Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 176 The Ministry of Finance's Response

Akina Nakamori slowly closed the book and pressed the cover onto her lap.

She looked as if she had just been pulled out of ice water, her back covered in cold sweat.

After a long time, she finally raised her hand and covered her face.

A sense of lingering fear, like someone who had survived a disaster, welled up within me.

She clearly realized that Kitahara Iwa had saved her entire future.

On the other side, Sumitomo Bank Shinjuku branch.

The lights were still on in the corporate finance department office.

Shunichi Takahashi sat at the desk by the window, his face extremely grim.

As the undisputed star employee in the real estate financing business at the Shinjuku branch, he had outstanding performance, a large client base, and a good relationship with the real estate brokerage.

Many young bank employees in the branch learned business from him, and even some people with higher official ranks than him were willing to listen to his opinions on business judgment.

And now, a copy of "The Collapsed Tower" is spread out on his desk.

The black cover stood out starkly next to a stack of loan documents.

Shunichi Takahashi originally opened the book with the intention of finding fault with it.

In his view, no matter how famous Kitahara Iwa was, he was just a writer.

No matter how many literary awards he wins or how high his sales are, it doesn't mean he truly understands finance.

Credit review, real estate financing, housing special channels, mortgage valuation—these are not things that can be explained by simply sitting in a study with a few magazines and newspapers.

The more he read, the more somber Takahashi Shunichi's expression became.

The things in the book were so familiar to him, so familiar that they annoyed him.

The book dissects the branch's methods of embellishing inferior customers, the shady operations of cross-departmental collusion to inflate valuations, and the process of using on-balance-sheet loans and secondary mortgages to cover up the misconduct. It is dissected between the pages of the book as if it were a manual for illegal operations within the bank.

As for the meeting room rhetoric used to deceive risk control reviewers, such as "stable future income," "long-term land value preservation," and even "no fear of short-term fluctuations," Kitahara Iwa ruthlessly embedded them into this huge chain of interests, turning them into a fig leaf for systemic fraud.

Looking at these cold, black-and-white statements, Takahashi Shunichi felt his fingertips stiffen slightly.

This flawless reporting template is precisely the kind of routine business document he memorizes every day.

Even just last month, he used a similar argument to persuade a hesitant client.

The more Shunichi Takahashi looked, the more depressed he felt.

Although his name is not directly mentioned in this book.

But those details were like a hand reaching into the office area of ​​Sumitomo Bank's Shinjuku branch, uncovering one by one what they usually hid beneath their business rhetoric.

Shunichi Takahashi slammed the book shut, the heavy cover striking the pages with a muffled thud that startled several of his young subordinates who were working overtime, causing them to look up from their reports.

He ignored the probing gazes and, in frustration, grabbed "The Collapsing Tower" and threw it onto the windowsill.

The book slammed against the shatterproof glass and then fell heavily onto the carpet, creating an ironic contrast with the still dazzling Tokyo night view outside the window.

"Utterly absurd."

Shunichi Takahashi roughly loosened his tie, trying to hide the exasperation in his chest that came from being seen through.

Even before the release of his new book, he had proudly boasted to these younger students about his classmate relationship with Kitahara Iwa, and even exaggerated how he used his status as a financial elite to teach that "aloof cultural man" a lesson at a class reunion.

Now, faced with this monumental work that lays bare the banking industry's true colors, he can only grit his teeth and continue to maintain his precarious sense of superiority.

"It was just that he lost face at a party, so he wrote a novel to vent his anger by piecing together a few technical terms."

Shunichi Takahashi stared at the black book on the carpet, his tone laced with a mocking sarcasm: "What residential property structure, non-performing loans, joint and several guarantees—outsiders who have picked up a few jargon terms think they can see through the entire capital market."

An unsettling silence fell over the office area.

The young bank employees looked at each other, none of them uttering a word to echo their superior's forced attempt to save face.

In the oppressive atmosphere, a young employee in charge of initial loan reviews hesitated for a moment before finally blurting out in a low voice, "But—Senior Takahashi, the section in the book about the risk control loopholes in secondary mortgages is almost identical to the accounts we just balanced at our branch this month."

Shunichi Takahashi's breath hitched, and his cold gaze instantly fixed on the young man's face.

