Sweden,
Stockholm,
Swedish Academy.
Permanent Secretary Carl David Af Wilson was sitting behind the desk in the round table conference room, looking at the list in front of him, anxious.
On the list, each name is blacked out or crossed out with a solid line.
I don’t know how long,
"Huh~"
Wilson let out a sigh of relief.
grass!
He couldn't help but curse in his heart.
There were so many people who rejected the Nobel Prize for Literature. Even Rabindranath Tagore, who was far away in India, sent a telegram saying that he would advance and retreat together with the University of London Union.
Wilson slammed the table.
"Why!?"
The list on the table was shaken to the ground.
At this moment, Hans Ludwig Fussell, the first chair of the Faculty of Arts, came around from behind.
He held a cup of steaming drinks in each hand, placed one cup on the table, then bent down to pick up the list, blew off the dust on it, and returned the items to their original places.
Wilson turned around,
"How did you come?"
Fussell pointed to the drink on the table and whispered: "Drink a little."
Wilson sniffed slightly,
"coffee?"
Fussell nodded,
"Well, coffee is much more refreshing than the British black tea."
During this time, the Swedish Academy has begun to consciously "boycott" British products.
Wilson picked up the cup,
He subconsciously observed himself reflected in the wall of the ceramic cup.
His face was very poor, and his eyes were densely covered with dark red bloodshot eyes, as if he had just entered primitive society from human society.
Fussell asked: "How long has it been since you slept?"
Wilson stared at the cup,
stare--
The eye sockets are sunken and protruding, making him look like a walking zombie.
"Gudu~"
Fussell couldn't help but swallowed.
He carefully stretched out his right hand, moved it up and down in front of his friend's eyes, and called softly: "Karl?"
Wilson suddenly came to his senses, put down the cup, and muttered something meaningless: "Manchester City."
Fussell was confused;
"ah?"
Wilson pointed to the cup,
"This cup is imported from Manchester City."
"puff!"
Fussell spat out a mouthful of old blood on the spot.
Although every effort has been made to avoid the appearance of British goods, the result is still unpreventable.
Wilson smiled bitterly and said: "Forget it, it doesn't matter anymore. Anyway, for today's Europeans, it will never be possible to get rid of British manufacturing."
At the beginning of the 20th century, British manufacturing could indeed radiate around the world.
This is very much like modern China.
Wilson took a sip of coffee and looked helpless.
"I'm afraid these coffee beans are also from England..."
Fussell coughed slightly,
"Don't think so much."
Wilson stood up and stretched, then walked to the bed and opened the curtains.
The dim sunlight of the setting sun shone into the house.
The population of Northern Europe is not large, and even in the large city of Stockholm, you still only see sparse pedestrians hurrying across the road.
Fussell said: "Have you heard? Lu Shi and Bernard Shaw went to France for exchanges."
Hearing the name Lu Shi, Wilson suddenly clenched his fists.
He said: "What?"
Fussell said depressedly: "I wonder if those French people will come up with any disgusting tricks again. I'm worried...forget it, there's no point worrying."
Indeed,
There's no point worrying.
Wilson took another sip of coffee depressedly.
Fussell seemed to have remembered something and asked: "When I entered the house just now, I heard you shouting 'Why!?', Why?"
Wilson looked at the table.
Fussell followed his gaze.
"A telegram? A telegram from Delhi?"
He leaned over to read the content, only to discover that Tagore had rejected the invitation for the Nobel Prize in Literature.
There was an eerie silence in the house,
"..."
"..."
"..."
After a long time, Wilson spoke again: "It's okay if those arrogant people in Western Europe reject us. He is an Indian, why should he refuse? He really doesn't know what he is..."
The next words were not spoken.
But Fussell can guess pretty well, it should be something like "goods."
He opened his mouth, wanting to comfort his colleagues.
As a result, the words on his lips turned into: "It was Lu Shi who caused the trouble."
Wilson then fell silent.
At this moment, the clerk's voice suddenly came from outside the door: "Mr. Wilson, something bad has happened... Something bad has happened!"
Wilson and Fussell exchanged glances and sighed deeply at the same time.
Fussell went over and opened the door;
"Who is it this time?"
Wilson on the other side had already picked up the list and pen, ready to cross off the names he heard.
The clerk ran out of breath and said while gasping: "Gentlemen, it's... uh... it's Mr. Oudena who sent the telegram from Paris."
Wilson scanned the list mechanically and murmured to himself:
"Odna...Odna..."
Already numb.
Fortunately, Fussell is a normal person.
