Novels Become Reality
I hadn't read Vomit. Yeah, when was that again? Probably around the midpoint of my senior year's first semester. Back then, I was the epitome of youthful ignorance—clueless about the world, charging ahead without a care. That's why I could spout off like that, oblivious to how scary the world really is.
What did I say? Obviously, it was about novels. And novels are reality.
Over there a sparrow, over there an owl, over there a plover. No matter the bird, their chatter was all the same mindless twittering. I nodded along, letting it flow in one ear and out the other.
"Are you even listening right now?"
"Ah, of course I am."
Of course I wasn't. Even though it was feedback on my novel.
It was a class where we submitted short stories and critiqued each other's work. Naturally, the Creative Writing Department was a female-dominated major, so about seventy percent of the classroom was filled with women. In other words, there were over ten birds chirping away in there. And one of those sparrows was twittering on about my story. Whether a sparrow even had the chops for proper critique was debatable.
"Then, sunbae, could I ask what part of your writing I just said was problematic?"
"Sorry, I zoned out for a second."
I admitted it straight up. No point pretending with something like, "You saying my novel has problems?" That would just backfire on me.
The sparrow flushed red with anger but couldn't very well spit on someone who'd apologized. "...Please pay proper attention from now on. What I meant was that the characters' perspectives in your novel feel narrow-minded, and the world-building seems to endorse that. You take an extremely idiosyncratic character and describe them as if they represent an entire group, presenting it as obvious fact..."
"So, basically, the scene where the high school girl protagonist gets an abortion, recovers right away, and casually jumps back into compensated dating made the misogynistic main character's thoughts feel uncomfortable?"
"...Well, yes, but it's not that simple—"
"Thanks for the great advice. I'll keep it in mind."
Of course I wouldn't.
As her words cut off, the sparrow shot me a blatantly displeased glare and sat down. Her name was probably Yun Su-a. A junior in the same department, for now.
Our relationship wasn't great from the start. Closer to rock bottom, really. Not surprising, though. My rapport with most female classmates was abysmal, and my reputation in the department was in the gutter.
When it was time to critique Yun Su-a's story, I raised my hand as if it were the most natural thing.
"First off, I read it with great interest."
Pure lip service, as always. Standard opener for critiques in the department.
"Honestly, though—no offense—your novel is pretty blatant. But that's not a bad thing. It means it appeals strongly to your target audience. That's a compliment. Novels only matter if readers engage with them, so crafting something your intended readers will love is smart writing. Especially how you tweak the worldview just enough to make it convincing, fooling even outsiders into buying it."
It sounded positive at first glance, but it was all sarcasm. Her story was blatant pandering to women—more precisely, to those stirring up fears that South Korea was the most dangerous place on earth for them. The other classmates weren't idiots; they got what I meant. Proof? Yun Su-a's face twisted even more than before.
But stopping there wouldn't count as a proper critique. Time to step it up.
"That said, while it appeals plenty to your target readers, it's a bit regrettable that the characters' perspectives feel narrow and the world-building seems to endorse it."
I threw her exact words back at her.
Yun Su-a gritted her teeth. "Th-thanks... for the advice."
Good, she hadn't crossed the line yet. Neither of us pushed further. Naturally, our critiques weren't entirely free of personal bias. It had been like this since our first short story submissions. Basically, it was a pissing contest.
Yun Su-a was definitely feminist-leaning. Not the extreme radical type they call radical feminists, but her submissions were overly feminine. I'd called her out hard on it from day one, earning her enmity, and now every critique session turned into us tearing each other down.
Still, it hadn't escalated beyond this. Compared to what happened before I enlisted, it was nothing.
The real trouble came in the next critique. It was the turn of the junior sitting next to Yun Su-a—Muk Ha-neul.
Muk Ha-neul was a weirdo. Timid personality, mild-mannered, straightforward. But the real reason she was weird? She didn't hate me. Hence, weirdo.
She was tight with Yun Su-a, so she didn't flaunt it, but among the female classmates, she was just about the only one I had any real exchange with.
That didn't mean I'd go easy on her critique, though.
"Your novel is overly feminine. Not in a feminist way, so don't misunderstand. Frankly, it's subpar. Feels like strolling through a flower garden. Even if contriving the plot for the protagonist was unavoidable in a short story, you failed to make it convincing, so it doesn't pass as one. Maybe as the intro to a full novel. The process of the protagonist suddenly changing sex and falling in love is downright juvenile."
Muk Ha-neul's story was impossible to praise, even politely. The structure was incomplete for a short story, and the content was purely childish. I could've believed a middle schooler wrote it. She wasn't usually this bad; honestly, disappointing.
She seemed shocked by my feedback, stammering as she trembled. The meek male professor looked conflicted about whether this level of critique was okay.
"I-I understand. Th-thanks... for the advice."
I knew I'd gone a bit harsh myself. Ah, she's done for now. She must hate me for sure.
No big deal, though. I'd said it knowing she couldn't really fight back.
But the outburst came from elsewhere.
"Hey, you! What kind of critique is that? Way too harsh!"
Yun Su-a exploded. Seeing her friend shaking must've pushed her over the edge regarding me.
"I just stated facts, junior. Anything wrong with that?"
"Right or wrong doesn't matter! There's such a thing as manners! You've been belittling and mocking guys like this since day one—is that supposed to be fun? For you?"
As Yun Su-a dropped all pretense of formality in her rage, every eye in the room—classmates and professor alike—turned our way. This was more attention than I'd wanted; annoying.
If she ditched respect, no need for me to keep it up.
"What's the point of being polite during critique time? If I lie and say 'Well-written, fun,' does that help your writing? Let me be clear: Muk Ha-neul's story this time was bad. Not fun. A guy turning into a girl? Unpleasant, even."
"You bastard—!"
"S-Su-a. I'm fine. Stop."
"Even so, you can't treat Ha-neul like that! Who's the only one in this department who even treats you like a person besides her? How can you bite the hand that feeds you?"
"Hand that feeds? Do people have to treat basic human interaction like some grand favor? Guess that's a tough concept for a sparrow like you."
"Sparrow? You done talking shit?"
"Women... such low standards. Nothing more to say."
I deliberately scratched at Yun Su-a with lines she'd hate. The professor tried intervening midway, but his voice drowned in the noise. I had no desire to keep engaging. Class was nearly over anyway.
As I grabbed my bag to leave, Yun Su-a spat venomously.
"Try living as a woman yourself! Live like that forever and see if anyone even glances your way!"
I ignored it, like Muk Ha-neul's story. No value in responding.
Never wanted glances anyway.
After that fight, the critique battles between Yun Su-a and me ended. No point stirring more when we couldn't stand each other.
Muk Ha-neul still gave a slight bow when our eyes met afterward, but she stopped initiating chats like before. As expected.
Weird that she still nodded at all.
I toned it down a bit myself, aware I'd overdone it. Until graduation, the department treated me like I didn't exist—which was actually more comfortable.
I couldn't figure why this happened three years ago was surfacing now. I knew, but didn't want to admit it. Petty pride.
Didn't want to admit Yun Su-a's words had become reality.
The first thing I felt staring into the mirror the doctor shoved in my face was nausea. Bile rose; it was horrific.
This was punishment.
The me in the mirror was gone.
Just some strange woman there.
Novels are reality.