The other person immediately fell silent and lowered their head, but that honest statement was like an invisible slap in the face, tearing the self-deceiving fig leaf in the office to shreds.

"Did you really shake your belief in the bank's risk control system just because of a seemingly coincidental business situation?"

Shunichi Takahashi straightened his tie, forcing himself to adopt the composure of a superior, and said, "Taking half-baked jargon from an izakaya, disassembling and reassembling it, and then wrapping it in a sensational conspiracy theory is nothing more than a layman's usual trick to attract attention. What supports the Ministry of Finance and the entire Japanese financial system is a sound macroeconomic policy, which is not something that can be judged by a fictional novel."

The office area was completely silent.

Shunichi Takahashi walked to the window with a sullen face, bent down and picked up the book from the carpet.

On the dark black cover, the colossal tower cracked from its foundation stood out starkly.

Upon seeing this, the muscles at the corner of his eye involuntarily tensed for a moment, and then he threw it straight into the wastepaper basket next to his desk as if discarding a useless piece of waste paper.

"Put aside your unnecessary involvement and focus on tomorrow's reports."

At this point, Shunichi Takahashi turned around, grabbed the remote control, and turned up the TV volume, trying to fill the oppressive silence around him with his voice.

On the screen, an evening financial talk show is playing.

In December 1990, the real world had already entered a cold winter, but the television studio still maintained a meticulous and respectable appearance.

Several macroeconomists and real estate company representatives, dressed in suits, sat in front of the camera, with name tags and water glasses neatly arranged on the control table in front of them.

The backdrop behind them displayed a striking, warm-colored headline: "Japanese Economy: Investment Opportunities During a Period of Adjustment."

With a standard newsman's smile and a deliberately composed tone, the host began the discussion: "The Nikkei index has indeed seen a certain degree of decline this year."

"Faced with the current market turmoil, some pessimistic views have emerged among the public. How do the two experts interpret the current macroeconomic situation?"

The camera smoothly pans to the left.

The economist, whose hair was neatly combed, leaned forward slightly, facing the red camera lens that symbolized tens of millions of viewers across the country, and forced a confident smile.

"I believe the market panic is a complete overreaction."

An economist, in a low, almost hypnotic voice, said: "The temporary decline in asset prices does not equate to the collapse of economic fundamentals. On the contrary, after the frenzy of the past few years, this proactive bursting of the bubble is an inevitable step for any mature capital market to become rational. What we are experiencing is a very healthy self-correction."

The real estate company representative sitting next to him, as if he had received a long-awaited signal, eagerly pulled the microphone closer.

"The same logic applies to the real estate market. Recently, some people have been exaggerating the danger of rising land prices in Tokyo, which is simply speculation that defies common sense."

The real estate company representative deliberately used a lighthearted tone to mask his inner anxiety, saying, "Population, industry, and financial resources are all concentrating here. This irreplaceable scarcity ensures that the 'land myth' is not a phantom bubble, but an ironclad law built upon the nation's urban structure."

Upon hearing this, the host immediately flashed a perfectly timed smile: "So, what advice do you have for ordinary families who are currently hesitating about whether to enter?"

The real estate representative smiled and nodded, continuing, "For families with stable incomes, this current market correction presents a once-in-a-century window of opportunity. With supportive financing from banks, this could be an excellent chance for ordinary people to transcend social class and access core, high-quality assets."

"Being timid and hesitant will only make you an outcast under the dividends of the times."

These inflammatory remarks eased the tension that had been building in the studio slightly.

An economist adjusted his glasses and gave his final assessment to the camera: "What we are experiencing now is merely the growing pains of asset prices returning to rationality. As long as the public does not engage in blind panic and stampedes, a soft landing for the economy is an inevitable trend as the full effects of the Tibet Autonomous Region's control measures become apparent next year."

He paused briefly, and using that calm tone, he skillfully threw out the final bait: "So, what we are about to witness is not an abyss. Rather, it is a more stable feast of wealth, belonging only to the rational, after a perfect reshuffle."

The host, upon hearing this, smoothly transitioned the conversation, but his attitude became noticeably cautious when mentioning Kitahara Iwao's name: "Since we've brought up market confidence—Kitahara-sensei's recent book, *The Collapsing Tower*, has caused a tsunami-like reaction across society. What are your thoughts on the book's pessimistic predictions of a systemic crisis?"

