I am a literary giant in Japan

8:20 am.

Igor braved the cold wind to arrive at the faculty and staff office of the Literature and History Department.

In late April, Moscow is still in the late winter season, with a temperature difference of up to 20°C between day and night. The early morning and late night are the coldest times of the day, and the temperature can sometimes drop below zero.

As soon as he stepped into the office, a warm breeze swept over his head.

Before Igor could even take off his gray felt hat, he heard the loudest voice, Vikendi Vikendievich Velesayev, shout at someone: "This is absolutely a masterpiece that cannot be ignored in the history of Tsarist Russian literature! Even though he was only twenty-seven years old, I still think he is worthy of being ranked alongside Tolstoy, Pushkin and other top Tsarist Russian writers!"

"You're talking nonsense! I admit that 'Childhood' is indeed a great work. Kitagawa Hide, as a foreigner, wrote about the social landscape of our country in the 1870s and 1880s, which is an extremely shocking thing."

But"

Another sharp voice rang out simultaneously with Vikendi's roar.

Igor, who had already walked in, knew without even looking that the person exchanging barbs with Vikendi was none other than Fimovich, the most troublesome person in the office.

Both are world-renowned top writers. Vikendi won the Stalin Prize for his literary works "Active Life" and "Gogol in Life", and can be called a living fossil of Tsarist Russian literature.
Fymovich's series of short stories established his status as a master of the Russian short story, and he was also the only professor in the Department of Literature and History at St. Petersburg University who was known for his short stories.

These two old guys, one firmly believes that the novel is the shining jewel in the crown of literature, while the other insists that the short story best reflects a writer's creative ability.

The debate between the two, on whether to write a novel or a short story, has continued since their university days. For over forty years, neither has been able to convince the other. Even students in the Department of Literature and History know that there are two such "lively" professors in the department office.

Clearly, the trigger for today's heated discussion between the two was Kitagawa Hide's "Childhood".

Before Fymovich could finish speaking, Vikendi impatiently interrupted him: "You're the one talking nonsense! I think you're just angry because you didn't become the translator of 'Childhood,' missing out on this great opportunity to be recorded in the history of Tsarist Russian literature. That's why you're nitpicking and finding fault even when there isn't one!"

"I...I'm not!" Fimovich's face flushed red, and he shook his head and backed away repeatedly, as if Vikendi had touched a sore spot.

To say that I had no thoughts about translating "Childhood" would be a lie.

Fymovich was also a well-known translator of Russian literature, but he was not as determined and persistent as Igor.

He used to translate European and American novels full-time, but the relationship between European and American countries and Tsarist Russia was always awkward, so most of the novels he translated could only circulate on the black market and could not be published properly.

Without income from translation, there's naturally no motivation to translate.

After becoming a professor in the Department of Literature and History at St. Petersburg University, Fymovich focused all his work on guiding students in writing short stories and hadn't touched his translations for a very long time.

Fymovich also knew that Igor had been invited by Alexei to translate "Childhood".

In fact, Alexei had approached several well-known literary translators, initially intending to have them form a translation alliance to collaboratively translate Kitagawa Hide's autobiographical trilogy of Alyosha.

Fimovich was one of the translators who were invited.

However, everyone harbored prejudice against Kitagawa Hideaki from Japan, and the idea of ​​a group of literary giants from Tsarist Russia translating a novel written by a foreigner seemed like a very low-class thing to do.

Therefore, Fimovich and others politely declined Alexei's offer.

After hearing the whole story of the translation incident from Vikendi, Igor, standing at the door, widened his eyes. He hadn't expected that he had gotten lucky, rather than the New World truly being determined to entrust him with this important task!

After becoming a businessman, his old friend, who originally shared his love of literature, unexpectedly turned into a greedy and cunning old fox!
However, the final result was good.

At this moment, looking at the book "Childhood" in "The New World" that caused such a huge sensation, with his name clearly listed as the translator, that was enough.

"Hey! Igor, you've finally arrived!"

Vikendi, who was thoroughly enjoying his spray, only then noticed Igor at the door and greeted him with a smile.
"Fimovich is shamelessly jealous of you."

"You're talking nonsense!" Fimovich's face grew redder and redder, his short, fat body swaying from side to side like a roly-poly toy, which, combined with his speechless expression, was quite comical.

