"Benjamin Button was born looking like an 80-year-old man, but as time went on, he grew younger and younger..."
"Throughout his life, he experienced a republic, an emperor, another republic, a restoration, another emperor... finally dying in another revolution..."
"He began his life abandoned by his father in swaddling clothes, and ended it embraced by his lover in swaddling clothes..."
"Like a reflection in the river of time, he experienced this tumultuous century with an ever-younger body..."
...
As Lionel recounted the tale, the 19th-century French version of the film "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" was roughly outlined in the smoke-filled air of "Charpentier Bookstore."
Whether it was Paul Pigoud, editor-in-chief of "Le Petit Parisien," or the Charpentier couple sitting by, or Maupassant, Huysmans, and others, they all forgot the passage of time.
Just a few minutes of narration made them feel as if an entire lifetime had passed.
Novels that depicted societal changes through a person's life journey were not uncommon in the 19th century; there was even a specific term for them: "roman-fleuve" (river novel).
But the story Lionel was telling had a truly marvelous starting point—
A person "growing backwards," Benjamin Button, was itself full of allegorical meaning—memory, death, time, love, history...
Everything taken for granted was imbued with special significance in a life journey of "growing backwards."
Since Lionel could outline the story so captivatingly, he must have had the skeleton, flesh, and even every inch of muscle already well-formed in his mind.
It was hard to imagine how attractive this story would be to French readers once written!
This exquisitely clever and romantic starting point, combined with France's grand history spanning several centuries, was nothing short of a spiritual bomb thrown at them!
Lionel's writing, having been verified by three short stories, was undeniably good, so there was no need to worry about it failing to support this magical concept.
Georges Charpentier was the first to react. He absolutely had to secure this novel, Lionel Sorel's first long-form novel, for his "Modern Life"!
While Paul Pigoud was still immersed in the story, he immediately walked up to Lionel:
"Since Paul thinks the 'child's perspective' isn't quite suitable for serialization in 'Le Petit Parisien,' then my 'Modern Life' wants this novel.
Leon, when do you plan to start writing?
Or have you already written a part?"
Paul Pigoud jumped up from the sofa in a hurry:
"Hey, Georges, when did I say 'Le Petit Parisien' didn't want it?
Propriety, where has your propriety gone?"
Georges Charpentier, abandoning his usual gentle demeanor, retorted sharply to Paul Pigoud:
"I merely repeated your exact words... Besides, I'm not stopping Leon from having a column in 'Le Petit Parisien.'
I just want his long-form novel!"
Paul Pigoud sneered:
"Hey, look at you, speaking so generously as if you're bestowing something upon me.
Well, I suppose I should thank you, Monsieur Charpentier!"
Facing the sarcasm, Georges Charpentier remained unfazed:
"You're welcome, Monsieur Pigoud!"
Paul Pigoud's eyes turned red with anger at that remark; he wished he could grab Georges Charpentier by the collar and throw him out the window.
Maupassant, Huysmans, and others didn't even dare to intervene, only watching as the "patrons" they looked up to argue undignifiedly over Lionel's yet-to-be-written long-form novel.
Lionel, caught between the two, spoke with difficulty:
"Gentlemen, may I speak?"
Seeing that it was Lionel who spoke, Paul Pigoud and Georges Charpentier stopped arguing and looked towards him.
Lionel smiled at them:
"Both 'Le Petit Parisien' and 'Modern Life' want this book, 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,' is that right?"
Paul Pigoud excitedly said:
"You just promised me!"
Georges Charpentier snorted disdainfully:
"Doesn't 'Le Petit Parisien' disapprove of the 'child's perspective'?
It belongs to 'Modern Life'!"
Seeing that the two were about to argue again, Lionel quickly said:
"Actually, there's a solution..."
The two turned their heads, their eyes fixed on Lionel.
Lionel, calculating internally, slowly began:
"'Le Petit Parisien' is a daily newspaper, 'Modern Life' is a weekly magazine;
The readers of 'Le Petit Parisien' are mainly common citizens, while the readers of 'Modern Life' are mainly gentlemen and ladies;
'Le Petit Parisien' sells for 1 sou per copy, 'Modern Life' sells for 10 sous per copy...
Everything I've said is correct, isn't it? Monsieur Pigoud, Monsieur Charpentier."
The two nodded doubtfully, wondering what Lionel was getting at.
Lionel grinned, revealing his true intention:
"Whether it's the publication frequency, reader demographic, or selling price, the two newspapers actually don't constitute direct competition.
Why can't 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' be serialized simultaneously in both newspapers?"
"Simultaneously serialized?"
Everyone in "Charpentier Bookstore" was stunned by this proposal.
It wasn't unprecedented for a novel to be serialized in different newspapers at the same time, but that was usually in newspapers from different countries—for example, Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities" was once serialized simultaneously in England, France, and Russia.
Affected by distribution regions and language, the three newspapers, after all, did not compete with each other.
But after Lionel's analysis, "Le Petit Parisien" and "Modern Life" also seemed to have little competitive overlap?
Lionel continued to add:
"'Le Petit Parisien' serializes daily, while 'Modern Life' combines that week's serialization into one issue.
Wouldn't that be the best of both worlds?"
Paul Pigoud and Georges Charpentier fell into thought.
They had to admit, Lionel's suggestion was very feasible. Georges Charpentier quickly found a key issue:
"What about the order?
Who goes first, who goes second?"
Paul Pigoud also reacted. Although the overlap in readers between the two newspapers was very small, there was still some impact.
Lionel spread his hands:
"That's for you two to discuss. For the newspaper that publishes later, I can appropriately reduce the manuscript fee..."
Paul Pigoud and Georges Charpentier glared at each other, each calculating their gains and losses.
Lionel cleared his throat again:
"Actually, there's one more thing. If it's serialized, how many times a week will it be updated?"
Paul Pigoud, without waiting for Lionel to finish, eagerly said:
"Of course, one update a day!
That's how Monsieur Dumas Père did it!
Our readers are used to seeing the latest chapter in the newspaper every day!"
Lionel's expression changed, and he refused without hesitation:
"One update a day?
That's torture for a writer!
Simply outrageous!
If it develops like this, there will always be a time when two updates a day are demanded!
Even four updates a day won't satisfy readers, they'll want the author's life!
Too inhumane!
Readers also need to be educated—alright, 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' will have three updates a week, no more!"
————
In the evening, when Alice and Petty saw Lionel again, they found that he had not only returned but was also carrying a heavy bag.
Upon entering the house, he emptied the bag onto the table; it was entirely filled with thick, hardcover books.
"The Old Regime and the Revolution," "Lectures on the History of French Civilization," "History of Ten Years," "Travels in France"...
Petty touched the beautifully designed covers and gilded titles of the books, asking curiously:
"Young master, did you buy all these?
They must be expensive, what are they for..."
Lionel patted one of them:
"They're all borrowed from the library—Petty, don't underestimate these books. Every page can earn our family francs..."
He then instructed Alice:
"Put aside your other copying work for now! Focus on serving me!"
Alice's face flushed, and she said hesitantly, not knowing what she was thinking:
"Okay, Leon."
(End of Chapter)
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