Upon hearing this question, the economist subconsciously straightened his posture, and the relaxed demeanor he had displayed earlier instantly vanished.

Facing Kitahara Iwa, who now holds a literary status of great stature in the Japanese literary world, he dared not show the slightest disrespect and could only carefully craft his response.

"Mr. Kitahara was a literary master. His compassionate sense of social responsibility and his profound insight into the darker aspects of human nature are something we all deeply admire."

The economist clasped his hands, first giving it impeccable high praise, but then his turn revealed a sense of difficult maneuvering: "Undoubtedly, 'The Collapsing Tower' is a great literary monument. But we also know that in order to warn the world, literary creation often employs highly condensed artistic exaggeration."

"We have absolute respect for the profound warnings that Mr. Kitahara left in the book."

The economist then shifted his focus, saying, "However, in the actual operation of finance, the firewall built by the Ministry of Finance and the Bank of Japan is far more robust than depicted in the novel."

"As readers, we should be shocked by this masterpiece and reflect on greed; but as investors, we don't need to equate the literary disasters in the book directly with the macro trends in reality."

Upon hearing this, Shunichi Takahashi's gloomy expression finally eased somewhat.

He pointed to the TV, then turned to look at his colleagues who hadn't left work yet.

"Did you hear that?"

His tone regained its familiar confidence as he said, "That's what someone who understands economics would say."

The young bank employees exchanged glances, but no one responded.

"The market will ultimately prove who is right with real money."

Shunichi Takahashi spoke as if he were reprimanding a subordinate, or perhaps brainwashing himself: "A novel that relies on inciting panic to boost sales cannot change the fundamental reality of the Japanese economy."

The television program continued.

The host, scholars, and real estate representatives discussed the "spring rebound next year," "high-quality assets," and "long-term confidence" repeatedly, each speaking with increasing certainty.

At the same time, the show also appeared in many people's living rooms.

That evening, phone calls became unusually frequent among Kitahara Iwao University alumni.

Someone had just finished watching a financial program and immediately dialed Shunichi Takahashi's number.

Some people, while flipping through "The Collapsing Tower," couldn't help but complain to their classmates.

"Did you see that? The experts on TV all said it's a shakeout."

"Yan Jun is indeed a great writer of novels, but he's too timid when it comes to investing."

"Now is clearly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to leverage and buy at the bottom."

"What a pity, he was terrified."

A voice on the other end of the phone chuckled, "You can't say that. Yan Jun is a literary giant. Literary giants always tend to be a bit pessimistic."

"Being pessimistic depends on the context."

Another person disagreed, saying, "How could the Japanese economy possibly have problems? How could Tokyo land prices possibly fall? If you dare to enter the market now, you'll be on the last train to financial freedom when policies loosen next year."

While watching the experts' confident predictions on television, they mocked Kitahara Iwao on the phone for being too conservative.

Those authorities, those technical terms, those confident smiles, were like injections of stimulants, injecting into their hearts, which had been slightly chilled by "The Collapsing Tower."

So they felt reassured again, thinking they were the smart ones, believing that the current decline was just an opportunity, not the opening of an abyss.

Nobody realized it.

The frenzied expressions on their faces as they hold their phones, excitedly discussing how to add more collateral and how to buy at the bottom of the market, are the very prototypes of the middle class in "The Collapsing Tower" who are on the verge of destruction.

In another cheap apartment, Kentaro Matsui sat at his desk, unable to close his eyes for a long time.

The book "The Collapsed Tower" was laid out in front of him.

The room was narrow, the window frames were old, and the cold December wind seeped in through the cracks, causing the newspapers on the corner of the table to flutter slightly.

The small heater by the wall was humming, but the heat wasn't enough, and the instant coffee in the cup had long since gone cold.

But Kentaro Matsui didn't feel cold at all.

Because his back was covered in sweat.

This sweat wasn't from the stuffy room, but from the lingering fear that seeped into my bones.

He looked down at the novel cover, his finger hovering beside the spine, not moving for a long time.

The middle-aged employee in the book, burdened with loans and requiring repeated mortgage payments, was ultimately dragged into an abyss by the bank and his family. He was like a mirror, making his throat dry.

My apartment is very small, and the floor is a bit old.