The office was immediately filled with cheerful laughter.

"Vickendi, why are you still wearing a cotton coat? Aren't you hot?" Igor avoided the obviously angry Fimovich, went to his desk, took off his bag, and asked the strangely dressed Vikendi.

Only after being reminded did Vikendi realize that he was still wearing his green military overcoat for warmth.

The warm air from the office kept blowing in, and with his airtight cotton coat, Vikendi was sweating profusely, completely unaware of it, and continued to rant and rave with Fimovich for more than ten minutes.

"Oh no, I think I forgot to take off my clothes too!"

"No wonder it was so hot! Turns out, I was still wearing my scarf!"

The other professors who were watching the spectacle also gasped, realizing they had made the same basic mistake as Vikendi.

Upon seeing this, Igor immediately understood.

I guess everyone was so engrossed in discussing "Childhood" that they all forgot to take off their cotton-padded coats and scarves like children.

"Damn it! No wonder Fimovich's words didn't affect me at all, but I'm so hot and dizzy."

Oh, so I was still wearing that damned cotton coat!

As Vikendi spoke, he threw off his cotton coat, his breathing became much easier, and his voice became louder.

"It's pointless to argue whether it's a good book or not."

Anyone who has watched this episode of "New World" will find it hard to ignore "Childhood".

From any perspective, *Childhood* is a highly representative work of Tsarist Russian literature, the kind that deserves to be recorded in history.

A gray-haired professor, holding a copy of "The New World," spoke softly, yet immediately silenced Vikendi and Fymovich.

"There is no doubt about that."

Even Fimovich, who was determined to disagree, nodded in agreement.
"I just don't think Kitagawa Hide is comparable to Tolstoy, who wrote 'War and Peace'."

Looking at the entire history of world literature, I think no other literary work can rival *War and Peace*.

Everyone was silent.

Vikendi, who is known for criticizing Fimovich, unusually did not refute him.

Both logically and emotionally, War and Peace is superior to Childhood.

Perhaps once Alyosha's autobiographical trilogy is fully published, it can be placed on the same level as Anna Karenina.

“But he’s only twenty-seven, Fymovich.”

Uncharacteristically, Vikendi didn't argue with Fimovich in an agitated tone.

"Tolstoy began writing *War and Peace* when he was thirty-five and published it when he was forty-one. Igor, tell him how old Kitagawa Hide was when he wrote *Childhood*, and how much time it took him to write it."

"He is twenty-seven years old this year. It is said that before he came to Tsarist Russia, his book 'Childhood' was only a rough draft, and at most it was only ten days old."

Igor recalled the complete book's setting guide he had received from Kitagawa Hide, and his admiration for the young writer grew even stronger.

"The idea for Alyosha's autobiographical trilogy also gradually emerged later."

I heard that he was doing field research in Nizhny Novgorod and Kazan a few days ago.

However, Vikendi, I think using such simple data to demonstrate someone's literary talent is a bit too frivolous.

"Is being young and writing fast necessarily a good thing? Vikendi, you're generalizing too much." Fimovich nodded. "But I must say, this kid is really amazing!"

“I heard that he was once an apprentice in an icon workshop in Kazan,” the gray-haired professor interjected.

"Does he also believe in Jesus?" Vikendi frowned. "I've heard that most Japanese people believe in Buddhism and their native Shintoism."

"He was an abeliever. He went to work as an apprentice in the icon workshop, seemingly simply to experience the lives of the lower classes in Nizhny Kazan."

Igor had heard Yevgeny talk about Kitagawa Hide's field trip.

Collecting material is something writers often do, but most of them use it as an excuse to travel, eat, drink, gamble, and have fun; only a very small number of them are truly collecting material.

But even that tiny minority wouldn't take it as seriously as Hideki Kitagawa.

“Oh, Yevgeny said he also made a lot of strange ‘icons’ and gave them to everyone he met.” Igor had seen a small icon in Alexei’s office; it looked like a two-headed wolf, and he didn’t know which god it was.

In short, Kitagawa Hide's actions of actually going to the grassroots level to gather material and actually learning a skill once again shocked these professors from the literature and history departments.

Silence, silence, and more silence.

“Perhaps one day, he really can become the second Tolstoy,” Fymovich murmured.

