Chapter 142 Kitahara Iwa's new book, "Don't Let Me Go"

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After the dinner, Kenichi Sato, like a tireless spinning top, stayed outside the banquet hall, making the most of his time to exchange business cards with several European publishers who had shown interest in Japanese literature.

Kitahara Iwa, at Colin's invitation, went with Arthur and Ian to the executive lounge on the top floor of the hotel.

There weren't many guests in the lounge, and the oak in the fireplace burned steadily, radiating a comforting warmth.

Colin ordered a bottle of aged single malt whisky, and the four of them sat around a vintage leather sofa.

Stripped of the glitz and glamour of the world of fame and fortune, this conversation, which transcends age, national borders, and languages, has finally returned to the pure essence of literature itself.

"When I was translating the second half, I actually had a question all the time."

Ian took a sip of whiskey and looked at Kitahara Iwao, asking, "Why are the characters in your stories so calm when they face their final destruction? There are no traditional screams, no moral struggles, it's like they're just executing a pre-programmed sequence."

"Because true despair often comes without a voice."

Kitahara Iwa, holding his wine glass, replied, "When a person is completely crushed by the indifference around them, when all cries for help become meaningless, they are even stripped of the strength to be angry."

"I simply removed the dramatic embellishments and presented the 'destruction as it was' in reality."

"That's the sharpest part of 'Confessions'."

Professor Arthur nodded approvingly, a look of mutual appreciation shining in the eyes of the old-school scholar, and said, "You're not writing about simple tricks; you're using an almost cruel, descriptive style to expose the ills of the modern social structure."

"That's right, and that's why the jury was ultimately won over."

Colin leaned back on the sofa, smiled, and picked up the conversation, replying, "Modern European crime literature is too immersed in classical tropes."

"We need that kind of sharpness that pierces straight to the heart. By the way, Kitahara, now that you've got the golden dagger, what are your next plans? Do you have any new book ideas in mind?"

Kitahara Iwa gently shook his head, replying calmly, "I don't have any inspiration for a new long novel yet; the vitality of words needs time to mature. However..."

He paused, looked at the three giants of European literature in front of him, and continued in a calm tone: "Besides Confessions, I actually have two other works that have been published in Japan... Scream and White Night."

Kitahara Iwao used minimalist language to outline the core message: "It's a record about a woman who has been completely marginalized by society, silently falling into the abyss."

"The other one is about a man and a woman living together in a cruel world that has been deprived of the sun, in a desperate and numb way."

Upon hearing these two vivid and tragic descriptions, Arthur and Ian's eyes lit up almost simultaneously.

Their intuition as top translators told them that these were two heavyweight texts no less significant than Confessions.

"Desperate symbiosis in a world stripped of its sun?"

Ian couldn't help but sigh in admiration, then turned to his old partner beside him and said, "Arthur, it seems our vacation plans for the rest of the time will have to be completely canceled."

"I couldn't have gotten it."

Professor Arthur laughed heartily, raised his whiskey glass, and solemnly greeted Kitahara Iwao: "Kitahara, have your editor send the original Japanese versions of these two books to England as soon as possible."

"When we return to Oxford this time, Ian and I will immediately begin the translation."

"Such profound writing should not remain confined to the isolated island of Japanese."

It was in this atmosphere of mutual appreciation and perfect harmony among the literati that...

A sarcastic voice coming from a corner of the lounge abruptly interrupted this cross-border literary resonance.

It was a television hanging on the side of the bar, broadcasting a late-night literary commentary newsletter.

Perhaps the bartender thought it was late at night and turned up the volume a little.

The image on the screen instantly caught their attention.

The man appearing on camera was Sir Richard, who had left the dinner party a few hours earlier.

He sat in a studio filled with ancient books, facing the host's questions. Although he tried his best to maintain the demeanor of a British gentleman, his tense jawline and sharp tone completely exposed his inner frustration.

"...Yes, I admit that Confessions has a certain appeal."

Richard, speaking slowly into the camera in that haughty British tone, said, "But as a critic who has observed the literary world for decades, I must point out that this award for 'Oriental trickery' is more like a politically correct selection strategy."

"The jury may have been too eager to prove their 'inclusivity' to the point that they overlooked the fact that this kind of genre fiction, which lacks a deep humanistic foundation, is simply incapable of entering the hall of great literature."

"It's just a clever juggling act, not a genuine exploration of the soul."

