Entering the Literary World, Part 3
January 1, morning.
The Korean literary world was in an uproar after the Shinchun Moonye results were announced. Seven major daily newspapers, seven simultaneous debuts.
It was an unprecedented record in the history of Korean letters. My criticism spread quickly, and even the circumstances of my winning—the judges’ comments themselves—became a subject of debate.
Among the many judges’ comments, the one that stood out most was, as expected, the one from Dongwol Ilbo.
Critics across the country, of course, but also novelists, poets, and university professors.
It was only natural that Mok Hyunsun lodged himself in everyone’s mind overnight. Of course, those who knew him knew certain facts already.
That he was a new editor at Gyeongseong Publishing, and that he was the son of the veteran author Mok Pilhyun. But even those details faded in the face of what he had accomplished.
Dongwol Ilbo wasted no time and published his interview.
People thought to themselves:
If you made such a spectacular debut, did you really need to keep working at a publishing house? A leisurely life of waking late, wandering into a café, lighting a cigarette, reading a book, and scribbling away whenever you felt like it.
Wasn’t that kind of freedom guaranteed now? Or what about going into a university?
Go to graduate school, leverage your debut record, and switch careers into a professorship. Then you wouldn’t have to work yourself to the bone writing, and you could still land a stable sinecure, couldn’t you?
To that, Mok Hyunsun replied:
As if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
This interview—debut is debut, work is work—made a huge splash in the community.
Even people who had no idea what a debut or the literary world actually was still felt a deep jealousy toward him.
Meanwhile, the executives at Gyeongseong Publishing had a great many things to worry about. With the entire literary world’s attention focused on us, was it really wise to leave Mok Hyunsun as he was?
From the company’s perspective, the right move was to make use of his fame.
They should publish more of his writing through Gyeongseong Publishing. But then they would have to give him a position worthy of him, wouldn’t they?
Did it make any sense to promote a three-month-new employee? No—honestly, even that was putting the cart before the horse.
Would Mok Hyunsun even stay at Gyeongseong Publishing? He had said he liked his job, yes.
He had not, however, said he loved Gyeongseong Publishing.
What if he moved to another publisher for a huge sum of money? …That had to be prevented.
At all costs. For that reason, Mok Hyunsun was granted two days of leave.
Officially, it was special congratulatory vacation for his debut, but in truth it was to give the higher-ups time to discuss his treatment first.
And then, on the morning of January 4, the long-awaited day of my return to work, I ate breakfast and scrolled through internet articles.
The cultural pages were still buzzing with my name, but by then the troublemakers were starting to crawl out of the cracks.
Munch, munch. While chewing my food, I muttered, “I never said I’d keep working under the same conditions…”
Anyway, Koreans never listen to the end of the sentence. That was the problem.
─┼
Yes.
Today, I was going to settle matters with Gyeongseong Publishing.
Over the past two days, I had been thinking as well—about how, exactly, I should continue working there.
There was no job that suited my temperament better than publishing.
Gyeongseong Publishing was the finest publishing house in Korea.
Therefore, I would keep working there. Just not in the same way as before.
Realistically, that was how it had to be.
If the company used me, people would accuse it of exploiting me cheaply.
If it didn’t use me, people would accuse it of wasting talent.
More than anything, I would be the one labeled a pushover.
There had to be a way to prevent all of that while still benefiting my career as a critic.
I had thought of that way.
At last, I stepped into the office of the periodicals department. “Good morning.” Everyone looked at me.
There was a sense of war in the air.
They must have noticed too.
That today, I was going to have a little “showdown” with management.
The team leader stood up. “Let’s go, Mok.”
“Yes, sir.” And so we headed to the editor-in-chief’s office.
The office was already packed with people. The owner of the room, Editor-in-Chief Im Myeong-eul.
Team Leader Kim and Editor Yoon from the Korean Literature Department, and Team Leader Byun and Editor Ryu from the Foreign Literature Department. The team leaders and editors from all three departments had assembled.
I was wondering if they were finally about to get started when—
“Is everyone here?”
!
Even the CEO of Gyeongseong Publishing, Mun In-jun, had come. So the representative himself was here.
The negotiation table was far more formidable than I had expected.
Mun In-jun was a man in his fifties, broad-shouldered and full of energy, and he took the lead in the discussion with admirable directness.
“Employee Mok Hyunsun, first of all, let me congratulate you on behalf of the company.”
“Thank you, Representative.”
“The birth of a talent like you is good news for Gyeongseong Publishing too. It means we’ve got someone who truly knows how to read literature properly. We have no intention of leaving you in the editorial team as the youngest forever. That would be a waste of talent. So, then… why don’t we see if there’s a way to make this a win-win for both sides?”