If Kitagawa Hide's novels could gain the approval of this old man, they would likely be able to win over the vast majority of Tsarist Russians.

Igor breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed his position as the translator was secure!

“There will only be one Tolstoy in this world.” Vikendi, who had always been at odds with Fymovich, suddenly said something that agreed with his arch-rival’s consistent view.

However, he immediately added, "Similarly, there will only be one Kitagawa Hide in this world."

Leo Tolstoy is Leo Tolstoy, and Kitagawa Hide is Kitagawa Hide.

They are among the world's top literary figures.

No one needs to be like anyone else.

“You’re right,” Fymovich concluded the argument with agreement.

For over forty years, the two have actually reached a consensus on one thing. Igor even wanted to take out his phone to record this moment!

Meanwhile, in distant Japan's literary circles, a heated discussion about "Childhood" also ensued.

Back in the previous issue of "Literature," after Mori Tetsutaro gave a very long introductory article that revealed some of the contents of Alyosha's autobiographical trilogy, the Japanese internet was filled with anticipation and curiosity about "Childhood."

The long-dormant Japanese literary, critical, and academic circles have also joined forces, with many retired veterans returning to the scene. While riding the wave of popularity of "Childhood," they have also written extensively about what this novel set in Tsarist Russia would be about.

Before the April issue of "Bungei" was released, the Japanese literary world overwhelmingly believed that "Childhood" would be a healing novel with an overseas background, continuing the Japanese style of "Kitagawa Hidekaze".

After all, Japanese childhoods are filled with beauty and brilliance—

Summer festivals, beaches, fireworks displays, insect catching, secret hideouts, endless snacks, and more.

Even those born between 1985 and 1995, often referred to as the "bubble generation" who lost everything, still had a warm childhood.

Even during a period of severe economic and social depression, when the family was struggling, the parents still gave the best of everything to the next generation.

This is something ingrained in the Japanese people.

Born in 1972, Hideaki Kitagawa's childhood spanned from 1975 to 1982, a golden age of rapid economic growth in Japan. He grew up in a wealthy family and undoubtedly had a happy and fulfilling childhood.

Therefore, his novel "Childhood" must be full of vitality and sunshine.

This is an early deconstruction of Kitagawa Hideaki's new book by older generations of intellectuals.

Tsarist Russia in the 1870s and 1880s was in a period of turmoil, but it was also a time of flourishing reforms, so there must have been some positive and uplifting things to write about.

That's what everyone thinks.

It wasn't until the April issue of "Literature" was published, until they saw "Childhood" with their own eyes, until Alyosha's painful "childhood" from age 3 to 10 was deeply imprinted in their minds.

All illusions, all the filters applied to Tsarist Russia, shattered in an instant!

This is clearly a depressing masterpiece filled with suffering and pain!
On April 18th, the April issue of "Literature and Art" set a new record for the highest first-day print run since its inception—157.7 million copies!

The previous record holder was the issue of "Literature and Art" that serialized "1Q84," which sold more than 300,000 fewer copies than this issue.

This marks the fourth time since the founding of "Literature and Art" that it has surpassed one million copies sold on its first printing day.

During the most difficult period of the early 90s for "Literature and Art", the sales volume for the whole year may not even reach 100 million copies!

The commercial value and market power unleashed by the Japanese literary market have once again shocked the world.

A single copy of "Literature" is currently priced at 880 yen, and with sales of 157.7 million copies, the total sales revenue is 13.87 billion yen.

The average profit margin of a publishing house's magazines is about 25%, while that of "Literature and Art," which has relatively high costs, is about 21%.

In other words, on April 18th alone, Kawade Shobo earned nearly 300 million yen in net profit from selling magazines!

Over the course of a month, this issue of "Literature" must have generated a net profit of at least seven or eight billion yen, which is almost equivalent to Tsuburaya Productions' annual net profit.

Along with the huge market response came a variety of awards.

A host of established awards, including the Tanizaki Award and the Akutagawa Award, extended olive branches to "Childhood," as if they had completely forgotten their unpleasantness with Hideki Kitagawa.

A number of new literary awards, led by the Beichuan Award, are vying to award the prize to "Childhood".

In Japan, winning an award for "Childhood" is practically a recognition of that award!
And this wave of awards and ceremonies eventually reached the Swedish Academy, thousands of miles away. (End of Chapter)