"I completely agree with Sir Richard. It's like a fine Japanese mechanical watch, accurate in timekeeping, but soulless."

A French columnist shrugged, his tone laced with undisguised contempt.

"Moreover, in addition to the depth of the text itself, we should perhaps pay more attention to the procedural justice behind this golden dagger."

A senior British book critic sitting on the other side suddenly lowered his voice and threw out a highly inflammatory conspiracy theory.

He looked at the camera, a meaningful sneer playing on his lips, and said, "Just an hour ago, right after the awards banquet ended, someone witnessed that young Japanese writer, along with CWA's current president Colin, Professor Arthur, and Mr. Ian, walking into the hotel's rooftop lounge to hold a celebration banquet, chatting and laughing."

The atmosphere in the studio was deliberately pushed to a climax by this sentence.

"Gentlemen, isn't this something we should seriously consider?"

The book reviewer spread his hands and accused in a heartbroken tone: "An Asian newcomer who has never proven himself in the European literary scene has managed to surpass so many outstanding local predecessors, and even become so close to the highest core circle of the jury in private..."

"It's hard not to suspect that this golden dagger, representing the highest honor, was truly awarded to literature itself, or is it the product of some shady exchange of interests and backroom deals?"

boom!

A dull, crisp sound rang out in the lounge.

The usually mild-mannered old translator, Ian, suddenly slammed his crystal glass down on the marble table, spilling whiskey that soaked his sleeve.

The old-fashioned scholar's face was ashen, his chest heaving violently: "These shameless scoundrels!"

"Richard actually resorted to such a despicable conspiracy theory to smear the judging panel in order to cover up his own narrow-mindedness?"

"He is using public media to incite public opinion and using the so-called 'bloodline theory' to hold the entire European literary world hostage."

Professor Arthur, who was standing to the side, also put down his wine glass. This academic giant, who had weathered half a century of academic storms, now showed a rare look of fury in his eyes and said, "Colin, this is not only an insult to Mr. Kitahara personally, but also a blatant trampling on the independence of the entire CWA."

"We absolutely cannot tolerate this slander. Reading should always be a step ahead. I will contact the editor of The Times tonight, and we will launch a scathing attack with a joint open letter first thing tomorrow morning!"

Colin, sitting in the main seat, remained silent.

He stared intently at Richard's hypocritical face on the television screen, his fingers clenching tightly around the cigar, a chilling frost settling between his brows.

"No need for an open letter, Arthur. I'll have the academy's legal team get involved directly. I'll make these cowards who only know how to spread rumors from their studios pay the price..."

Before he could finish speaking, Colin's cold, hard words suddenly stopped.

When he turned his head, he saw Kitahara Iwa sitting on the other side of the sofa, quietly holding a cup of Earl Grey tea, his expression completely calm.

Faced with such vicious slander that could ruin a writer's reputation, Kitahara Iwao showed neither humiliation nor anger, nor even the urge to defend himself.

"Mr. Kitahara,"

Seeing this, Ian looked at him in astonishment. "Aren't you... even a little bit angry?"

Kitahara Iwa gently set down his teacup and said softly, "Declarations and debates cannot wake someone who is pretending to be asleep, Professor Arthur."

"I understand your anger. But Richard is right about one thing... In their deep-seated arrogance, this really is a question of 'bloodline' and 'foundation'."

Kitahara Iwao turned around and calmly looked at the three European writers, saying, "As long as I remain within the framework of the 'crime novel' genre, no matter how well 'Confessions' is written, they will belittle it as a 'precision industrial product'."

"No matter how fair the judging panel is, they will always use 'behind-the-scenes manipulation' as an excuse for their failures."

"Because in their closed-loop logic, an Easterner is not worthy of touching the pure literary soul they are so proud of."

"So what do you mean?"

Colin frowned, a hint of confusion flashing in his eyes.

"To silence these people completely, lawyer's letters and verbal lawsuits in the newspapers are not enough."

At this point, a sharp glint appeared in Kitahara Iwa's eyes for the first time.

"Since they believe that the writings of Eastern authors cannot touch the soul of the European humanistic tradition..."

"Then I will write a work that will leave them speechless, using the British narrative style they are most familiar with, in their proudest realm of pure literature."

Hearing Kitahara Iwa's blunt words, Arthur and Colin fell silent in unison.

For a writer, the best weapon to shatter prejudice is never debate, but rather text that delivers a powerful and impactful message.

