Chapter 25 – Mark Twain (2)

"... A-America?"

"Yes."

Mark Twain nodded solemnly. I stared at him blankly.

Even though I'd lived in England for a long time, it seemed my identity as a Korean hadn't completely faded away.

The moment he mentioned America, the first thing that came to mind was, 'Why don't you go to Hawaii?'

Of course, that's certainly not what he meant. Besides, Hawaii wasn't part of the United States yet.

... Right?

Anyway.

"It doesn't sound like you're suggesting a short visit."

"No, I mean for you to move there."

Mark Twain calmly mentioned that there was a good position available in New York.

Even if I didn't need anything immediately, from household items to a house or connections, he said he could support me.

It was a very tempting offer.

I mean, New York's land prices are high now and will remain so in the future. Securing that land with someone else's money was certainly appealing.

However, honestly, it seemed too good to be true, and I couldn't properly gather my thoughts.

"So."

After calmly drinking tea, I still couldn't understand, so I asked.

"Why?"

"Hmm. I didn't explain enough, did I?"

You just realised that?

I barely managed to hold back a retort.

Mark Twain, contrary to his furnace-like personality, scratched his head and carefully chose his words.

"Hmm... Right. Firstly, there's your writing."

"My writing?"

"Yes, your writing is too different to be considered English literature. You know that, right?"

"Well... Yes."

I could only nod. I'd heard that many times here as well.

Regardless of popularity, the style of my writing was still close to that of web novels.

Overall, it lacked thematic depth, minimised descriptions, and mostly ignored the subtleties of rhythm.

In many ways, it was the polar opposite of contemporary English literature.

Still, I was just grateful to the readers who bought my books.

"But American literature is different."

Mark Twain spread his arms wide.

"I'm embarrassed to say this, but after writing 'Tom Sawyer' and 'Huckleberry Finn,' I'm called the father of American literature."

"Are you perhaps bragging...?"

"Of course not. What I'm trying to say is that American literature is now in the process of being created."

Mark Twain explained.

Trends are cyclical.

Whether it's readers or writers, once they develop a taste for a certain style, works corresponding to that style dominate for a while. They become fashionable.

"But that style inevitably changes."

"People get bored once they adapt."

"Exactly!"

It might be the writers who tire first, or it could be the readers.

But one thing is certain: they will eventually tire, and the trending style often contrasts with the previous one.

"In a way, the emerging style is influenced by the preceding one."

"You're talking about paradigms."

"A paradigm? Well... It's not entirely different, but not exactly the same either."

Hmm, maybe the term hasn't emerged in this era yet?

Anyway, Mark Twain continued his speech.

"In my view, the history of artistic movements roughly follows this pattern. But now, America is different. Yes, it shares the same language, but I see a new literary form emerging, fundamentally different from English literature."

"So, you're inviting me to America because of that?"

"Yes, I believe you would be more successful in America than in England. I can see that."

"... Someone like me, an Asian?"

"People who talk like that, just whack them with a gold bar if you're rich."

But can someone who wrote such a book say that?

Isn't that the book about the oil king Rockefeller, the finance king Morgan, and the steel king Carnegie opening the Robber Baron era to claim the top spot in the American frontier?

Noticing my look that suggested this, Mark Twain scratched his head, perhaps feeling awkward about his own words.

"Well, honestly, I don't like those Northern robber barons any more than the Southern slave-owning lot. They're growing rapidly and looking flashy, but the disparity in wealth and workers' rights in the Detroit industrial area is appalling."

"But can you really say that?"

"The problem is how you make money, not how you spend it. And this is the second reason... someone like you succeeding in America would open the eyes of our dull white lower class."

"I understand what you're saying."

In short.

Now that a new great literary era is about to unfold in America, let's team up and find One Piece! And Hanslow Jin, a man of colour, would be aboard that pirate ship.

The basic idea wasn't much different. It would serve as a useful resource for the ideology he wanted to promote.

As he said, it would be enough to cause a culture shock.

If considered alone, it wasn't a bad proposal.

Going to America wouldn't significantly change my current life.

I had heard enough about how well my writings were selling in America. Considering the future and the market size, selling directly in America would be better.

The population in America is already much larger.

There was some regret about moving away from friends I'd become close to, but it's not like I was short on money or afraid to step out now that I was an adult.

Moreover, above all... being in Europe, one couldn't avoid it.

World War I.

A great war that would result in 40 million casualties, centred on Europe.

Considering that 1914 was only 20 years away, it might be better to go to America early and settle down.

But.

"I'm sorry."

"Hmm, you don't want to?"

"I still have many things I want to do in England."

I smiled wryly.

It's true that there are many advantages to going to America. But staying in England also has its merits.

If the literary paradigm in America was starting from zero, in England, an attractive hybrid genre literature was being born from the fusion of old and new.

