Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 107 Factional Struggle
The person who knows best about the sales figures for each issue of Le Parisien is, of course, its editor-in-chief, Paul Pigut.

He was currently smoking a cigar, looking at the sales statistics for today that had just been delivered and still smelled of ink, his mouth stretched almost to his ears in a wide grin.

This number far exceeded his boldest expectations.

The office door was pushed open, and Deputy Editor Jacques Mathieu rushed in excitedly: "Mr. Pigut! The newsboys on the street are saying that almost everyone asks, 'Do you have Benjamin Boudon's copy?'"
Newsstands in several districts sold out this morning and are urging us to reprint!

Paul Pigut took a deep drag on his cigar, exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, and smugly tapped the table: "See that? That's the magic of Lionel Sorel!"
Readers want good stories! Stories that will make them widen their eyes and forget what the black bread in their hands tastes like! That baby who's 'growing backwards' is the perfect bait!

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the bustling crowd on the street below. He could almost see everyone holding a copy of Le Petit Parish and reading Benjamin Bouton's Curious Cases with great eagerness.

They also saw the promising future of Le Petit Parisien, which, with the serialization of this novel, would surpass competitors such as Le Petit-Les Les Champagne and Le Monde, and become the number one newspaper in France.

"Tell the printing press to print more tonight! Double the print run! No, triple it! I want all of Paris, from the textile factory girls to the shoeshine boys, to be chanting 'Benjamin Boudon'!"

Georges Charpentier's coloring game was all the rage in the salon? Very well, let those ladies chase after Renoir's little pictures then.

Paul Pigut, with his price of 5 centimes and this incredible yet touching story, is conquering the "appetite" of all of Paris.

Benjamin Boudon, a fictional character created by Lionel who travels against the flow of time, has become the most incredible and talked-about "newborn" in Paris in the spring of 1879.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

On Sunday afternoon, as usual, Flaubert's apartment at 240 Rue Saint-Honoré was bustling with people.

However, Ivan Turgenev was not among those who came; he had returned to Russia as the weather warmed up.

It is said that the great Leo Tolstoy wrote him a letter, wanting to reconcile with him, perhaps he was rushing back to see this old friend.

Even so, the salon remained lively, and Lionel's "The Curious Case of Benjamin Buton," as the most sought-after novel in Paris this week, naturally received extra attention.

Several copies of "Modern Life" and "Le Petit Parisien" were scattered on the round table in the living room, and Huysmann even asked Lionel for the only card he was missing.

Lionel could only shrug and say that he hadn't collected all the illustration cards either, which made everyone laugh and express their disbelief.

Zola suddenly snorted, "Trick!" His voice carried a hint of pleasure, mischief, and benign jealousy.

He looked at Lionel with some emotion: "When did Georges become so cunning? Your novel, combined with Renoir's colorful illustration collection trick, is simply a stroke of genius."

Four illustrations per issue, forcing wealthy women to buy several copies? What a business genius!

Everyone joined in the praise, saying that if Mr. Georges Charpentier could turn this flash of inspiration into a regular occurrence, their new works might as well be published on "Charpentier's Shelf".

French writers of this era were not ashamed of making money or engaging in business; on the contrary, they were very enthusiastic about making a lot of money.

Let's not even talk about Balzac, who was obsessed with money—the Goncourt brothers were art dealers, Dumas ran his own theater, and Daudet was a publishing planner...

With Zola's name at the beginning, everyone started discussing how to sell the book better.

Finally, Flaubert steered the conversation back on track: "Ha, my dear friends, don't forget that the source of everything is Lionel. This time, he brought not a down-on-his-luck old man or a neurotic woman, but a freak born with the body of an eighty-year-old!"

"The whole of Paris is talking about him now. Tell me, what do you think of this strange creature? Guy, you go first."

Maupassant hurriedly put down his coffee cup: "Teacher, Lionel's concept... is truly amazing. He had discussed some ideas with us before, but seeing the finished product, especially the opening double-narrative structure—"

The final reading during the storm of the Paris Commune, intertwined with the horrifying birth amidst the smoke of the French Revolution, had an impact far exceeding my expectations.

He successfully created a huge suspense right from the start—how could this life, born old, flow backwards in the river of time? Zola's interest also shifted to the novel: "Suspense? No, Guy, it's more than just suspense! Lionel chose an extremely bizarre setting—born like an old man, growing backwards."

This seems utterly absurd and defies the laws of nature, much like the deformed embryos in a medical school anatomy lab! Yet, it is rooted in one of the most chaotic and 'abnormal' turning points in French history—July 14, 1789!
With the fall of the Bastille and the collapse of the old order, a new world struggles to be born amidst blood and fire. Isn't an infant 'born old' the sharpest and most bizarre metaphor for that crazy era?

The monstrosity born of the old regime on the eve of its death is a kind of 'grotesque naturalism' based on pathology!

Lionel: "..."

Émile Zola never gave up trying to bring him into the camp of "naturalism," and he could attribute almost every one of his novels to genetics or pathology.

Fortunately, Edmond Goncourt couldn't stand it anymore. He stroked his meticulously trimmed beard and said slowly, "Emile, you can't possibly include everything in 'naturalism,' can you?"

I think Lionel has always had the feel of a 'documentary novel' that my brother and I tried to achieve in 'Germany Lassetow'.

Look at his descriptions of the Parisian street scene on the eve of the Revolution—'the heat was like scalding grease,' 'the air was filled with the smell of fear, sulfur, and rotting garbage,' 'the streets became boiling torrents'...

How detailed and accurate! This is by no means a figment of imagination; he must have thoroughly studied Michelet's "History of the French Revolution" or the memoirs of those who experienced it firsthand.

This isn't some kind of 'grotesque naturalism,' it's 'absurd literature'!

Lionel: "..." How come even you, Goncourt, with your thick eyebrows and big eyes, have betrayed us?

Flaubert, however, keenly sensed a certain tension between the two—Zola's desire to bring Lionel into the "naturalism" camp was premeditated; Goncourt's idea to classify his novels as "documentary" was certainly not a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Lionel's previous three works, due to their length, did not have a lasting impact and were not enough to make these literary luminaries eager to recruit him.

As his first novel began serialization and gained popularity among the vastly different classes of nobility and commoners, the question of "which 'ism' does Lionel belong to?" was placed on the agenda of the Paris Literary Salon.

Flaubert recalled how, after the publication of Madame Bovary in 1856, critics were quick to categorize him as a "naturalist."

Later, Zola went so far as to call him the "father of naturalism".

However, when he was writing Madame Bovary, he was thinking more about Balzac's Comedy of the Human World than about "heredity" and "pathology".

Having a clear camp has its pros and cons.

On the positive side, they will naturally receive encouragement and support from their own camp, making it a smooth path for them to publish their works or travel to various places to give lectures.

Therefore, he did not object to his student Maupassant also following Zola and raising the banner of "naturalism" together.

On the downside, creative freedom will be restricted and constrained; unless one strongly agrees with a certain theory, it will gradually become a form of torture.

Therefore, he was never satisfied with Maupassant's creative state, believing that he had wasted too much time on "naturalism" but had accomplished nothing.

Lionel's "The Curious Case of Benjamin Buton" won the favor of both aristocratic and commoner readers, as well as "aristocratic writers" and "commoner writers".

Edmond de Goncourt was the former, and Émile Zola was the latter.

Flaubert was very curious about how Lionel would choose his side—instead of letting things slide as they had been at previous gatherings.

He poured Lionel a glass of wine and handed it to him, saying, "Leon, tell me what you think!"

(End of this chapter)