The kitchen is only big enough for one person to turn around in, and the faucet in the bathroom is dripping.

Compared to the high-end apartments, investment properties, and detached houses in Setagaya that my classmates talked about, this place is even considered shabby.

But at that very moment, Kentaro Matsui suddenly felt that this dilapidated rented house was unbelievably peaceful.

Because it doesn't owe the bank any money, it won't send monthly repayment notices.

He wouldn't suddenly find himself and his fiancée burdened with decades of debt just because of a supplementary document.

For the first time, Kentaro Matsui felt at ease in this shabby rented room.

At that moment, Kentaro Matsui remembered the classmate reunion in Roppongi that day.

Shunichi Takahashi sat at the table, his face glowing, talking about real estate, leverage, and the opportunities of the times.

His classmates surrounded him as if he had discovered the secret to wealth, eagerly asking where he could buy more, how much he could borrow from the bank, and how much he could earn in three months.

At that time, Kentaro Matsui was almost persuaded as well.

Ninety percent of the loan amounted to a floating profit of twenty million in three months.

These figures, mingled with champagne, laughter, and compliments from classmates, sound like a belated stroke of luck.

If Kitahara Iwa hadn't made things clear outside the door later, Matsui Kentaro would have known he probably would have actually gone to sign the document.

He could even picture what would happen next.

He took his fiancée to see a house, pretending to be calm as he listened to the bank manager explain the loan terms.

The parents were overjoyed on the phone, saying they finally had their own home.

My colleagues smiled and congratulated me on catching the low point to enter the market.

He would repeatedly tell himself that this was not a risk, but a responsibility he should have before getting married.

and then?

Then it will be like in the book.

Interest rates are rising, housing prices are falling, banks are asking for additional documentation, and the housing agency is demanding additional guarantees.

What was originally a symbol of a respectable wedding room has slowly turned into a monster that tries to swallow money every month.

Kentaro Matsui closed his eyes and his throat moved slightly.

The phone on the table suddenly rang once.

It was his fiancée calling.

He paused for a moment before answering the phone.

"Kentaro?"

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded tired and a little worried.

"Aren't you asleep yet?"

""

Kentaro Matsui glanced at the book "The Collapsing Tower" on the table and said in a low voice, "Not yet."

"Are you reading Kitahara-sensei's new book?"

"Um."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

His fiancée asked softly, "Is it scary?"

Kentaro Matsui remained silent for a long time.

"It's terrifying."

"But thankfully I saw it."

After hanging up the phone, Kentaro Matsui looked out the window again.

Tokyo in the distance was still brightly lit.

The skyscrapers, neon lights, and GG signs remain as bright as ever, as if nothing will ever change.

But now when he looks at those lights, he no longer feels the same longing as before.

That's not a ladder to a life of luxury.

It's more like a fire burning brightly.

Everyone huddled around it for warmth, thinking they had caught the wave of the times, unaware that the flames were already licking their feet.

Three days after the release of "The Collapsing Tower," while Shinchosha was still busy allocating inventory from various regions, several real estate companies in Tokyo had already sensed that something was wrong.

At first, it was just a few calls canceling appointments.

"Sorry, could we cancel the house viewing this weekend?"

"The family wants to discuss it further."

"Loan documents—we'll send them over in a few days."

The sales clerk in charge of greeting the customer didn't take it too seriously at first.

December is typically the busiest time for clients, with year-end parties, year-end settlements, company dinners, and family plans, so it's not surprising that some people change their schedules occasionally.

But by the afternoon, similar calls started to increase.

A middle-class couple who had already set their sights on a detached house in Setagaya and had even submitted half of their loan application materials suddenly returned to the store and took the rest of the documents.

Seeing this, the salesperson tried to persuade him to stay, saying, "This house is really rare, Mr. Honda. If you don't make a decision now, the price after the New Year will probably be much higher."

The husband had always been very interested in her.

Just a few days ago, he excitedly asked if it was possible to get a loan of 90% of the loan amount.

This time, however, he just gave an awkward smile.

"Let's wait and see."

His wife stood beside him, clutching her purse tightly, without saying a word.

Upon hearing this, the sales clerk immediately continued the conversation, saying, "Are you worried about the loan pressure? Actually, with your current income, plus your wife's salary, the bank's proposed plan is already very secure."

Honda paused for a moment before saying in a low voice, "I know."

