Fantasy Writers 1860

In Chapter 99, I immediately recited a line of poetry.

"The main event is about to begin." Dickins came to Dorian's side, patted her on the shoulder, and a dashing smile appeared on her face.

The salon's hostess, Countess Castel, walked toward a side room where a piano and an ornate sofa were placed.

The others naturally followed Countess Castel inside.

She sat gracefully on the sofa, smiling at everyone.

"Thank you all for coming," the Countess said, her voice carrying clearly throughout the not-so-large room.

"Tonight, we have gathered here the most interesting souls in Lentinion. Let us light up this night with literature and share our feelings with each other."

"I think everyone is eager to show off their work."

As soon as he finished speaking, enthusiastic applause erupted from the crowd, and Dorian joined in the applause.

The poetry reading is one of the most classic parts of the salon.

The word "salon" sounds high-end and classy, ​​but it actually means living room. It is a transliteration of the French word "salon".

From the 17th century onwards, Parisian socialites often turned their living rooms into social venues, inviting writers and artists to dine, drink, and chat together, which later evolved into dedicated events.

The first person to come out and recite was a young man who looked about the same age as Dorian. He recited a poem he had written himself, which was about love, with a somewhat shy tone.

Dorian had no recollection of this poem after listening to it, and felt that its quality was only average. It seems that it probably did not survive to later generations.

Next up was a slightly older man, who looked to be in his thirties. He also recited a poem he had written, the theme of which was about the philosophy of life.

Unlike the first young man who came up, he was not shy. He was obviously used to such scenes and had a strong confidence in his work.

Dorian still had no recollection of what he had heard, but it was indeed much better than what the first young man had written.

Several poets came up next, and it was Dickinson's turn to perform after they finished.

This order actually reflects an unwritten consensus: in literary circles, poetry has always been at the top of the hierarchy of contempt.

Poetry, with its highly condensed language, expresses the richest emotions and has long been considered the highest form of literature and art. Poets are naturally those who have reached the pinnacle of language mastery.

Britannia also had the honorary title of court laureate poet, but this title has been vacant for almost 60 years, and no great poet has emerged who can convince the public.

Who could have imagined that poetry, once considered the pinnacle of literature, would nearly disappear in just over 200 years, while novels, once considered inferior, would become the mainstream of literature?

Dickinson walked with a smile to the piano in the center of the hall, stood beside the Countess, took out a stack of manuscript papers, cleared her throat, and revealed a vibrant smile on her face.

"What I'm going to read is the latest plot of the novel I'm currently serializing, which hasn't been published yet. It's about Mr. Dombey's second wife refusing to have anything to do with him anymore, saying that she has achieved her goal of revenge against Mr. Dombey." Dickinse's voice was clear, melodious, and extremely captivating.

As she recited, the entire hall fell silent.

Her tone was sometimes low and sometimes high, accurately capturing every shift in the character's emotions. Mr. Dombey's arrogance, humiliation, and despair, and Edith's clarity, decisiveness, and years of suppressed hatred all flowed out through her voice, landing little by little in the hearts of everyone present.

Dorian listened intently, and he had to admit that Dickinson, like her alternate counterpart, was also very good at reciting.

Maybe I can give her a suggestion in advance, and I can even make money through the recitation event.

Dickens was exceptionally skilled at recitation and performance in history. He even considered becoming a theatrical actor at first, but later, tickets for his recitation clubs were extremely difficult to obtain.

When Dickinson finished her reading, a round of enthusiastic applause filled the hall. Mrs. Castells smiled with satisfaction and nodded gently.

"Fantastic! Absolutely fantastic!"

"Miss Dickinson's recitation truly brought the character to life!"

"That Mr. Dombey is both hateful and pitiful; he has lost his family once again, but it is all his own fault—"

Dickinson returned to her seat amidst applause, a slight blush on her face, clearly pleased with her performance.

The Countess glanced around at everyone present, finally fixing her gaze on Dorian.

"Mr. Dorian, welcome. I have already read your work, 'The Necklace.' I'm not afraid to admit it, but I was moved to tears when I reached the ending," the Countess said.

