1836: I Became a Literary Giant in Great Britain

Chapter 81 Truth, not arrogance, should stand on the stage. (Seeking first subscription!)

The moment Michelle stepped onto the podium, the entire auditorium fell silent.

All eyes were on the young man.

Despite the immense pressure, Michelle remained calm.

He didn't rush to speak, but instead slowly and methodically organized his speech.

Just as the audience was getting impatient, Michelle pushed aside the podium and sat down in the front of the stage, closest to the students.

Undoubtedly, this act of "breaking down the barriers of the podium" was very bold in 19th-century Britain.

The audience was somewhat surprised; Michelle had already made such a bold move before the speech had even begun.

At this point, Michelle finally spoke up: "Professor Rodriguez just said that not just anyone can stand on the podium at the University of London."

"I wholeheartedly agree, so I've decided to come down first."

The audience burst into laughter.

Michelle has quite a sense of humor.

Only Professor Rodriguez in the audience had a livid face, as if he had a premonition that something bad was about to happen.

"Because what should stand here is truth, not arrogance."

Sure enough, Michelle's next words ignited the entire audience the moment they fell silent.

"Well said, buddy."

"Get these old-fashioned professors out of here."

The students in the audience immediately became excited.

Professor Rodriguez's face turned red, and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath.

Unfortunately, amidst the noise, no one could hear what he was saying.

He had no choice but to give a wink to the front of the auditorium, and only after receiving confirmation did he sit down with peace of mind.

The hall only returned to silence when Michel pressed his hands down to signal everyone to be quiet.

"Hello everyone, teachers and students."

Michelle's voice carried clearly throughout the entire auditorium.

His opening remarks were concise and powerful, without the slightest bit of unnecessary embellishment.

Just as he was about to get to the point, a voice suddenly rang out.

"Mr. Michel!"

Michelle turned her gaze toward the source of the sound.

Grant stood up from the front row with an arrogant smile on his face.

"Mr. Grant, is there a problem?" Michelle asked calmly.

"Mr. Michel, I have a question I'd like to ask you."

Even when asking questions, Grant's voice carried a clear sense of superiority.

"Your stories, such as 'The Last Leaf,' 'Sleepy,' and 'Sorrow,' have indeed achieved great success in the market."

"But if I may be frank, these works are short, with simple plots, lacking the depth of description and lengthy exposition found in classical literature. Can you truly call these short stories, which only scratch the surface, literature?"

As soon as Grant finished speaking, the atmosphere in the entire auditorium instantly became tense.

Many students began to whisper among themselves, and some professors also showed expressions of anticipation.

They were all waiting to see how Michelle would respond to this pointed question.

Professor Joseph and Charlotte, sitting in the audience, were on tenterhooks, worried for Michelle.

A murmur rippled through the auditorium.

Michelle understood that Grant was trying to intimidate him.

He wanted to use this method to nail him to the label of "shallow short story writer" before the speech even began.

Michelle wasn't angry; instead, she smiled slightly.

He had anticipated this question; it was precisely the kind of conflict he had been hoping for.

He wants to respond to these doubts and break down these prejudices in his own way!

Michelle walked to the center of the stage, scanned the entire room, and then slowly began to speak.

His voice was clear and distinct, carrying an undeniable power.

"Mr. Grant, and fellow students and professors."

Michelle's voice echoed clearly in the auditorium.

"A person's background cannot determine his or her thoughts. A person's education cannot limit his or her understanding of literature."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "As for whether my short stories qualify as literature, I think my upcoming speech will provide the answer."

Grant's face was stiff and pale.

He hadn't expected Michelle to be so calm, not rushing to retaliate, but instead continuing at her own pace.

As for whether my work is just the tip of the iceberg...

'

Michelle didn't look at Grant anymore. He turned around, faced the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and slowly drew a huge shape on the blackboard.

Yes, chalk and blackboards already existed in 1837.

Although it differs slightly from later versions, it is about 70-80% functionally complete.

Michel's painting skills are average, but it's already possible to make out what he's painting.

It was an iceberg with only one-eighth of it above the water.

At this moment, everyone's eyes in the auditorium were focused on the iceberg that Michel had drawn on the blackboard.

Only a small portion of that iceberg is visible above the water; the majority remains hidden in the deep sea.

"The magnificence of literature lies precisely in the fact that only one-eighth of it is above water."

Michelle's voice echoed in the silent auditorium, carrying a unique rhythm.

He ignored Grant and the scrutinizing gazes, calmly looking at the iceberg on the blackboard.

"Mr. Grant just asked a question, and my story may lack in-depth description and lengthy exposition."

Michelle turned around and her gaze fell on Grant.

There was no provocation in his eyes, yet there was an invisible sense of oppression.

Under that eye contact, Grant's hands actually started to sweat.

Damn, how did this Frenchman suddenly become so sharp?

"But in my opinion, that's precisely the charm of short stories."

Michelle walked to the center of the podium and put down the chalk. She placed her hands on the podium and leaned forward slightly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you may think that an excellent literary work should be like a magnificent building, with a complex structure, gorgeous decorations, and detailed descriptions."

Michelle spoke calmly and deliberately.

He was describing the norm in literature in the 19th century and earlier.

"But I want to tell everyone that literature can also be like this iceberg."

Michelle pointed to the iceberg on the blackboard: "What we see is only the one-eighth of the water. However, what truly supports that one-eighth is the vast, unknown seven-eighths beneath the surface."

"These seven-eighths represent the author's in-depth research and refinement of the characters' backgrounds, social environments, emotional conflicts, and philosophical reflections during the creative process!"

Michelle's voice gradually became more captivating.

"It exists in every line of text, yet it transcends the words themselves. It requires the reader to feel it, to think about it, and to explore it."

"That's exactly what my short stories are like."

Michelle's gaze swept across the entire audience, meeting the eyes of every listener.

"I will not go into all the details, but will choose the most crucial and impactful parts to present to the readers."

"I hope that when readers read my stories, they can use this one-eighth of the iceberg to imagine, construct, and experience the broader literary world beneath the surface."

These words were like a thunderclap from a clear sky, exploding in the auditorium!

Not only the students present, but also the old professors who originally thought he lacked academic background were all dumbfounded at this moment.

It was as if I had seen something incredible.

They never imagined that short stories could be interpreted in this way, or given such profound meaning!

Is this still considered a short story?!