Chapter 19 – Royal Society of Literature (2)

One of the greatest fairy tale writers of the 21st century, one of the earliest photographers, and an evolutionist.

At the same time… he was infamous as a pedophile.

Though he never directly harmed anyone, his actions were such that the FBI would break down his door shouting "FBI OPEN UP!!" and shoot him, and they'd still be justified.

Mr. Miller's reluctance was understandable.

Still, I owed him a favour. He praised my work when it was first published.

In such a situation, not inviting him would have been one thing, but rejecting his invitation would have been impolite.

However.

"Ah, do you understand? Humans are! A, a mass of c, corruption and d, depravity!!"

"Uh, yes."

This wasn't quite what I expected.

In Guildford, Surrey County, South East England.

I stared in astonishment at Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, also known as Lewis Carroll, this severe stutterer of a middle-aged man.

"H, Hans, Hanslow."

"If the pronunciation is difficult, you can just call me Hans, sir."

"Th, that's fine. H, Hans. Y, you know, don't y, you? H, how much t, trouble a, a s, stutterer like me! I, is in s, society!"

"Well, that…"

I could only nod.

That's how ecosystems work. People naturally avoid what's different from them. Sometimes, they even reject it.

Of course, humans are relatively better off.

An anthropologist once said that the first sign of human society was "a broken but healed leg bone."

But it's also true that not all human societies operate that way.

The luck that seemed like a blessing given to people like me by Mr. Miller, and to a very few others.

And unfortunately, Lewis Carroll did not have such luck. This man had to refuse a professorship because of his stuttering.

That trauma must have run quite deep.

So.

"The older you get. The more people's heads get filled with all sorts of prejudices, and they see people through colored lenses!"

"Um... that's true."

I nodded reluctantly. I had a lot of counterarguments but held back for now.

In short, this person was more of a 'misanthrope' than a lolicon.

It was the fear born from being mocked and rejected as the stuttering Charles, rather than being accepted as the brilliant mathematician, photographer, and writer Lewis Carroll.

And it was severe enough that he even included himself in his list of hated targets.

"All my life. I loved children. But if those children hated me! I would gouge out my dirty eyes! It is my sacred duty to God!"

"Do you like children that much?"

"Of course! Children are pure and free of prejudice!"

And he had been healed by the children who approached him without bias.

He was even said to feel so comfortable around children that he didn't stutter in their presence, so his obsession with 'purity' was understandable.

"I could feel it in your writing, too."

"What?"

"Yes. More than any other work... you wanted to make your readers, especially children, enjoy it purely and sincerely! I could feel that!"

...Well, this made it even harder to refuse.

In any case, his obsession with 'purity' extended beyond just children.

"So that's why you like mathematics."

"Yes. Because mathematics is the purest of all disciplines."

"I agree with that."

Liberal arts vary across cultures. Science has too many conditions.

But mathematics is the same everywhere. 1+1 is 2 in the desert, on the plains, even in space.

If there was a discipline closest to Plato's 'idea,' it would be mathematics.

Lewis Carroll argued this passionately.

"But... children don't like it much."

"Well... because it's difficult."

"It's not difficult... if taught well, it's easy..."

Well.

Thinking back to high school study sessions filled with math strugglers, I could understand the kids.

"But I... want children to like mathematics."

"So that's why you called me here."

"Yes."

In short, he wanted the most popular children's author today to do some PR to make kids interested in math.

Well... it's not impossible.

There are stories of great people whose lives were changed by meeting influential figures when they were young.

But those are stories of great people.

Moreover.

"Sir, do you think it's possible?"

"Uh, is it impossible..."

"No, it's simple enough to do. It doesn't cost anything. But..."

Even if we tried to entice kids that way, they wouldn't genuinely become interested in math and study it.

It would be temporary at best.

Besides, even though I'm a famous figure, Lewis Carroll is also famous.

And since he's in the same literary field, kids might develop a resistance, like to antibiotics.

"So, what should we do?"

"Well, there is a way."

I said with a sly smile.

A way that would be good for Lewis Carroll and me, a win-win situation.

"We're writers, aren't we?"

So let's speak through our writing.

***

"Phew."

In the meeting room of the Royal Literary Society at Somerset House, which boasted the highest literary artistry and intellect in England.

What is the beauty of literature? What is the value of literary arts? What kind of writings should authors create for the British Empire?

Their expressions, tasked with discussing and striving for the endless development of British literature, were... gloomy.

Darker than the London sky outside, as if it mirrored their future.

"No matter how much we searched, we found nothing."

"Same here."

"We spoke to every acquaintance and distant relative, but it was all in vain."

"So."

The Marquess of Halsbury, Hardinge Giffard, was displeased with their efforts.

"In the end, none of you managed to find a single trace of that scoundrel?"

"Chairman."

"But... what can we do if it remains undiscovered?"

The council members spoke with a sense of injustice. Despite being writers, their anguish was evident enough that Giffard could not press them further.

They had exhausted every resource. They had utilized all their connections, from the northern tip of Scotland to the far reaches of Cornwall.

Even expanding their search to Ireland and the colonies yielded nothing.

...Despite all this, Hanslow Jin's identity remained elusive.

Given that he was likely a noble, it was odd that he hadn't appeared at any salons. They searched thoroughly but found no clues.

It was a ghostly situation.