"I feel sorrow and grief for that Madame Mathilde, and reflecting on my own past experiences, I feel even more deeply for her." The Countess's tone was tinged with sadness, but she quickly rallied. "However, I am also delighted, delighted that such a work has been born in our Brittany. For someone who has always been dedicated to literature, this news is truly a great comfort."

Everyone had already gotten to know Dorian through Dickinson's enthusiastic wandering around earlier, and now they all cast their gazes at him, some with admiration and others with envy.

"You flatter me, Countess." Dorian bowed slightly, his manner elegant.

"I presume you have prepared a piece for recitation as well? I'm sure everyone is eagerly anticipating it." The Countess smiled and invited Dorian to begin his performance that evening.

Dorian took a deep breath, stood up, and walked to the center of the hall, where everyone's eyes were now focused on him.

He was a little nervous at first, but he quickly adjusted his mindset.

I've seen this kind of scene before. In my previous life, when I made up stories in front of high-ranking officials who came to inspect, I was much more nervous than this.

"Distinguished seniors, dear friends," Dorian began, his voice steady and resonant. "I was deeply impressed by Miss Dickinson's wonderful recitation. I am honored to be here today, and I would like to share a piece of my own with you. However, it is not a short story, but a poem."

The solemn piano music came to an abrupt end.

Even the musicians in the orchestra all looked up and stared at Dorian in surprise.

诗？

Everyone present looked surprised.

How dare a novelist recite his own original poetry in such a setting?

Admittedly, those who have read "The Chain" all agree that Dorian wrote well, which is almost beyond doubt. But even if it is good, it is still just a novel, and there is still a big difference between it and poetry.

Everyone originally thought he would prepare a short story, or simply recite his old work "The Necklace," which would have been a perfectly acceptable choice.

But how dare he recite his own original poems in such a setting?

Of course, no one forbids novelists from writing poetry, but in such an occasion, a newcomer, attending a literary salon for the first time, recites his own original poem?

This cannot be described as merely bold; it borders on arrogance.

Dickinson stared wide-eyed, frozen in place.

She had previously told Dorian to prepare a piece for a recitation, a straightforward introduction, though she had also mentioned that the Countess favored unconventional and innovative ideas, urging him not to be too restrained and to express himself boldly.

But this is way too daring!

Normally, people wouldn't be too critical of a newcomer's performance, but if you come in this arrogant, then don't blame everyone for scrutinizing you with a magnifying glass.

In this situation, even poems of mediocre quality are hard to present; any flaws will be magnified, and Dorian will become the laughingstock of the entire Londinion literary circle the next day.

Just like Wilson in Mr. Hakimi's recent work "Wilson the Fool", he was considered a fool because he said something strange on his first day in the village. After that, he could never get rid of that impression, even though everyone liked him in the days that followed. He could never get rid of the title of fool.

On his very first day in town, he was put on trial and branded a "fool." He was powerless to defend himself, and couldn't even improve people's impression of him.

Dorian is in just such a situation now.

Of course, a good writing style can be a weakness. If he successfully produces a perfect work that leaves no room for criticism, he will become a legend in the literary world the next day, leaping from an ordinary new novelist to a truly talented writer.

But that's simply impossible.

What good poetry can a novelist write? If they could write excellent poetry, why would anyone write novels?

If poetry were so easy to write, it wouldn't have remained at the top of the hierarchy of literature, sitting atop the crown of literature!

The reactions varied. Most people were still in shock, while a few were ready to watch the show with a spectator's mentality. Those who had just looked at Dorian with envious eyes were now secretly delighted, eagerly waiting to see how he would destroy himself.

The first young man to recite poetry looked at Dorian with considerable worry, while the middle-aged poet, who had been writing poetry for at least 10 years, was full of disdain and was ready to nitpick and make this arrogant newcomer pay the price for his arrogance and be utterly crushed.

Countess Castel's eyes, however, gleamed with keen interest.

This is truly unconventional.

She wanted to see whether this young man would bring surprises or frights.

Dickins was in immense pain. She couldn't bear to see the promising new writer she had discovered ruin his own career like this. She even had a bold idea:

Why not just rush up and kiss him now, diverting everyone's attention? It would be better to be the subject of a scandal than to have this arrogant, clown-like image.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the thought had barely crossed Dickinson's mind when Dorian took a deep breath, ignoring everyone's reactions, and began to chant:

"For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see."

"Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be."

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