Chapter 24 – Mark Twain (1)

"Congratulations on your success, Hans!"

"It's all thanks to your support. Hahaha."

Bentley Publishing.

Mr. Bentley and I toasted to the success of The Book.

However, it wasn't just the two of us. There was another person present.

Of course, that person was not my co-author, Lewis Carroll...!

It was Mark Twain.

He was the top contributor to our viral marketing, having placed extensive reviews in newspaper advertisements this time.

─ As lively as a spring breeze, as refreshing as a summer sea, as magical as autumn, and as cosy as winter snowflakes.

─ A sincere tribute from two respectable authors, lovingly dedicated to young budding minds.

─ The English can be prouder of their neighbours than ever. No literary figure has ever given such a great gift, opening new horizons of great literature for the future.

It was similar to what Lewis Carroll did for Book 1 and George Bernard Shaw did for Book 2.

However, the name "Mark Twain" had an incomparable impact.

Of course, this doesn't mean that the level of the former two literary giants was any lower.

There are no correct answers in literature, and the form of its beauty varies with each literary master. How could one use a base standard to measure such depth?

But Mark Twain was an eminent foreign literary figure for America... which means he was foreign to Britain.

In other words, it filled us with a sense of national pride.

"Landlord...no, Master! Another tankard of ale here!"

"Literature is definitely our pride, isn't it!"

"But isn't Lewis Carroll that perverted guy? The one who supposedly played with undressed girls..."

"Oh, is that important right now?!"

People have always been the same everywhere, getting excited about national pride.

Especially for the British of this era, America was like the eldest son who had run away and become estranged, having broken off for seemingly needless reasons to gain independence.

That a literary giant, almost the pride of such a country, had genuinely praised us only made this sense of pride more refined.

"But, are you alright with this?"

"What's the problem?"

"Well, as much as the British love this, the Americans might not like it very much."

"Ha! Let them dislike it if they want."

True to his reputation as a genuine rebel, Mark Twain snorted and spoke boldly.

"I don't say things I don't mean, even with a gun to my head! Understand? When I said that you and Mr. Carroll 'broadened the horizons of literature,' it was no empty talk."

His moustache quivered with the force of his words, as if he were a bit agitated.

"Understand? People like us always consider how to convey our thoughts to children. Although I wrote fairy tales for children, they didn't help much in that regard. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a prime example."

"Ah, you mean 'Jim's story.' "

At my words, he responded with a look that said, "Exactly!"

"That's right! Even when I wrote for children, I wanted to address issues like the abolition of slavery and the breaking down of prejudice. But there are limits."

The literary giant sighed deeply and pulled out his pipe from his pocket.

"You probably know better than anyone, but the theme of a story is like its backbone. If themes don't harmonise, they interfere with each other, causing confusion."

I nodded.

Both The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn were masterpieces by Mark Twain, but as children's literature, Tom Sawyer received higher acclaim, while Huckleberry Finn was more highly regarded for its social criticism.

The reason was simple.

Tom Sawyer had a straightforward story, focusing purely on the mischievous adventures of Tom Sawyer.

However, Huckleberry Finn provided a critical view of slavery through the eyes of children, delivering a scathing critique of American society.

Not that either of them was entirely incompatible. If they were, they wouldn't have become classics.

But for this literary giant, neither seemed to achieve complete perfection, and that was regrettable.

"When confusion enters, it turns into contemplation, which makes the story less enjoyable. I've always struggled to maintain that balance."

It's a shame.

He said this while lighting his pipe.

I could only nod in agreement at his words.

When doing research, I often found myself overwhelmed with information and ideas, making it hard to focus.

However, there was one clear difference between him and me: I was involved in web novels, or popular literature, creating products for the public.

If I didn't consider my audience and only told my own story, I would have pursued pure literature.

Regardless of genre, a product that doesn't consider its audience will ultimately fail despite its ideals.

Of course, sometimes, the stars align, and those ideals match reality perfectly, but that's just good luck.

Who can guarantee that the lottery will favour me?

So I focused on refining a successful format from the future, one that could also succeed in this past.

And fortunately, this format seemed to be quite acceptable even to this literary giant.

"On the other hand, when I saw what you and Mr. Carroll had accomplished with The Book, I was amazed! To preserve children's innocence and enlighten them at the same time with such purity! It's like showing literary figures how to directly educate children! Anyone who dislikes such a contribution to humanity will surely be cast into hell by Christ!"

"Haha, well, I just shifted my perspective a bit."

"That's the most important thing, indeed!"

Mark Twain looked at me with eyes ablaze.

The more I saw him, the more he seemed like someone running a high-performance power plant inside.

"So, you don't plan to stop at just mathematics, do you?"

"Oh, of course not."

That was definitely not the plan.

I nodded and said.

"For now, I'm considering five or six subjects, including mathematics."

"Hmm, science isn't left out, I hope?"

"That's what I'm pondering. Whether to divide science into two or three subjects."