Of course, I'm a web novel writer, and I write for money.

But... apart from that, I don't write solely for money.

I was a Sherlockian, and I grew up with Alice and Peter Pan. Watching movies filled me with grandeur, and I dreamed of the magical school by the lake that appeared when the train passed through the tunnel.

With my own values in genre literature and respect for the predecessors who created it, I couldn't leave England just yet.

Well, I still hadn't repaid Mr. Miller's kindness, and I could see the children crying and clinging to me if I said I was leaving home.

These days, Mary had grown a lot and was already babbling and turning over.

Looking at it this way, I had a lot to do.

And although it was a distant story, there might be something I could do.

I just wanted to be faithful to that moment.

That's roughly it.

"Come to think of it, for someone who claims to be a Sherlockian, I haven't even met Arthur Conan Doyle yet."

It felt like I'd be a stalker if I just went to see him... Will I be able to meet him before I die?

After thinking that, Mark Twain smacked his lips and shook his head.

"It can't be helped. I can't force you if you don't want to."

"I'm sorry, despite the good offer."

"No, it's fine. I suppose I said something unnecessary."

Even as he said that, Mark Twain, perhaps feeling it was a shame, handed me his contact information in case I changed my mind.

I smiled as I took it.

"Actually, location doesn't matter much. We communicate through our writings, and now it's a global village where you can travel around the world in 80 days, isn't it?"

"Haha, that's true. Hmm, a global village... it feels like it's right next door? Yes, with telegraph lines, we could hear each other every day... Hmm, the more I think about it, the more interesting that phrase is. I like it."

"Haha... Yes, anyway, there's also our label issue."

Oh, that word probably doesn't exist yet? I scratched the back of my head for a moment and then put the paper he gave me into my pocket.

"Please take care of me in the future."

I wouldn't need it for now, but I might ask him to be my guide if I ever went to America.

No matter what, you can't ignore the friendship of the father of American literature, Mark Twain.

***

The 'official' power structure of the British Empire was a parliamentary constitutional monarchy.

But, like all power institutions, the official structure didn't matter much.

Separation of powers? Montesquieu? Wasn't that a snail? There was no reason for the sacred British Empire to mention such an irreverent name.

Therefore, the work of the executive and the parliament overlapped, the work of the parliament and the Privy Council overlapped, and the work of the Privy Council and the executive overlapped.

Expecting a bureaucracy established only 30 years ago to function properly was wishful thinking.

Especially with an old system like the Bill of Rights, there was no way it could limit the power of the first-ever emperor in the history of the United Kingdom.

And because of that, Queen Victoria was the most hawkish on diplomatic and military matters, and while the parliament functioned well, it couldn't completely ignore the absolute monarchy.

Therefore.

Stealing documents passed within Somerset House and delivered to the Inland Revenue under the Treasury was child's play for a nameless naval officer, a direct royal secret intelligence agent.

"Are you saying the literary society tried to expose Bentley Publishing's tax evasion?"

"Yes, that is correct. To be precise, they are currently plotting to do so."

The Queen let out a mirthless laugh.

She had kept them alive for appearances' sake, and they were doing something so absurd.

"So, was that publishing company really evading taxes?"

The Queen asked coldly.

Absurdity aside, tax evasion was tax evasion.

If the Queen was the heart of the nation, taxes were its breath.

Without consuming taxes, the nation would wither and die. The reason the Inland Revenue's enforcement power ranked in the top five throughout history and across the globe was simple.

And, if this opportunity allowed her to crush that company and bring that wretched monkey directly under the royal authority... The Queen was thinking just that.

"They are indeed siphoning off an amount that could be interpreted as tax evasion, but the sum is so small it could be considered within the margin of error, and they make corresponding donations every year. Especially this year, the donation amount is substantial... If it goes to trial, the publishing company is highly likely to win."

"In short, it's neither black nor white. How dull."

Most companies engaged in that level of tax evasion to some extent.

Moreover, the donation they made this year was fatal. Even the Queen herself couldn't say the amount was insignificant.

'Besides... the purpose of that donation is so irritating.'

There were enough grounds to nitpick, but the financial district of London would likely be in turmoil.

One can't burn down the whole house to catch a flea, so Victoria smacked her lips in regret and shook her head.

"Then relay it to the Inland Revenue and tell them not to make unnecessary moves."

"I will follow your orders. And what about the literary society?"

"Leave them be. Aren't they just losers taking up space?"

"As you command."

"And."

Queen Victoria suddenly smiled. She had thought of something because of the conversation.

"Prepare."

"Where to, Your Majesty?"

"I want to see something amusing after a long time."

Daring to call her an old hag.

As she aged and became more stubborn, the Queen might forget favours, but she never forgot minor grudges.