He quickly walked over and grabbed Wilson's shoulders, shook him violently, and yelled: "Carl!"
Wilson raised his head,
"Wha...what?"
Fussell raised his voice,
"Brother, can you wake up a little? Hey! That's the telegram sent by Claes."
Wilson was stunned for another half a second before he reacted.
He shuddered,
"A telegram from Paris from Claes?"
Fussell nodded,
"right."
Wilson couldn't help but ask: "Did I just say that Lu Shi and Bernard Shaw are visiting Paris."
Fussell: "..."
His face became extremely ugly.
Now, the entire Swedish Academy of Literature has reached the point where they are talking about Lu.
Wilson quickly rushed to the front door, grabbed the telegram from the clerk's hand, and only glanced at it, his right hand could not help but tremble.
The telegram then fell.
Fussell asked, "What's wrong?"
Wilson replied: "The Literary Award... the French actually wanted to host the Literary Award themselves. Moreover, it was proposed by Verne and Poincaré. Also, Lu Shi was also present."
Sure enough, it was Lu Shi again! ?
The muscles in Fussell's cheeks pulsed wildly.
The Swedish Academy is trying every means to gain traffic.
As a result, she actually made a wedding dress for someone else, and asked the French Academy to pick up a ready-made one, and she made a lot of money out of it.
Wilson looked at Fussell,
"What should we do now?"
What else can be done?
Fussell took a deep breath and said: "Everything falls on Mr. Tolstoy. Now, we must nominate him."
Wilson's expression couldn't help but twist,
"But, before we..."
They rejected Tolstoy, and they used high-sounding reasons:
Tolstoy's current works are full of anarchism and fatalistic thoughts, and Nobel's will stipulates that the winner of the literature prize must "create the best work with an ideal tendency."
This is undoubtedly very far-fetched.
Tolstoy naturally understood this reason, so he generously stated that "War and Peace" is a "grandmaster's game".
Such humility is a step down for the Swedish Academy.
Now, it is very embarrassing to think about asking the Swedish Academy to go back to Tolstoy.
Fussell spread his hands,
"Is there any other method?"
Wilson looked embarrassed and muttered: "It seems... it seems... probably... maybe there is really no other way."
"I'll draft the message," Fussell said.
He picked up a pencil and wrote on the paper:
——
Mr. Tolstoy is undoubtedly one of the greatest writers of the last century.
In his works, in addition to ruthless criticism of reality, he also enthusiastically promoted the views of repentance, soul saving, asceticism, etc., and promoted an ideal and fraternity that can be called "Tolstoyism".
…
Wilson looked on beside him and was dumbfounded.
"Ideals and fraternity?"
Fussell was writing furiously and asked, "What? What's the problem?"
Wilson shook his head repeatedly.
"No, no problem. How can there be a problem? Mr. Tolstoy is the embodiment of ideals~ Apart from him, who else is suitable for the Nobel Prize in Literature?"
Fussell nodded,
"No one but him is worthy of the first Nobel Prize in Literature."
Wilson agreed firmly,
"Yes, no more!"
…
France,
Paris.
After more than three hours of performance, "Around the World in Eighty Days" finally came to an end.
Lu Shi and others left the Paris Opera House with the flow of people.
The sky has darkened,
The nightlife has just begun, and the lights on both sides of the Seine River are reflected on the steel body of the Eiffel Tower, which makes people look a little scared.
From time to time, singing and laughter came from the cafes on the river bank, which was very cheerful.
People around were discussing "Around the World in Eighty Days",
"It's wonderful!"
"I also want to travel around the world like Mr. Fogg."
"First of all, you have to be rich; secondly, you have to be as lucky as someone who can always turn danger into safety."
…
Listening to people's discussion, several people looked at each other and smiled.
Lu Shi said: "The so-called good luck is just the halo of the protagonist~"
Verne chuckled,
"That's a really interesting word."
The others nodded,
Lu Shixin coined the term "protagonist halo", which is quite vivid.
As they chatted, they walked towards the Seine River and walked along the river bank in the spring evening breeze.
After a while, Roland spoke first,
"Mr. Verne just mentioned the Jules Verne Award?"
When Verne proposed this idea, no one else asked in depth.
The reason is simple, they all doubt whether Verne is serious.
Bernard Shaw was also very surprised and said: "Mr. Verne, as far as I know, literary awards are generally awarded with...well...I don't mean to curse you, but it should be something like Goncourt and Nobel." The situation."
Naming an award after a person has the meaning of commemoration and mourning.
