomer.”

“Right. Isomer. That’s where I became certain.”

In Gu Yuna’s view, Moon In-seop’s literature started from the deepest part of a person and extended infinitely outward.

The evidence of this was ‘Isomer’.

Isomer was a story not about ‘me’ but about ‘you’.

For the first time, Moon In-seop, who always wrote literature about himself, wrote about someone else.

“That’s why I hold ‘Isomer’ in the highest regard. It’s a monumental work, isn’t it? Though I didn’t quite like the ending….”

Gu Yuna didn’t mention that part of the reason she liked ‘Isomer’ the most was because she had a hand in its creation.

But if Moon In-seop had looked at Gu Yuna’s face, he might have seen her slightly twitching lips revealing her inner thoughts, but he wasn’t in the right mind to notice.

He was mesmerized by ‘Gu Yuna’s teaching’, something he thought he would never experience again, both before and after going back in time.

“So, what happens next?”

Moon In-seop asked Gu Yuna with a desperate expression.

Gu Yuna, surprised and somewhat delighted that she had caused such an expression on Moon In-seop’s face, concluded the lesson.

“I told you earlier, didn’t I? You’ve written about yourself, and then about others. Now, you should write about the world.”

“….”

“It might seem a bit forced, but isn’t that what criticism is about? The right to interpret lies with the reader, after all.”

Moon In-seop couldn’t respond.

He didn’t have the mental energy to even think of a reply.

His mind was reeling as if a firecracker had exploded in his brain.

It felt like all the teachings he had received over the past years, no, decades, were finally connecting.

– Moon In. There is no such thing as pure creation. Just as all people influence and change each other, literature too changes by influencing and being influenced by other literature. It’s not only influenced by literature, but also by philosophy, music, and the life of the writer… it’s like a living organism. That’s why writers need to study the world….

– Back in my day, literature was a weapon. Nobody listened to those noisy kids protesting, but everyone loved it when a beautifully written poem came along. Seeing that, I realized that literature changes people, and people change the world. Literature had the power to change the world. Although it eventually became a curse for the literary world….

All teachings ultimately spoke about the world.

Of course, not all those teachings were correct.

Gu Yuna’s words were the same. In her study of Moon In-seop, there were interpretations that could be seen as excessive distortions, and even interpretations that Moon In-seop could never accept.

But that conclusion clearly pinpointed Moon In-seop’s greatest agony.

Throughout his life, he had written about his pain and his suffering. It started with him and ended with him.

His literature had always remained within the shell of ‘me’.

But what if he wrote about the ‘world’?

Writing about the ‘world’ instead of writing about ‘me’.

Maybe that was the direction his literature needed to go.

Who knows?

But it was certainly something he had never tried before, and it was worth trying.

So what needed to be done was clear.

“…Thank you, Yuna.”

It was time to break out of the shell.

* * *

Looking down at the blank manuscript paper felt like being in the middle of an empty desert.

It’s overwhelming.

The saying ‘Starting is half the battle’ is used to mean that starting anything is important in any task.

But when it comes to writing a novel, it’s different.

Writing the first sentence is more difficult than writing half of the novel.

Moreover, this time I decided to write about the ‘world’ instead of a novel about ‘me’.

There were no emotions stirring within, no pain I wanted to pour out onto the paper.

So the sense of vagueness was doubled.

This was a challenge toward something new.

So, after briefly staring silently at the blank manuscript paper.

I decided not to wait for inspiration but to draw it out.

When you’ve accumulated experience, you often resort to tricks, and there’s always a way in situations like this.

It’s like when playing a game of finding a specific number between 1 and 100, you first ask if it’s above or below 50.

So, let’s gauge the literary imagery with a simple question.

I ask myself.

Is the world I have experienced white or black?

The answer was obvious.

Without hesitation, I wrote a single character in the first box of the manuscript paper.

‘암’.

It was the character for dark.

*****

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