NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 45
Pretextata Shuga said that a novelist must have big balls and a cock.
Pretextata Shuga is the name of a great writer who appears in Amélie Nothomb’s novel “The Health Method of a Killer.” He expresses extreme misogyny, describing women as ugly, vile, and wicked victims.
He shudders at hypocrisy, jealousy, malice, and cowardice, stating that they are clearly inferior beings compared to men.
It’s laughably relatable, but I could no longer laugh at those words.
He described what a novelist needs as a cock and balls.
He used such expressions while not denying the existence of great female novelists.
According to his theory, the balls represent resistance, and the cock represents creativity.
Some female novelists, surprisingly women, possessed balls and a cock. I was not making a vulgar sexual joke. Even if it sounded like that, I had nothing to say.
However, those two things no longer existed for me.
I lost the ability to resist and lacked the power to create anything.
What I had lost were those things—firm balls and a big cock.
I should have realized it long ago, but it dawned on me far too late.
Where have the lost things gone?
That’s right.
I was now a victim.
What I had become was an existence so intolerably inferior.
I did not want to acknowledge that I had become a woman in this way.
Unfortunately, I was no longer a man.
Now I was hideously inferior.
~
Yet, I was still a man.
~
I believe so.
~
I want to believe so.
~
With all will and strength lost, I was sprawled over the dining table. If there were a wall, it would have been fine. I could either fall, break the wall, or go back; there were plenty of ways.
But where was I supposed to go to find the lost self?
I had no way to know. No matter how much I thought, I couldn’t come up with a solution.
That day, I died,
I was trapped.
The key to escape this prison was not visible to my eyes.
And even in such a situation, I was hungry. Once I regained my senses and realized what I had lost, the exhilarating state that had felt like a drug subsided, and feelings of depression and hunger flooded in. Nevertheless, I lacked the strength to move, so I lay still on the floor.
Embracing a single pillow tightly, I lay as if I were a fetus in the womb.
But unlike the protagonists in my novels, I did not have the courage to slice my own belly.
I was just slowly losing light and dying.
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
The initial ring of “ding-dong” echoed, and when I did not respond, it began to ring continuously.
Even so, when I didn’t answer the intercom or open the door, soon a beeping sound followed, and the door opened.
The only person who knew the password to this house, aside from me, was just one.
Ham Yejin hurriedly entered, and upon seeing me lying on the floor holding onto a pillow, she exclaimed in panic, “Are you okay?”
Ham Yejin began examining my body without waiting for an answer. When I looked at her with weary eyes, Ham Yejin confirmed I was conscious and sighed in relief.
“You’re awake. I was worried because I hadn’t heard from you since yesterday.”
“I see.”
“I intended to visit right away because I was worried about you not contacting me when you were unwell, but something urgent came up, causing me to be late. Are you feeling unwell?”
“My condition is perfectly fine. In fact, that’s the problem.”
“What happened?”
How should I explain? I don’t know. Even I think the reason I collapsed was pathetic and embarrassing.
It wouldn’t be surprising if someone called me a lunatic.
“Please tell me. I’ll listen.”
However, sometimes simply confiding in someone can be helpful.
“I lost myself.”
“Yourself? Are you talking about your confidence?”
“No, I mean myself, literally. I lost myself.”
“Where did you lose yourself?”
“I don’t know, so I can’t find it.”
“Could you elaborate?”
I turned my head away from Ham Yejin. I rested my forehead against the ground and gazed at the scenery behind the pillow. I opened my mouth.
“On the day I threw up, an inspiration struck me. Inspiration for my new work, ‘Womb.’ It erupted like a volcano. I began writing immediately. Oddly, the story came together well. But today, I realized this isn’t my writing. This kind of writing isn’t mine. It can’t be mine.”
“In what way?”
“It’s horrifically shallow, awkward, ugly, disgusting, and pathetic. It’s not about whether it’s well-written or not; simply put… the former me isn’t present in this writing.”
“May I read it?”
“The computer in the room is on. The document that’s open is that writing.”