"But my wife read Kitahara-sensei's new book last night."

Upon hearing this, the salesperson's smile froze for a moment.

As a literature enthusiast, he had naturally read Kitahara Iwao's new book.

As if afraid of appearing too timid, Honda added, "I also looked at a little bit."

"The additional collateral mentioned inside is somewhat similar to the structure you explained before."

Upon hearing this, the salesperson was at a loss for words.

The same situation soon appeared in other stores as well.

One customer was ready to pay a deposit, but just before signing, he suddenly asked to take all the loan terms home to review them again.

A young couple walked around the model apartment, and the wife quietly asked, "If the price drops, can we still sell it?"

In the past, when asked this question, salespeople would usually laugh and reply, "It's impossible for prices in the core areas of Tokyo to really drop."

But this time, the other party immediately followed up with, "What if the bank requires additional collateral?"

The salesperson's smile immediately faded.

Another single company employee was even more direct.

After viewing the room, he had already sat down at the reception desk and even picked up a pen.

But for some reason, he suddenly stared blankly at the loan application on the table.

The sales clerk prompted, "Mr. Watanabe?"

However, after Mr. Watanabe came to his senses, he slowly put down his pen, shook his head, and said, "Never mind."

"I think I'll stick to renting."

The sales clerk almost thought she had misheard and quickly said, "Didn't you say before that renting a room was too expensive?"

""

Watanabe glanced at the tall buildings outside the window and gave a wry smile.

"yes."

"At least renting a place won't make me owe the bank thirty years as soon as I sign the contract."

Such words have been almost unheard of in the past few months.

In Tokyo during the bubble era, what real estate companies feared most was never customer hesitation, but rather that customers were too slow to buy.

In the past, as long as you said "the price of land in Tokyo will not drop," customers would rush to ask if there were any properties available.

Just by saying "It's a low point now," the other person will worry that they've missed out.

But now, those who were gradually pushed to the brink of signing a contract by the salespeople are actually starting to back down on their own.

What's more troublesome is that they always mention the same book when they retreat.

The Collapsed Tower.

Initially, the real estate company tried to treat this as an isolated incident.

The sales manager frowned and said at the morning meeting, "It's normal for customers to be a little affected by the hot sales of Kitahara-sensei's books. The hype will die down in a few days."

But no sooner had he finished speaking than the phone rang again.

Another client cancelled the afternoon loan presentation.

The reason is simple.

"My wife cried last night after reading that book. She said she'd rather continue renting than take on such a huge debt."

The sales manager's expression finally changed.

At the same time, the bank branch also began to sense that something was wrong.

The first problem arose during the signing process.

One client had already scheduled to sign loan documents, but on the day of the signing, he changed his mind and said he wanted to take another look at the contract.

Some people began to question the joint and several liability for each guarantee.

Some people are scrutinizing the terms of second mortgages for residential properties, asking bank managers, "If property prices fall, who bears this risk?"

As is customary, the bank manager explained that the collateral was of sufficient value, that the Tokyo land market was stable in the long term, and that the client's future income would be sufficient to cover repayments.

But the other party didn't nod as they used to.

Instead, they continued, "What if it's not enough?"

What if the company lays off employees?

"What if they can't be sold in the future?"

These issues made the bank manager very uncomfortable.

They were used to customers not understanding and customers being in a hurry to borrow money.

But now, the client has suddenly started to carefully review the contract, seriously question the risks, and even demand a clear explanation of the "worst-case scenario."

This is what really annoyed the banks.

A middle-aged member of the company sat in the reception room, flipping through the documents for a long time.

The bank manager was getting a little impatient, but he still kept smiling.

"Mr. Yamada, if you're only worried about the paperwork, there's no need to. We follow standard procedures here."

Yamada didn't answer immediately, but stared at the signature panel, his pen hovering in his hand for a long time.

Finally, he gently placed the pen back on the table and said, "I'd rather not sign it."

"7

The bank manager paused for a moment, then quickly asked, "Weren't you quite satisfied with that house before?"

"satisfy."

Yamada said in a low voice, "But I don't want to become like the people in novels."

The reception room was silent for a few seconds.

The bank manager's smile suddenly froze.

By the fourth day, the real estate finance departments of several large banks had begun to receive feedback from their branches.

