Hexagram (2)
29.
The next day, at 1:00 p.m. Editing Conference Room 5 on the fifth floor of the Gyeongseong Publishing headquarters in Paju Book City.
A rather unusual editorial meeting was being held there. Six people had gathered for it, led by Chief Editor Im Myeong-eul.
Critic and Korean literature professor Yeo Song-yeon.
Critic and creative writing professor Im Seon-mi.
The eminent Korean literature scholar and professor emeritus Park Geun-woo.
And comparative literature pioneer and professor emeritus Yoo Seung-beom. Between those towering authorities,
a young man in his twenties sat with an almost boyish face. Mok Hyunsun, editor of Gyeongseong Publishing’s Editorial Team 1 and a rookie critic. Neither his age nor his position should have warranted him being there.
And yet perhaps it was precisely that sense of mismatch that gave him weight.
Mok Hyunsun carried a strange presence. At last, the editorial meeting began. Whom they would commission,
and whom they would not.
Every decision process was transparent, and not a trace of levity was allowed.
The seriousness of it moved Mok Hyunsun enough that he felt a little stirred. Impressive. They’ve worked together for so long that the atmosphere ought to be loose, but they’re examining everything with such rigor: each writer’s tendencies, ability, popularity, and more. There’s no chance they’d ever push a friend’s name through just because they were close. So much of so many writers’ livelihoods depended on this meeting.
That was why there were so many rumors about the editorial conference.
That they favored writers they were close to.
That they withheld commissions from writers they disliked. But in Mok Hyunsun’s eyes, that wasn’t it.
If they ever recommended someone on the basis of personal ties,
they would be tossed out of this very room. “There was talk of entrusting this season’s poetry commission to Poet Min Ji-ho, wasn’t there? But… after reading the collection he published last month, I’m afraid the tension has weakened quite a bit. How did everyone find it?” The critic who raised the point, Yeo Song-yeon,
was Min Ji-ho’s wife.
“Regrettably, I agree. Let’s watch what he does in the other quarterlies this season and revisit the commission then.”
“Yes. No matter how established a poet may be, or rather because he is established, we should look at it even more carefully. Unlike novelists, poets are more likely to collapse from the established end than from the newcomer’s side.” No one paid any mind to the fact that the two were married.
Critic Yeo Song-yeon must have had complicated feelings, of course,
but she showed none of it on her face.
...They’re professionals. Mok Hyunsun could feel it.
If writing criticism was close to a thrill,
then what ruled this room was a heavy sense of responsibility. At least as long as they served as editorial board members of Gyeongseong Geul,
they were reading the currents of the literary world with a proper sense of duty. Now and then, the board members glanced at Mok Hyunsun.
But he did not recklessly insert himself into the conversation.
His goal today was simple.
To get the interpretation for the Editorial Critique Section approved. After about two hours, the meeting finally drew to a close.
Only at the very end did Chief Editor Im speak. “Let’s discuss the ‘Editorial Critique Section’ that will run as a special feature in this spring issue. It’s a segment planned by Critic Mok Hyunsun, who is with us today, and it takes an unusual form. You all read it, yes?”
There was no answer.
It was too obvious a question.
Scholar Park Geun-woo spoke first. “I don’t think there’s any need to discuss his ability.”
“Yes. How should I put it... it’s a piece that will help Author Son Yeong-han a great deal.”
“The author himself doesn’t seem to fully understand the situation, though,” At Professor Im Seon-mi’s words, a low laugh escaped for the first time.
Professor Im Seon-mi had been Son Yeong-han’s classmate at university. “I heard the author’s child read Critic Mok’s piece and convinced him.”
“Hm. I wondered how that stubborn old man agreed to it. So that’s what happened.” So that’s what happened. Then Son Yeong-han was still half skeptical.
If that was the author’s attitude,
the editorial board’s evaluation mattered all the more. “Mr. Mok.” Professor Yoo Seung-beom said. “We understand your intent. We also understand that this is a piece needed for Mr. Son’s new work, and that it is an exceptionally well-written interpretation.” Everyone nodded as though in agreement. “However,” Professor Yeo Song-yeon said calmly, “we do worry that it has been tailored too much to popular taste.”
“I agree as well. The ‘silver-spoon theory’ is an idea that can draw people’s attention, but it is closer to a social phenomenon than to literary theory.” Mok Hyunsun listened first. “Gyeongseong Geul is, above all else, a literary magazine. Whatever the excellence of the piece, shouldn’t we be running something that reveals a stronger literary focus than this?”
“What about compressing this piece briefly and publishing it through the official Insta instead? We could send it over to promotions entirely.” In any case, it amounted to rejection.
Rewrite the interpretation, or plan a different topic.
If this kept happening, the Editorial Critique Section might collapse into nothing at all. Everyone looked at the young critic with sympathetic faces, but with smiles that also thanked him for his effort.
That was when Mok Hyunsun finally spoke. “I agree with your points, professors, first of all.” Clean acknowledgement. “So I made a few revisions.” And then the reversal. Mok Hyunsun took five copies of a manuscript from his document envelope.
Chief Editor Im Myeong-eul said, “You didn’t mention you had a revised version.”
“I’m sorry. I wrote it in a hurry last night.” The editorial board exchanged glances.
There was no particular expectation in those looks.
However much literary technique one applied to the silver-spoon theory, it was still the silver-spoon theory. “Hm, let’s take a look first.” At the chief editor’s words, they began reading the new interpretation.
The moment they saw the title, their eyes widened slightly. [To Hold the Chopsticks or Reject Them. That Is the Question. - Son Yeong-hun’s Hexagram]
“!”
“This is...”
“Isn’t this Shakespeare’s Hamlet?”