Good news. Win-win.
A businessperson really was a businessperson.
He wasn’t going to dance around the issue; he meant to talk about the practical benefit for each side. And from the representative’s demeanor, I could tell they already had an answer in mind.
Editor-in-Chief Im said, “I’m sure you’ve received plenty of offers over the last few days.”
There was no need to be humble now.
This was a negotiation.
“Yes. Embarrassingly enough, quite a few places contacted me. Many publishers offered several times my current salary, and one vocational college suggested graduate-school admission in exchange for a teaching position. Even the offices of professors at famous universities said they could guarantee me a part-time lectureship if I enrolled.”
Those were things that had actually happened within just three days.
That was how powerful the ripple effect of my debut had been.
For a moment, embarrassment flickered across the faces of the representative and the editors, while envy crossed the team leaders’ expressions.
Only Team Leader Lee forced a smile and asked me, “Mok Hyunsun… did you ever have any aspirations toward teaching? Haha, no, of course not, right?”
His eyes were practically begging me.
Say no.
Say you’re not going to resign!
That was the pressure of a direct superior who had a stake in this too. If I quit, he’d have no face to show the upper management.
Team Leader Lee was a good boss.
No need to make him anxious for no reason.
“No. I can teach later if I want to. It’s not something I’ve ever particularly wanted. I’d like to stay at Gyeongseong Publishing.”
“Ah.”
“Thank goodness.”
Their shoulders visibly dropped in relief at the same time.
I had never seen such a sight in my life.
So that was what a real sigh of relief looked like.
Representative Mun said, “Then the company can make an offer with peace of mind. We’ll match the salary you were offered by other firms, and we’ll promote you to assistant editor. That should look appropriate to outsiders, while also giving Mr. Mok enough standing to write frequently for Gyeongseong Geul, wouldn’t you say?”
A high salary and a promotion to assistant editor.
It was a pretty decent offer.
But.
“As I understand it, the periodicals department operates on a team system. There isn’t a rank structure beneath the team leader.”
“That’s true, though the Korean Literature and Foreign Literature divisions, which are larger, do have assistant editor positions.”
Granted, in a bureaucracy, ranks could be created whenever one pleased.
Still, I saw things a little differently.
To rise to assistant editor by leapfrogging over my seniors.
To be the only assistant editor in Editorial Teams One, Two, and Three, no less?
Editors would stake their lives on a single review.
And if I took one of those slots every time simply because of my title as assistant editor?
Just thinking about it made me uneasy.
There was no reason to ruin my comfortable company life just to write a few more review lines.
“I’ll pass on the promotion, though the salary is fine. What I do need is for you to hear another proposal.”
“? Go on.”
“First. I’d like you to create an ‘Editorial Criticism’ column in Gyeongseong Geul. A regular feature.”
“…”
“And I’d like permission to plan and write it myself. I’ll hand over all review assignments to the other editors.”
Silence fell.
Everyone’s eyes widened.
Even Editor-in-Chief Im, who was not easily surprised.
That was right.
What I wanted was something more fundamental.
To become the owner of one section of Gyeongseong Geul.
“I’m both an editor and a critic. An ‘Editorial Criticism’ column… I think that would be a way for Gyeongseong Publishing to make full use of me.”
“Huh.” Representative Mun was momentarily at a loss for words.
It seemed he had never dreamed I would make such a proposal.
He looked to Editor-in-Chief Im. “Changing the structure of Gyeongseong Geul is a rather sensitive matter… what do you think, Editor-in-Chief?”
No matter how much of the representative he was,
in a case like this, the judgment of the person responsible for operations mattered more.
Publishing was complicated enough that way.
Editor-in-Chief Im thought with a serious face. “As a fellow critic, I find it a rather excellent proposal,” he said.
But?
“As an editor-in-chief, it is somewhat troublesome.”
A cold tension settled over the office.
That, perhaps, was only natural.
To tamper with the structure of Gyeongseong Geul was to challenge the authority of the editorial board itself.
But on the other hand, there was still room to win.
He had said troublesome, not impossible.
The fact that he hadn’t rejected it outright meant I had already cleared the first hurdle.
“I’ll need some time to think it through. In the meantime, Mr. Mok, tell me your second proposal. You said there was a first, so there must be a next one.”
I nodded.
“And second.”
In truth, this was the more important one.
“Please let me accept quarterly-review commissions from other publishers freely.”
I had no intention of giving up my freedom as a critic, either.