American literary giant: 1974

The first book review appeared four days after "The Silence of the Lambs" was released.

Rhea's phone call woke Lynn from his afternoon nap, her voice thick with the characteristic French mix of anger and excitement:

"Have you read today's New York Times?"

"Nothing. What's wrong?"

"The book review section is on the second to last page. Go see it for yourself."

Lynn put on his coat, went downstairs, walked to the newsstand on the corner, and bought a copy of The New York Times for two cents. He stood on the fire hydrant next to the newsstand and turned to the book reviews section.

In the bottom right corner of the second-to-last page, there is a section smaller than the palm of your hand.

The title reads:

[A Scream from the Driver's Seat - A Taxi Driver's Horror Debut]

The book reviewer was Howard Morris, a name Lynn had never heard of before.

Lynn stood there and read it word by word.

Morris's assessment was as follows:

"Lynn was a complete newcomer with no publishing record. His day job was driving a taxi in Manhattan. That fact alone is more dramatic than anything he wrote. The Silence of the Lambs demonstrates a rare narrative control—Hannibal Lecter is one of the most unsettling villains in recent years, and his politeness is more chilling than his atrocities."

Everything was going well up to this point, but then the tone suddenly shifted.

"However, it's hard to ignore an obvious question: Can a Chinese immigrant—more precisely, a Chinese taxi driver—truly understand from the inside how the FBI operates, the psychology of serial killers in the American Midwest, and the predicament a white female agent faces in a male-dominated law enforcement system?"

"Mr. Lynn's writing skills are impressive, but why should we believe an outsider's description of America's fears? To put it another way, it's like someone who has never eaten oysters writing the world's best oyster recipe."

"We look forward to Mr. Lynn's next work. Perhaps by then, he will be able to prove that this is not just a brilliant trick by a Chinese-American genius, but the true voice of a writer."

Lynn folded the newspaper.

"A brilliant trick."

He stood next to the fire hydrant, watching the cars on Fifth Avenue drive past him one by one.

For a few seconds, he suddenly wanted to rush up, stop a car, drag the driver out, and then throw the New York Times in his face.

But the first book review, whether good or bad, at least proves that someone is reading it.

But this is only the beginning.

Over the next two weeks, book reviews started popping up everywhere.

The good news came first.

Publishers Weekly gave it a star, praising Lynn for "creating a breathtaking labyrinth of mystery."

Kirkus Reviews put it more bluntly: "The most unsettling debut of the year. Hannibal Lecter will haunt readers' nightmares for a long time."

A clerk at an independent bookstore in Boston wrote a sentence on a handwritten recommendation card, which Leia later framed and put inside her briefcase: "After reading this book, I broke up with my boyfriend who was always on dates, wearing suits and drinking red wine."

The underground literary circles in Higashimura and Shimotsu Ward reacted even more enthusiastically.

Freeman wrote a half-page recommendation in the latest issue of Midnight Surprise, titled "The author of Guts has written a book that keeps all of America up at night."

Mike typed out twenty copies of the recommendation and posted them in the windows of every convenience store he could find near St. Mark's Street.

But bad news followed, and it came even worse.

Harold Bloom, a book reviewer for The Atlantic and a professor of literature at Yale University, wrote a lengthy and extremely scathing review. The title is straightforward: "When the East Meets the West's Sewers."

"Mr. Lynn's narrative ability is beyond question. But the question is, what does this ability serve? The fact that a Chinese taxi driver wrote a novel about an American serial killer is itself a metaphor: it suggests that American culture is being stripped away by an Easterner."

"Mr. Lynn may be able to mimic the tone of American fear, but can he truly understand the roots of that fear? Hannibal Lecter's refined taste, his fascination with Bach and Chianti wine—these are fragments of European cultural heritage—a monster pieced together by an Asian author?"

"Excuse my bluntness, but a Chinese person using European culture to write an American story? We don't need to read 'The Silence of the Lambs,' because it's just an Easterner's fantasy about the West."