Customer consultation cycles have lengthened, loan signings have been temporarily cancelled, some middle-class families are requesting a recalculation of repayment pressure, and some people are proactively reducing their loan-to-value ratios.

Some people have explicitly stated that they will no longer consider 90% loans and additional collateral options for the time being.

These numbers, taken individually, are not exaggerated.

However, they appeared in too concentrated a group.

Almost all of these occurred after the release of The Collapsed Tower.

What's even more unsettling is that this impact doesn't just extend to "reader sentiment."

It began to encounter real transactions, loans, and fund flows.

The real estate company quickly became anxious.

The salesperson could sense that the enthusiasm in the customer's eyes had subsided.

In the past, when they said "now is the opportunity," customers would immediately ask if it was still possible to secure a property.

Now customers will ask in return, "What if the price drops?"

What if the bank requires additional collateral?

"If I lose my job and can't sell the house, what will happen to the loan?"

Each question, like tiny grains of sand, gets stuck in the once high-speed sales machine.

One single one is nothing.

But after a while, the sound of the whole machine started to become discordant.

So the phone calls started going up the chain of command.

The store manager called the sales manager.

The sales manager called headquarters.

The real estate company's executives went to the partner bank again, complaining that their clients had recently been clearly frightened by "The Collapsing Tower".

The head of real estate finance at the bank's headquarters was initially reluctant to acknowledge the impact.

"A single novel cannot change the market."

But when the feedback from each branch was compiled onto the table, he fell silent.

There was no collapse, nor was there a large-scale retreat.

But confidence is something that never disappears overnight.

It often starts with a canceled appointment, a "I'll think about it" or a pen that never falls.

Subsequently, familiar financial media outlets and economic commentators began receiving calls.

I won't speak too directly on the phone.

I'm just reminding them that market sentiment has been somewhat unstable lately, and I hope that professionals can talk more about the fundamentals of the Japanese economy, about "healthy corrections," and about the boundaries between literary works and real-world finance.

Finally, even some people within the Ministry of Finance noticed this unusual reaction.

Kasumigaseki, inside a core office of the Ministry of Finance.

A briefing that compiled sales data for "The Collapsed Tower," trends in public opinion surrounding the bookstore, and feedback on anomalies in the underlying financial system was quietly placed on a large solid wood desk.

The middle-aged bureaucrat wearing gold-rimmed glasses closed the briefing and pushed it to the corner of the table.

The office was quiet, and outside the window was the gray-white winter sky of Xiaguan. The sound of traffic in the distance was greatly reduced by the thick glass.

The subordinate sitting opposite did not urge him, but simply lowered his head and waited.

"No matter how loud the voices are in the literary field, they cannot directly shake the foundation of the Tibet Autonomous Region's macro-control."

The middle-aged bureaucrat took a deep breath and said, "But the problem is that Kitahara Iwa is conducting financial education for the lower classes."

The seemingly scattered feedback from the grassroots in the briefing, from the sudden surge in loan extension applications to the concentrated questioning by the public about "joint and several liability guarantees," all point to the same unsettling fact for Xiaguan.

Ordinary people who used to blindly follow the banks' sales pitches are now starting to scrutinize the contracts handed to them by capital with a magnifying glass.

When the public's consensus shifts from "if you miss out, you'll never be able to afford it again" to "not entering the market is the safest option," the market expectations supporting this bubble system will completely collapse.

The middle-aged bureaucrat paused, looked past his glasses at his subordinate, and said, "At this critical juncture where stability must be maintained, we must not allow this rationality to continue to spread."

The subordinate, understanding the unspoken message, gave a slight bow and awaited specific instructions.

Given Kitahara Iwa's immeasurable status as a literary giant in the public's mind, any direct pressure from the official level would be extremely foolish and would only push him onto a pedestal of public sentiment.

With this in mind, the middle-aged bureaucrat came up with the most politically logical encirclement plan: "Arrange for a few economists you are on good terms with to appear on television."

"Remember, never attack Kitahara Iwao himself or the literary value of this work."

"The focus should be on the fundamental health of the economy and the firewall of policies, using professional macroeconomic data to alleviate public panic."

"We need to use gentle words to force this work back into the realm of fictional art, so that the public can once again believe that the story in the book is merely an exaggerated fantasy of a novelist."