As I've said repeatedly, the British Empire, a land where the sun never sets, is a cultural backwater.
Art is lagging behind, music is falling behind, and philosophy is trailing.
Needless to say, about cuisine—there's a saying that if you want to eat well in England, you should have three breakfasts.
Among these, the one thing that has reached a somewhat elite level is literature.
Therefore, Londoners, despite their dislike, loved literature, took pride in English literature, and were proud of having a literary organization 'personally' sponsored by the King.
Thus.
Earl Halsbury Hardinge Kippard, President of the Royal Literary Society, Arrested!
Upon the breaking news of the arrest of the president of the Royal Literary Society.
"Did you hear? The president of the Royal Literary Society has been arrested!"
"What?! That's a big deal. But what did that person write?"
"Uh... I'm not sure."
Surprisingly, no one seemed to care.
"Stop talking nonsense and just give me volume 8 of Peter Perry."
"Aren't you the one who bought it last time?"
"Yes, my sister just had a baby. I want to give it as a gift."
"Oh, congratulations!"
"Thank you. I've finally become a father!"
"...What?"
It was natural. How could anyone care if the president of the Royal Literary Society, who no one even knew what he had written, was arrested?
Even the Nobel Prize, the Prix Goncourt, or the Booker Prize, which are mentioned as the three major literary awards, would have to be considered for the public to react or recognize it.
Of course, at this point, none of these three international awards existed.
Alfred Nobel was just about to sign his will, Edmond de Goncourt was dedicating himself to writing the Goncourt Diaries by his brother's side... and the Booker Group? They were busy selling sugar.
Contrary to Earl Halsbury's hopes, he was quickly forgotten by the public.
But.
"On the contrary, that's why it will be out soon."
Arthur Conan Doyle commented.
According to him, Hardinge Kippard's role as president of the Royal Literary Society was more of a pastime after retirement.
Though it was called the guardian of literature, it was similar to a judicial old-timer engaging in achievements as a hobby.
Well, he wasn't entirely devoid of literary skill as a president, but in any case, he wasn't someone who devoted his life to this.
"Probably, 'junior' colleagues will put in a lot of effort in various ways for their senior. Still, with confessions and evidence, it's unlikely to end without charges. It'll probably end with a hefty fine."
"It's a bit disappointing."
I said, smacking my lips. Of course, I had more or less expected that. Reality, unlike novels, cannot provide an immense jolt of excitement.
Moreover, while there is also sticky bureaucracy, this is England.
Without codified laws, sentences can be inflated, but sentences can also be easily reduced—such is the law in this country. Precedent is paramount here.
However, seeing my disappointment, Arthur Conan Doyle nodded and said quietly.
"On the surface, it may seem that way. But it's not just that. For him, the rest of his life will be worse than suffering. There's something more important to the nobility than guilt or innocence."
"What is that?"
"Reputation."
It sounded like something from a Chinese story.
But having heard similar things from Mr. Miller, I could only nod in agreement.
Reputation is indeed extremely, incredibly important for nobility.
"I don't know how it is in your country, but the essence of noble behavior is common sense, and common sense is basically how society functions. However…"
"So you're saying that Earl Halsbury's actions were not in line with common sense."
"Yes. He'll probably find it hard to show his face in social circles for the rest of his life. The idea of a 'Royal Literary Society president' actively supporting something like 'yellow journalism'... It'll probably circulate with something like 'the level of literature he usually talked about' and so on. And given his personality, he won't be able to endure it."
So, naturally, retirement was implied. It was a strangely detailed and chilling scenario.
"Well, it means he was cornered to that extent, but why go so far... It's really hard to understand. It's as if there were figures of royal caliber involved, making it difficult to attack directly. Is there any royalty among Mr. Miller's connections?"
"Well, I'm not sure."
Could it be about the crown prince? But the crown prince is someone esteemed by commoners like us, and it was probably considered insignificant from the aristocratic perspective.
"Anyway, Earl Halsbury has lost his elegant lifestyle as a noble, whether in social circles or literary circles. It's fortunate if his title isn't revoked."
"Hah, indeed."
I couldn't help but nod absentmindedly.
As mentioned before, a writer is a subcategory of an artist. And one of the main characteristics of an artist is... the need for attention.
Not in a negative sense, but these people need social recognition to feel fulfilled.
Otherwise, why would they publish, present, or hold exhibitions? They'd just be satisfied writing in their journals and keeping it to themselves.
This is true not only for commercial art but also for those pursuing pure art. The desire to voice their perspective to the world is often even stronger in the latter.
And Earl Halsbury sought to gain such honor by becoming the president of the Royal Literary Society.
Yet, with this incident, his honor was thoroughly tarnished, making him practically a social corpse.
How pitiful...
"For the time being, the Royal Literary Society will be closed for business."
"What!? Is that for real?"
The president and several members are currently under investigation. Furthermore, until a new president is elected, no activities can be conducted.