The two literary prizes, Goncourt and Nobel, were established through foundations established through inheritance after the death of the namesakes.
In addition, there is also the Mao Dun Literature Award,
This award is sponsored by the Chinese Writers Association and was established in accordance with Mr. Mao Dun’s last wish to encourage outstanding long-form creations.
Another example is the Hugo Award and the Pulitzer Prize.
Verne looked serious,
"You heard that right, I do want to establish a literary award to encourage science fiction creation."
Poincaré was surprised,
"Science fiction?"
He just thought it was a literary award for all subjects, the orthodox kind.
No one knew what to say.
In fact, the Jules Verne Prize existed in history, but it only lasted from 1927 to 1932, and the prize was not much, only 5,000 francs, so Lu Shi had no impression of it.
The reason why this award disappeared is because the award was given to the best science fiction author.
At that time, science fiction was still a very small category.
It was not until the Hugo Awards and Nebula Awards that the situation improved.
What's more, the French always like to commit literary youth problems from time to time, which makes the candidates very few.
Poincaré chuckled and said: "Jules, you scared that old gentleman just now."
The corner of Verne's mouth curled up,
"Just to scare him."
Everyone couldn't help but look at each other and smile.
Poincaré asked: "Jules, why do you insist on science fiction works? With your achievements and status, it is definitely no problem to provide a comprehensive award."
Verne waved his hand,
"No, I am just a popular writer, so I have never considered comprehensive awards. Asking me to award Mr. Xiao's "The Widower's Property" or "Mrs. Warren's Career", I think it is inappropriate. "
Bernard Shaw said: "You don't have to belittle yourself."
Verne stared back at him,
"I'm just humble."
The two literary giants were at odds again.
Lu Shi coughed lightly, brought the topic back, and asked, "What's the reason?"
Verne took a deep breath and said: "There are actually many reasons. Professor Lu, I am not afraid of your jokes. The first reason is to take advantage of the 'messing up' of the first Nobel Prize in Literature."
"Tsk..."
Lu Shi sighed softly.
Verne's operation reminded him of some kind of traffic-generating method used in later generations of the fandom.
He said: "The Swedish Academy has given us a slap in the face, so why shouldn't we do it?"
The others were stunned for a moment, then laughed.
Bernard Shaw said: "I have long said that Lu is an atypical Chinese."
Verne took over the conversation,
"The second reason is to develop science fiction."
Everyone understands.
In some cases, awards are equivalent to essay solicitations and can encourage writers to devote themselves to a certain category of creation.
Verne has been writing science fiction all his life, so he naturally hopes that science fiction can be carried forward.
He said: "Besides, I also have selfish motives in it."
If the Jules Verne Award can be successfully established and continues, Verne will surely become a figure recorded in literary history, and he may even be called the "Father of Science Fiction."
Bernard Shaw felt the same way,
"I can understand."
The two words fame and fortune,
Since the profits are enough and the royalties will last a lifetime, then what I seek next is nothing more than fame.
Lu Shi asked: "Is there a third reason?"
Verne nodded, the expression on his face became extremely sincere,
He watched the landing with enthusiasm,
"The third reason is that I want to see the possibilities of science fiction."
Anyone can see the fanaticism in Verne's eyes.
Roland asked: "The possibility of science fiction?"
Verne nodded,
"Yes, all possibilities. After talking so much with Professor Lu, I realized that I was just a frog in the well. It turns out that science fiction can have so many branches, and I want to see what kind of towering branches these branches will grow into. Tree."
This is the purest wish of a litterateur and a writer.
No one can argue with that.
After a while, Bernard Shaw said: "Sometimes, I often think about how lucky I am to see such cross-era dramas as "Yes! Prime Minister" and "Roman Holiday."
Verne took the matter seriously,
"You really can understand me."
Bernard Shaw nodded first, then shook his head.
"But the problem is that it is difficult to achieve your wish. Just like people who have not watched "Yes! Prime Minister", they will never realize that dramas can be created in such a way. Although science fiction, as Lu said, there are so many categories, but there is no Given the precedent, who can write a corresponding work?"
This question is difficult to answer,
But it’s also easy to answer.
Poincaré, Verne, and Roland suddenly looked at Lu Shi at the same time.
Stare——×3
The sight is sharp.
Verne said: "Professor Lu, since you have come to the Collège de France for exchange, can we ask you for a manuscript?"
Lu Shi: "Ah this..."
Poincaré also persuaded: "Professor Lu, do you want to reject us? You are the embodiment of ideals~"
(End of chapter)