The real storm occurred in the third week.

A small critical journal called *Literary Sentinel* published a book review signed "RJ Carter." The review was short, but far more incisive, directly addressing issues of racism and the Vietnam War.

"According to our understanding, the author, Lynn, has no formal literary training and no background in journalism or criminal investigation. He is a taxi driver for Crown Motors in Manhattan, and his only previous publication record is a short story in an underground horror magazine called Midnight Wonders. His agency, Nor Miller Publishing, was established less than three months ago, and one of its partners, Steven Miller, works as an editorial assistant at a gardening publishing house."

"However, Random House's chief editor, Bill Thompson, actually used his direct signing authority to bypass the review committee and sign the book—does this indicate that Random House has some kind of special deal with the Chinese government?"

"Ideological warfare is not just a cultural matter. The fact that Random House, a publishing giant in New York, chose a Chinese person as a marketing gimmick precisely illustrates one point: the United States is currently suffering from serious color infiltration. This is similar to the US military choosing a Vietnamese person as a frontline military commander during the Vietnam War."

This commentary was reprinted in the gossip section of the New York Post. Then it was read aloud on a radio morning program.

When Leia called Lynn, her voice sounded unusually tired.

"Did you see it?"

"I've seen it."

"What are you planning to do?"

Lynn was silent for a few seconds on the other end of the phone. Outside the window, the Manhattan sun shone on the gray-green casing of the typewriter, and the letters on the keyboard gleamed coldly.

"I have a way."

"What method? They not only questioned Thompson's judgment, but also insulted your nationality—"

"Leah," Lynn interrupted Leah.

"Um?"

"Do you know what the best response is?"

Lynn continued, "Let the book speak for itself."

"Sales. Only sales can shut everyone up. A thousand copies won't shut everyone up, ten thousand copies won't shut everyone up, but if it sells fifty thousand or a hundred thousand copies—then no one will care whether the book was written by a Chinese person, a white person, or a Martian."

"Fifty thousand books..." Leia repeated on the other end of the phone.

"Yes. We need 50,000 copies."

"The first print run was only 18,000."

"So we have to print more."

"A reprint is contingent on the initial print run selling out."

"Then sell it all."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Lynn could hear Leia flipping through something, the rustling of pages.

"I have good news," she finally said.

"What?"

"The initial distribution in New York and Boston sold 4,600 copies as of yesterday. Three weeks."

Lynn quickly did the math in his head. An initial print run of 18,000 copies, with 4,600 sold in three weeks, averaging a little over 220 copies per day. At this rate, the first edition would sell out in about two and a half months.

"There's another number you might want to know," Leia said.

"What number?"

"At Barnes & Noble Fifth Avenue, your book was ranked ninth in the new releases recommendations during its first week. This week it has risen to sixth."

"sixth?"

"Yes. The first five are Jaws, le Carré's new book, a Nixon biography, a cookbook, and a photo book about cats."

"I lost to a photo book about cats."

"Cats are as popular in the United States as the president."

"..."

All those book reviews, whether praising or criticizing him, were doing the same thing: making more people aware of the book.

Morris called it a "brilliant trick." Bloom called it "a disintegration of American culture." Carter not only criticized Thompson but also called it "color invasion."

it is good.

Let them talk.

Some people buy books because of their positive reviews, some out of curiosity, and some simply because they want to see just how bad something that's been so heavily criticized really is.

For whatever reason, they had to pay three dollars and ninety-five cents first.

Of that three dollars and ninety-five cents, a portion would become royalties and flow into Lynn's pocket.

The more they criticize, the more they buy.

He put his fingers back on the typewriter keyboard.

The script for *Taxi Driver* still has sixty pages left to revise. Sales of *The Silence of the Lambs* are slowly climbing. Critics are criticizing it, readers are buying it, and the world continues to turn as usual.

All he had to do was keep writing.

...

but.

The person who truly propelled the public debate and controversy surrounding "The Silence of the Lambs" to unprecedented heights has emerged.