Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

"They're absolutely stubborn!"

Sitting opposite them were a group of innovators led by bigwigs in the Tokyo publishing industry and young judges.

A well-known commentator from the Kanto region scoffed and retorted without hesitation:

"Confessions created a publishing miracle in the first year of the Heisei era, with millions of readers going crazy for it. If the Naoki Prize isn't nominated for the most socially discussed works of our time, works that most pierce the sensibilities of modern people, then it will truly lose its credibility and contemporary significance! Are we going to forever hide in our ivory tower, awarding prizes to those pointless lamentations that nobody reads?"

"Does high sales equal good literature?! That's just capital speculation!" The old man from the Kyoto School remained stubbornly convinced of his point of view.

Just as the discussion was about to fall into a vicious cycle of sales and art, the vice chairman of the judging panel, who had been sitting next to the main seat and was highly respected in the Kanto literary world, finally spoke up.

He didn't talk about sales figures or Kadokawa's 500 million yen; instead, he opened the book in front of him, "Confessions," which he had already filled with annotations.

"Gentlemen, please put aside your prejudices and biases."

The vice chairman's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable professional authority.

He first turned to look at the Kansai faction judges, who were still angry, and said in a deep voice, "Leaving aside those controversial social issues, I urge you, as professional writers, to truly examine the textual structure of this book."

He raised a finger and tapped it heavily on the page: "This Rashomon-like multi-perspective narrative, with each shift in perspective, ruthlessly overturns the cognition and moral judgment that the reader has just established in the previous chapter."

"From clergy, martyrs, and compassionate individuals to seekers of truth, each monologue is perfectly crafted, like a precise scalpel, dissecting layer by layer the hypocritical psychological defenses of modern people."

The vice-chairman raised his head, his piercing gaze sweeping across the room: "This requires not only extremely high logical reasoning ability, but also an unfathomable insight into human nature. Isn't this ingenious conception and explosive literary skill enough to be called literature?"

As the vice chairman finished speaking, the meeting room suddenly fell silent.

Even the old writer from the Kyoto school who had just smashed his book moved his lips, but couldn't utter a single word of rebuttal for a long time.

Because everyone present is an expert, they know better than anyone how terrifying the author's writing skills are to be able to write such a multi-perspective suspense so flawlessly.

"Times have changed, my friends."

The vice-chairman closed the book, delivering the final verdict on the debate: "The way literature reflects reality is also changing. And, don't forget..."

He gave the conservatives in the room a meaningful look: "This book has sold millions of copies. It would be truly foolish to shut this elephant out during the primary election and pretend we don't see it."

"Tomorrow, the doors of Bungei Shunju will be pounded by media and readers from all over Japan. They will point their fingers at us and accuse us of being old-fashioned old men who manipulate things behind the scenes and are jealous of newcomers."

"Gentlemen, we cannot afford to lose face, and neither can the Japanese literary world."

A deathly silence fell over the conference room.

Tokyo, a luxury apartment in Kitahara-iwa.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows is the bustling view of Tokyo. On the desk, the discarded drafts and outlines of "The Scream" are scattered haphazardly, along with a cup of cold black coffee.

Ring ring ring.

The shrill ring of the telephone shattered the tranquility of the room.

Kitahara Iwao put down his pen, picked up the receiver, and before he could speak, Sato, the editor-in-chief, spoke through the phone, his voice a mixture of extreme exhaustion and ecstasy: "Teacher Kitahara! It's settled! We got it!"

"Confessions" has officially made it into the final shortlist for the 101st Naoki Prize!

"The Japan Literature Promotion Association will announce this news to the public tomorrow morning!"

Upon hearing the news, Kitahara Iwa simply nodded slightly.

He was prepared for "Confessions" to be nominated, given the quality of the film.

If a work of "Confessions" doesn't even qualify for a nomination, then the literary world is truly beyond saving.

On the other end of the phone, Sato let out a long sigh of relief, as if a huge burden had been lifted. Then, he lowered his voice and pointed out the true strategic value of this nomination: "Teacher Kitahara, with this nomination as a safety net, it's like you've got a real get-out-of-jail-free card in the literary world."

"Those old fogies in Kyoto will have no grounds to label you a vulgar commercial writer or someone who only writes cheap, low-brow literature. The Naoki Prize jury's official recognition is the loudest slap in their face!"

However, after a brief burst of euphoria, Editor-in-Chief Sato changed the subject, his tone becoming somewhat heavy, even carrying a hint of cautious apology.

As a seasoned veteran in the publishing industry with decades of experience, he had to pour cold water on this young and ambitious genius at this crucial moment and manage expectations.

"But, Kitahara-sensei..."

Sato carefully considered his words and said with a wry smile, "You should be mentally prepared."

"Although the judges from the Kanto faction have done their best to ensure that 'Confessions' is shortlisted, in the final vote in a few days, from the perspective of those traditional veteran writers, the probability of 'Confessions' winning the grand prize is... extremely slim."

Sato's worries were palpable.

He had seen too many talented young writers experience the ecstasy of being shortlisted, only to suffer the immense disappointment of being rejected on the night of the awards ceremony, and from then on, they would never recover, and they could not even hold a pen properly.

He was afraid that Kitahara Iwa wouldn't be able to bear the humiliation of being a runner-up.