"Huh?"

Mark Twain was astonished, and I scratched my head with a bitter smile.

We often lump science together, but physics, chemistry, and biology are entirely different subjects.

Moreover, as a humanities person, it was hard for me to decide.

The last time I studied science was in high school.

I had a general understanding, but not enough to teach professionally.

I could probably recall the periodic table at best.

"Two? Three?"

Seeing my expression, Mark Twain quickly rubbed the end of his moustache.

Then, mumbling to himself, "Hmm, is that so?" he broke into a sly grin.

"You seem to have a deeper understanding of science than I thought."

"Well, not that much."

"Haha, don't be modest. The desire for knowledge is not a sin."

He laughed heartily, clearly pleased, and then squinted his eyes as he removed the pipe from his mouth.

"Hmm, then why not leave that part to me?"

"Pardon? You mean all of science?"

"Yes. I know some scientists who are quite earnest about this sort of thing. Especially Nick. He might grumble, but he'd jump right in to help. He's a big fan of yours, actually."

"Haha, that's very kind of you."

"Hoho, you should have seen him scribbling notes hastily whenever he got an idea, despite saying fairies don't exist. By the way, you don't actually believe in fairies, do you?"

"Hahaha. They're just good material to write about."

"Hohohoho! Indeed, right?"

Watching Mark Twain celebrating his ten-dollar win, I delved into my memories.

Let's see, an American scientist named Nick. But did such a person exist? I couldn't help but tilt my head in confusion.

Of course, I didn't know every American scientist, but I had never heard of an American scientist named Nick.

Fury was a government agent, and Wilde was a former ice cream vendor turned policeman.

Could it be a nickname? Nicky? Dominic? Nicholas? Surely, it wasn't Nikola Tesla?

Given his fascination with the giant exchange water tower in the dwarf city, it seemed plausible... but were he and Mark Twain friends?

Oh well.

It's not important, so it doesn't matter if I'm right or wrong.

"So, can I entrust the writing of the science section to you?"

"Of course! I'm rather delighted to be part of such a meaningful endeavour. Mr Bentley, I will send the manuscript by post as soon as it is finished."

Good.

I grinned as I shook Mark Twain's hand.

Although it was only a verbal agreement, my goodness. I was now flanked by Carroll and Mark Twain. This was a guarantee of success.

"By the way, given the nature of the subject, it might be difficult to derive everything from the Arthurian Chronicles."

"Oh, you can freely create the story. As long as it fits into the same educational book series, it doesn't need to be directly related."

"Hmm... Are you sure that's alright? Even if it's from the same publisher, it's not written by the same author..."

"We'll group it under a label."

I spoke calmly but then cleared my throat as I noticed the puzzled looks on the faces of Mark Twain and Mr Bentley.

Come to think of it, this concept originated in Japan, didn't it?

"You put something like 'such-and-such series' above the book's title on the cover, in a different colour from the author's name and title."

"Ho..."

"Or you could make the cover illustrations similar, for instance."

"Hmm, so it's recognisable just by the cover? That sounds good."

"But sir, the current edition doesn't have that."

"We can add it from the second edition. Or start with the second series."

One example of this was a survival manga series, where the artists changed every four volumes but eventually settled on a consistent team.

"You seem to have a knack for business."

Mark Twain looked at me directly.

Well, it was just a successful method from the future, and it wasn't my idea originally. His gaze felt a bit overwhelming...

"You're the kind of person who could succeed anywhere."

"Oh, come on. I wasn't that successful in my original country..."

"No, your quick thinking is undoubtedly remarkable. Your professionalism is admirable and quite desirable."

Hmm, it felt like he was praising me excessively, and the atmosphere seemed a bit different from earlier.

There was a clear sense of expectation in his eyes, a kind of intense determination.

I wasn't sure how to respond.

"Mr Bentley, could you bring us more of this ale? It's quite good."

"Oh, yes. Certainly."

He even dismissed Mr Bentley?

And so, I found myself sitting alone with this American writer and social activist, who seemed like a high-performance blast furnace compressed into a small elderly body.

"To be honest, I didn't expect to say this directly when we first met."

"Yes."

"Hanslow Jin, let me ask you one thing. ─ Are you satisfied here?"

"Satisfied..."

I pondered Mark Twain's words.

Satisfaction.

Well, it was an intriguing word.

In Chinese characters, it means to be filled.

In English, it means to fulfil or compensate. And if you trace its etymology, it also means to repent.

I wasn't sure what he meant by using this word, but one thing was certain...

I hadn't achieved satisfaction in any sense.

Writers, by nature, constantly think, express, and crave the attention of readers...

"Yes, I thought as much."

Seeing my thoughts, Mark Twain nodded as if he understood everything, clasping his hands on the table and gazing intently at me.

And then, he quietly spoke.

He dropped a bombshell.

"Would you consider coming to America?"

"... Pardon?"