They had searched so thoroughly that it would have been strange not to find anything if he were of a lower class, yet there were no clues at all...

This meant only one thing.

"How tightly is he concealing himself?"

"Unless he was born from some extraordinary scandal, there's no reason to hide his identity so thoroughly..."

"That's why there's no need to treat bastards well. Why should we treat those born out of mistakes as human beings?"

"My point exactly."

They could only grumble.

At that moment, someone raised a hand and spoke.

"There is a rumor that he might be a distant royal..."

"Royalty... that can't be."

"No, no. That's impossible."

The council members, including Giffard, vehemently denied it.

Of course, if that were the case, it would explain why his identity remained hidden and his habit of burying verbs at the end of sentences like a German.

The current queen spent her childhood in Germany, and the present Saxe-Coburg-Gotha dynasty was originally a German noble family.

But... they dismissed it.

If it were true, their struggle would become meaningless.

A bastard from the royal family is different from a noble's bastard.

No matter how tainted their blood, a royal bastard remains royalty.

They could do nothing about it.

'Wait, is that why the royal family liked so much?'

'There's a rumor that even the Crown Prince and his wife are fans, and many in the court also enjoy his work.'

'Fortunately, the queen seems uninterested...'

Being writers, their minds were filled with wild imaginations.

The Crown Prince and his wife, known fans, had the favor of Queen Victoria. If they made a mistake, it could backfire on them.

"If he really is royalty, there's nothing we can do. We'd have to withdraw."

"Calm down. We have no proof he's royalty."

"Proof? Is there any more definitive proof than him hiding his identity so thoroughly?"

"That's circumstantial. We don't have definitive proof!"

Giffard shouted stubbornly.

Logically, withdrawing would be the less embarrassing move.

But if people were entirely rational beings, economists wouldn't have coined the term 'sunk cost' a century later.

'The momentum has already taken hold.'

He was driven by a personal desire to eradicate the weed of popular literature once and for all.

But if things continued like this, their main objective, 'Condemnation of Hanslow Jin,' would fail spectacularly.

That would be the end.

How would they view Giffard then? A scene played out in his mind.

─Hah, he raged but accomplished nothing in the end.

─Is he really past his prime? Should we continue following someone like him?

─So, who should we elect as the next chairman?

'That can't happen!'

Although it was an absurd delusion fueled by his heated mind, it was sincere to him.

He quickly spoke up.

"The idea that he is royalty is still one of the worst possibilities. Even if we generously assume he is of royal descent and a German writing fairy tales, he couldn't escape Wagner's influence! But look at his work. Have you ever sensed even a hint of that influence?"

Wagner was a famous classical composer, but fundamentally, he was a literary omniscient and omnipotent figure.

His epic poetry transcended language, relying on a romantic primordial language, emphasizing the alliterative verse of sensational emotional language.

But Hanslow Jin's writing? It ignored rhythm, had short sentences, and was devoid of romance.

"... That's true."

"No comparison, indeed."

Fortunately.

Giffard successfully turned the atmosphere negative and breathed a sigh of relief.

Of course, he couldn't be entirely certain. The probability was low, but it wasn't zero.

"... Just in case, let's refrain from dragging the royal family into this."

"That's right. If we resolve this strictly within the literary world, even Her Majesty would have no objections."

In any case, they couldn't risk stepping on a landmine, so the agreement was quickly reached.

Elites, especially those in 'academia,' have a strong respect for their respective domains.

Since knowledge is highly valued in these areas, there's an unspoken agreement to let internal matters be handled internally whenever possible.

In other words, as long as they dealt with it within the literary world, they could be as underhanded as they wanted!

"Should we ask the professors affiliated with our literary society to issue a sort of martial law? So that students won't read such nonsensical writings."

"They're already doing that at Oxbridge (a term for both Oxford and Cambridge), but it's a very difficult task. Moreover, I think just controlling the students isn't enough. The main problem now is the commoners."

"What if we set a fixed price for books? Right now, monthly magazines are only 1 shilling (about 10,000 won) and weekly magazines are only 3 pence (about 3,000 won), which is why commoners are buying them without hesitation. If we set the price to several times that amount and prohibit discounts..."

"Are you insane? Do you want to infringe on the free economic activities of publishing houses? Do you want to turn economists against us?!"

"Then what exactly do you suggest?"

Despite this, they could not find a solution.

It was inevitable. Essentially, 'underhanded methods' are indirect strategies used when they can't win outright.

It's like the saying about putting a bell on a cat.

But fundamentally, the only way to resolve popular literature, which relies entirely on public support, within the literary world is to strip away that public support... which means the mouse would have to confront and defeat the cat directly.

If that were possible, they would have crushed it already. Why would they be sitting in a back room like this?

Moreover, in that fable, all the mice are eventually eaten.

"How about this?"

At that moment, a member of the Royal Literary Society's council raised a hand.

"I heard there's a saying in the distant East, 'Fight poison with poison [以毒制毒].' "

"And?"

"To take down Hanslow Jin, we need to pair him with a writer of comparable popularity."

"... What?"

Giffard asked incredulously.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Hanslow Jin was currently the most popular author in popular literature.

If his serialization was interrupted... wait a moment.

"Surely you're not suggesting."

Still doubtful, Hardinge Giffard asked again.

"Are you suggesting we recruit Arthur Conan Doyle?"