So, in the meantime, the suggestion from Arthur Conan Doyle and George Bernard Shaw, who is more involved in politics, was that our Alliance of Authors should step in.
Indeed... as expected, George Bernard Shaw became actively involved in this matter.
It makes sense—he would later be known as one of the founding members of the Fabian Society, which was a think tank and the predecessor to the Labour Party, representing the left wing of British politics.
This means he was somewhat of a disciple of Marx in terms of radical ideas.
Given his background, Shaw was outraged by the exploitation of aspiring writers and sought to use it politically.
After all, it was a case that completely disregarded the fundamentals of labor law, so it was relatively easy to handle.
He even declared that he would tear apart and destroy the bourgeoisie who had exploited the proletariat with his own hands... Hmm, I haven't met him yet, but he sounds like a frightening figure.
"Currently, he's looking for legal ways to protect writers alongside the Liberal Party. Do you have any ideas?"
"Why are you asking me?"
I was incredulous.
I'm just a novelist, not a politician or a lawyer. If I had ideas like that, I'd be a president, not a writer.
Anyway, right now, I have 'absolutely no' ideas.
I don't even know the conditions of the British publishing market. How can I come up with ideas if I don't know what's out there?
What more can you expect from someone who almost got stuck with a Walkman due to failing to read the trends?
But Arthur Conan Doyle merely smiled at my reaction.
"Ha ha, still pretending to be ignorant, I see."
"No, I'm not."
"So, how far should I believe the modesty of someone who, while scratching his head and saying 'I don't know...,' managed to catch Jack the Ripper?"
Isn't that a case of catching a mouse while backing away from a cow? After all, you were the one who deduced and caught him.
"If you don't know, then perhaps you could tell me about the system you had in Joseon. Yes, how did you hone your writing skills in such a strange style and form?"
"Strange, you say..."
As for the system in Korea...
Well, the closest would be the endless web novel serialization system? It was a sort of infinite colosseum made possible and well-activated by the ubiquitous and vibrant internet space, where exposure to everyone by everyone was commonplace. Naturally, a writing style specialized for survival was honed there.
However, this was purely possible due to the transcendent nature of the internet.
Information in the analog world requires substantial resources, manpower, and time, but on the internet, spreading information is almost limitless, unrestricted, and real-time.
In other words, if there is a system for creating web novels, it is the World Wide Web, not a traditional system. Hence, it's called 'web' novels.
So, excluding that aspect.
If there's anything that could be applied here, perhaps—
"Hmm... how about setting a minimum wage or establishing basic standards for contracts?"
"Standards, you say…"
Even in future Korea, preventing all exploitation was practically impossible.
If it were possible, we would have achieved utopia.
But in the current situation, where even the basics are not yet established, at least setting up a minimal framework could help avoid toxic clauses and might be effective in preventing situations like this.
After all, as mentioned earlier, English law operates under the common law system where precedents are prioritized over codified statutes.
So, creating precedents is the goal.
"Setting a minimum point for contracts. That's a good idea."
"But, of course, if there are many who don't know, that poses its own issues. It will need updates according to market changes."
"Well, we'll handle that part."
Arthur Conan Doyle nodded and said.
"Oh, and regarding the students and aspiring writers, we've helped this time."
"Yes. For now, they're being protected by the Alliance of Authors, aren't they?"
"Yes. Whether through newspapers to find their families or connecting with relief organizations. We are also exploring options for them to work as interns at magazines for those who still have dreams."
Although most of them have declared their intention to cease writing.
Arthur Conan Doyle expressed his regret.
Indeed, the problem lay with those who squeezed them dry, but the aspiring writers themselves seemed to have some degree of talent.
But it couldn't be helped. Those whose dreams had been crushed by being squeezed too hard eventually realized their shattered dreams and either returned to their hometowns or decided to quietly continue their studies.
However.
"There are still some who want to continue writing and have requested to meet you."
"Me?"
I was briefly puzzled but figured it was to be expected.
Before my debut, I admired genre writers who were active at the time.
So, it's only natural that these students would be similar. But.
"Will it be alright if I meet them?"
"Mrs. Edith Nesbit, who works with the Fabian Society, has already met with them. Fortunately, she said there shouldn't be any issues."
Edith Nesbit... A legend just casually pops up. I nodded and asked,
"May I know their names?"
"Of course. Let's see, so—"
And when I heard the names, I was astounded and had to rush straight to the Alliance of Authors.
There was no other option.
"Pleased to meet you. I am David Lindsay from Lewisham College."
"I'm Walter John de la Mare, formerly with Standard Oil's London office... though I've been let go. Ha ha."
David Lindsay, the mythologist and SF maestro.
Walter de la Mare, the surrealist poet and novelist.
Certainly, these two were notable names.
But compared to the university student who followed immediately, they seemed like mere fireflies in front of a full moon.
"I'm William Somerset Maugham, studying at St. Thomas's Medical College."
Here it comes.
An SSR-level promising talent.