Ham Yejin didn’t immediately enter the room. She lifted me, cradled in the pillow, and moved me to the sofa. Even though I was small, I was still a person and surely weighed something, yet Ham Yejin didn’t even flinch.
Only then did she finally enter my room. After a considerable amount of time, she returned. With a serious expression, she knelt down to match my eye level. Then she looked into my eyes and said. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t turn my gaze from Ham Yejin.
“I read it all.”
“What do you think?”
Ridiculously, even amidst this, I craved attention. The reactions, interest, and evaluations from readers were akin to fertilizer necessary for a writer.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought. I understood Seol-guk’s concerns.”
It was a desperate statement. To others, did I already seem to be in a state of having lost myself? But Ham Yejin’s words did not end there.
“However, I cannot believe that Seol-guk has truly lost himself.”
“…Why not?”
“You mentioned that it wasn’t a matter of whether it was well-written or not, but I believe that aspect is something you must never forget.”
“What do you mean…?”
“I heard the title. You said it was ‘Womb.’ Why did you choose such a name?”
“Well… it came to mind.”
“If you decided on the title first, then this novel is failing. If you were going to ridicule women using the title ‘Womb,’ you should have clarified the theme. Right now, Seol-guk’s ‘Womb’ is simply a writing consumed by inspiration, a work buried beneath it. That inspiration must have been strong, huh? You became so obsessed with that inspiration that it turned into a mere work.”
In short, this ‘Womb’ is poorly written.
“That’s impossible!”
While I could endure insults about myself, I couldn’t handle someone saying I could not write. Unintentionally, I shouted out loud.
“No, admit it. ‘Womb’ is a poorly written novel.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! How would you know anything about writing?!”
“I know enough. The intense message that was embedded in ‘The Boy’s Womb’ is missing from this one. This is merely a poorly written piece close to pornography. It doesn’t even provide pleasure to readers.”
“Shut up! That can’t be true!”
Yet, even while shouting like that, I could not refute Ham Yejin’s words. Hearing them convinced me as well. Yes, it was lacking. Since it was hastily written, such problems could naturally be present. But ultimately, those were aspects that could be corrected. Therefore, I could not admit that I couldn’t write.
“I… can’t write poorly!”
“That’s exactly what I am saying.”
“…?”
Ham Yejin began speaking nonsensically. Soon, she opened her mouth again.
“I will tell you quite clearly. This novel is a poorly written novel. The basic theme is shattered. Therefore, I think this way.”
And declared.
“This novel, ‘Womb,’ is not well-written enough to contain yourself in it. You said you lost yourself in the novel? That’s inevitable. It wasn’t even a vessel that could contain you. Don’t despair just because you wrote a terrible piece and feel like you lost yourself.”
If you’re going to say that, at least you should write one masterpiece, right?
“A masterpiece…”
I was left speechless by Ham Yejin’s words. In truth, at this point, it was unrealistic for me to evaluate this novel objectively. Therefore, I couldn’t ascertain whether Ham Yejin’s words were sincere or if they were just a simple route to comfort me.
There would be those who could choose not to believe these words. And those who could believe them.
Naturally, it was easier to choose the path of belief. However, the path of disbelief was not merely a difficult one.
The path of disbelief ended there. It was a precipice. At the point of losing myself, I could do nothing more. I was just endlessly wandering beneath that cliff, trying to find something irretrievable.
Thus, I ultimately chose to believe the path, even while knowing that this story might be Ham Yejin’s cunning scheme.
Ham Yejin patted my head, as if soothing a child. It was undoubtedly an unpleasant and distasteful action, yet somehow, I lacked the strength to stop it.
“…Then, I suppose I must rewrite it.”
“You’ve made a wise decision.”
“I should write more.”
“Do so.”
“What should I do?”
“Write. And ask questions. If you lock yourself up and indulge in contemplation, the conclusion can only exist within a narrow perspective.”
Having been lying down, I adjusted my position and sat on the sofa. I looked at Ham Yejin, kneeling with her gaze lowered to mine. Ham Yejin was holding my hand with the same hand that had just patted my head.
“This hand will write miracles.”
Ah, I certainly had to admit it.
This woman, or rather, this person,
Was excellent at comforting a child.