“‘To be or not to be’... Ah!” Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
The story structure was simple.
Prince Hamlet avenged his father by killing the uncle who had murdered his father and married his mother.
But the appeal of Hamlet was not a clean revenge drama.
It was Hamlet’s psychology as he wrestled with whether or not to take revenge according to fate.
And the line that symbolically revealed that conflict.
That was the famous question of “to be or not to be.” Professor Yoo Seung-beom lifted his head. “...Did you perhaps develop this novel through fatalism?” The professor was, indeed, a professor.
From the title alone, he was already predicting the flow of the interpretation. “Yes, that’s right. I started with the silver-spoon theory, explained fatalism through that, and structured it so that it could ultimately interpret Hexagram.”
“...”
“I wanted it to be interesting not only to ordinary readers, but to literary enthusiasts as well.” Mok Hyunsun stated the purpose of his piece clearly.
From that moment on, the mood in the conference room changed.
The editorial board began reading Mok Hyunsun’s piece with concentration. Shakespeare’s Hamlet
That, naturally, was enough to catch the taste of literary people. Mok Hyunsun’s interpretation began by calmly comparing the divination of Hexagram to the silver-spoon theory.
He made sure anyone could feel the story and appeal of Hexagram.
And just as they were beginning to sink into the interpretation, [ ... In this way, do we not also stand before such a choice? Whether to keep holding the spoon we were born gripping, to set it down, or even to exchange it for the spoon beside us. Just as Prince Hamlet in Shakespeare’s Hamlet agonizes over whether to avenge his father’s murderer, his uncle, or not. Fate always takes hold of us, shakes us, and drives us into trial. Shall we speak of Hexagram? The one who draws “Great Misfortune” knows. Just as in the life he has lived from birth until now, just as only he twisted his ankle on a mountain hike, he will live a “Great Misfortune” kind of life. Yet from time to time he casts greedy eyes toward a life of “Great Fortune” (...) ] From silver-spoon theory to Hamlet,
from Hamlet to Hexagram. The flow was so smooth and elegant
it felt like a stream gliding through the hills, past the river, and into the sea. The five judges read in silence, not even breathing.
The unease that they could not afford to lose this thread, the excitement of it, was sweeping through the room. [ ... Hamlet’s attitude toward fate was not fixed. If avenging his father was fate, then simply living safely as a prince was also fate. In that sense, Hamlet both submitted to fate and resisted it. He complied by killing his uncle, and resisted by refusing to live safely. The human relationship with fate is this complex and multilayered. Hexagram reinterprets this fatalism from a modern perspective (...) At that moment, the three figures accepted fate while also devising a stratagem to resist it. ] The paragraph ended there.
The editorial board felt something strangely unsettled.
Of course they had read Hexagram.
And yet... they suddenly wanted to know what happened next. Just what choice had those three people made?
In what manner had they submitted to fate and resisted it?
It was strangely compelling.
As if they had encountered Hexagram through this interpretation itself.
One by one, they set the new interpretation of Hexagram down.
One person silently adjusted his glasses,
another sank into thought. Silence continued. For quite a while. “May I ask for your evaluation?” Mok Hyunsun asked at last, unable to wait any longer.
But again, there was no answer.
They could hardly pull themselves free of the afterimage. Only then did Professor Park Geun-woo speak. “Young, but mature. Light, yet weighty.” Mok Hyunsun mentally tossed out a joke. A feather as heavy as lead in an iced Americano. He deliberately let a touch of playfulness surface to ease the tension, but
he was no fool; he could still tell.
The board liked the interpretation.
“...Publish it.” Professor Yoo Seung-beom stated his position briefly.
Then the other three nodded,
and Chief Editor Im gave indirect agreement with a simple, “Then we shall.” Not noisy praise, but recognition like silence.
Which meant, quite simply,
that Mok Hyunsun’s piece was good enough to speak for itself.
After the meeting ended.
As Mok Hyunsun came out of Gyeongseong Publishing, he suddenly looked up at the building.
Specifically, at the fifth floor.
For now, it seems the editorial board was satisfied. But it was too early to relax.
The readers’ response and the movement of the market.
Those were impossible to know until the lid came off the pot. What if the response to the interpretation was lukewarm?
Then the “Editorial Critique Section” will be over too. Still, he did not regret having set this in motion.
He had pushed what he wanted all the way to the end.
That’s what life is, isn’t it? You throw it out there. What else is there? And so he left the quiet Paju Publishing City behind.
─┼
What a load of nonsense, life is all about throwing things out there.
I should have clutched it carefully instead of letting go.
Today, the spring issue of Gyeongseong Geul was published.
Both in print and in the webzine.
There was no way to know the print edition’s reaction, but
in the webzine, readers could leave comments.
And yet... there were no comments. There were comments on the poetry, the fiction, the criticism, even the book ads.
Only my piece was met with complete silence.
All it had, however, were view counts several times higher than the others. Dr-rk. I couldn’t bear to look anymore, so I got up at last.
Then I took the elevator up to the rooftop. Whiiish...
The wind was blowing.
It blew through my mind as well. “Did I blow it...?” Something like the Editorial Critique Section
would vanish into history,
as though it had been a one-off special feature from the very beginning. “Haa...” A sigh slipped out before I could stop it.
Damn it. If it was going to turn out like this, maybe I should have just gone for a promotion to assistant manager.
Wuuung- wuuung- wuuung-. Senior Yang called me.
...I didn’t even have any backlog, so why was he looking for me? I wanted to be alone.
Still, I reluctantly answered. “Yes, senior. I was just about to—”
-Hey! Where are you?
“On the rooftop for a moment,”
-Get downstairs right now. Right now! It’s chaos here!