As the words fell, a concept with a distinctly British, cool aesthetic began to take shape in Kitahara Iwa's mind.

Hearing Kitahara Iwa's blunt words, Arthur and Colin fell silent in unison.

For a writer, the best weapon to shatter prejudice is never debate, but rather text that delivers a powerful and impactful message.

As the words fell, a concept with a distinctly British, cool aesthetic began to take shape in Kitahara Iwa's mind.

It has no Japanese setting and no suspenseful plots typical of crime novels.

Only the rolling English countryside, a boarding school surrounded by holly hedges, and a group of cloned children who are programmed from birth to be "organ donors" and are destined to have no future.

Don't Let Me Go.

This is a story about memory, love, and destiny.

The main characters, Casey, Tommy, and Ruth, grow up at the picturesque Haytham School.

They studied poetry and painting, and a secret love blossomed in the confusion of adolescence.

They possess the same delicate and sensitive emotions as normal humans, but they knew from the beginning that they were merely "consumables" mass-produced to provide organs for humans.

When they enter adulthood and leave school, what awaits them is not a broad life, but one organ removal surgery after another, until they reach the end they euphemistically call "completion"—death.

In this tragedy that they were destined to be unable to resist, they tried to prove that they had a soul with the paintings left over from their childhood, and tried to beg for even just a few years of "postponement of donation" with true love, but in the end, all they got was extremely calm disillusionment and submission.

In Kitahara Iwao's conception, this novel was not long, containing only about 80,000 English words.

Without needing a lengthy and grand epic narrative, these few tens of thousands of words compress the exquisitely refined yet deeply sorrowful British melancholy into a blunt knife that pierces the depths of the soul.

In its previous life, this purely literary novel of fewer than 80,000 words completely shattered the arrogance of the orthodox European literary world. It not only won the Booker Prize and a series of other top honors in English literature without any controversy.

It was also selected for Time magazine's "100 Greatest English Novels" list and has become a landmark in the history of world literature that explores existentialism and the essence of the human soul.

More importantly, when the Swedish Academy awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature to Kazuo Ishiguro, a Japanese-British writer, in 2017, "Never Let Me Go," as his absolute masterpiece, was the core and most significant cornerstone of that supreme award reason.

The next morning.

Before the long, drizzling rain in London had even stopped, a literary feud that shook the entire European literary world officially began.

The front page of the literary supplement of The Times, published early in the morning, featured a long column co-authored by Professor Arthur and Ian Smith.

The article is written with the sharp edge of an old-school intellectual, directly criticizing Sir Richard's remarks on television as a blatant desecration of the purity of literature.

"True literature is by no means a privileged product that relies on vague 'bloodline' and 'foundation' to create its own niche."

In his article, Arthur refutes him mercilessly: "Sir Richard is trying to use the so-called humanistic tradition to cover up his lack of reverence for absolutely excellent texts."

"They would rather fabricate absurd conspiracy theories out of thin air than admit that a work from Asia has dissected a real disease that even European literature has failed to touch."

At the same time, Colin also issued an official statement in his capacity as CWA president.

He not only vehemently condemned the absurd claims of a "behind-the-scenes manipulation," but also directly released a summary of the review opinions of all the core judges at the closed-door meeting, upholding the value of this prestigious award with absolute transparency and procedural justice.

However, Richard and the deeply entrenched conservatives did not back down.

That same afternoon, Richard, along with several senior members of the Royal Society of Literature, launched a strongly worded counterattack in the conservative Daily Telegraph.

"We respect Professor Arthur's academic contributions to the field of translation, but he may have been blinded by the texts he personally handled, mistaking a curiosity about news from exotic Eastern societies for the profundity of literature."

In his rebuttal, Richard stubbornly clung to his condescending logic.

"European critics have had an aesthetic standard for hundreds of years. We cannot blindly lower the threshold for entering the hall of fame just because of the enthusiasm of a single selection."

"Time will prove that Confessions is merely a well-crafted imported work. It lacks the depth to explore the human soul and cannot take root in the soil of true humanism."

Within just 24 hours, this debate about "Confessions," about East and West, and about the boundaries between genre fiction and pure literature completely ignited the entire European publishing industry.

Exclusive! An exclusive interview with Kiki Ichi and behind-the-scenes look at the creation of "Tokyo Literary Masters: From the Late 1980s," available only to those who wish to participate.