Chapter 164

It was a shocking story. He wrote a novel based on his son’s diary? That wasn’t an easy thing to do. Such cases weren’t entirely unheard of, but if permission wasn’t granted, it could become a terrible issue for the child.

And according to Han-bom’s story, if we follow this line of thought, then at least Park Sang-hwa would not have obtained Park Chan-wook’s permission.

“Yes, he didn’t give permission. From the start, what high school student would show their diary to anyone else, even their father? Of course, it wasn’t a direct copy. You can’t call it plagiarism. But for Chan-wook, that was already…”

“It couldn’t have been worse.”

“That would be true.”

Only now did I begin to understand Park Chan-wook’s words a little better. The plagiarism of life. Park Chan-wook must have a hatred for autobiographical stories. His story was sold regardless of his will; his thoughts were sold, and he could never accept that.

In the end, Park Chan-wook could no longer accept selling ‘his’ story. The things that were his story were never truly only his. It wasn’t as though only he appeared in the story; there couldn’t be a story without others’ stories.

“There must also be an influence from his younger sister. He grew up seeing autism firsthand. When he was younger, the world shown to Chan-wook by his sister was entirely about himself. It may not be like that now, but to Chan-wook, his sister would still look like the younger sister from that time.”

The anger shown by Park Chan-wook that day was not for a complete stranger like me. It was for his sister. Moreover, it was for himself.

Park Chan-wook couldn’t stay still. If he had been late, he would have thought that the same thing would repeat.

But, Park Chan-wook saved me. Even if the purpose was to save himself, that fact does not change.

Then why,

“Then why did the person who went through such an event commit plagiarism?”

“I think there needs to be a lot of explanations for that.”

Han-bom still wore a bitter smile. No, she was almost sad.

“I’m sorry. The fact that he committed plagiarism is all my fault.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s the fate of the genre.”

Fate of the genre?

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“What do you think constitutes a genre, or more broadly, a novel, or in other words, a story?”

I could immediately answer her abrupt question, even though I knew it wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

“Theme, characters, background, events, narrative, style… But I don’t think you’re asking about those.”

She was right.

“Yes, you really know well. Forget your first thought; avoid the obvious. Are you aware of this writing theory? What do you think?”

“I think that’s the most obvious thought.”

“That’s right. The first thought has value because it’s the first, and the obvious is obvious for a reason. We continue to weary ourselves with the same thing. We always want something new. But what keeps coming, despite being boring, is because we love it, isn’t it? We love the stereotype. The past and memories, things we’ve consumed but want to consume again, and the desire to recreate the taste from back then, thus we see the past and write the present from the future.”

“Because we love our past.”

I didn’t, though.

“Thus, genres are ultimately built upon and defined by countless stereotypes. All clichés are genres, and genres are clichés. New attempts become new clichés, and old clichés become formulas. How do you define plagiarism, writer?”

Han-bom called me a writer.

“…Something you can tell by looking.”

“That’s quite subjective.”

It couldn’t be helped. There are things that don’t feel like plagiarism even if they are the same. There are things that seem like plagiarism even if they are completely different. We can distinguish it, but the criteria differ for each person.

“As I mentioned, legally recognizing plagiarism isn’t about copying the story and sentences directly; it’s difficult if it’s not at that level. If you twist it just a little, it will not be recognized.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“The genre is, yes, this is somewhat extreme, but it’s all plagiarism.”

What Han-bom said was indeed horrifyingly extreme.

“Don’t misunderstand. I’m just saying that. But in reality, on this side, because of the characteristics and formulas of the genre, all kinds of mass-produced stories are pouring out. Frankly, I don’t believe the literary world is much different.”

“That can’t be called plagiarism.”

But is that really the case?

“That’s right. It’s a matter of proportion. If there’s a novel that is 100 percent the same, we would call it plagiarism. But what about 99 percent?”

“Then it’s plagiarism.”

“What about 90 percent?”

“Plagiarism… right.”

“What about 80 percent? 70 percent? 50 percent?”

“…”

I couldn’t answer.

“This is a very difficult problem without a correct answer. It’s also a matter heavily influenced by the flow of the times. It’s a concept that didn’t even exist in the past; we can’t predict how it will be in the future. Naturally, while a novel can be 100 percent the same, it can never be 100 percent different. We all receive influences from somewhere and write them down. Can that be called plagiarism?”

“No.”

“What matters is the problem of digestion. If I consume it and digest it, making it my own, I don’t think it is plagiarism. No one calls learning and understanding plagiarism, right? It’s an illusion of originality. There’s nothing new in this world. However, we can create anew. That is creation, not plagiarism.”

But…

“Park Chan-wook admitted to his plagiarism.”

“It’s kind of like a sense of perfectionism. Chan-wook’s previous novel… yes, it sold well because I made it that way. But that novel wasn’t original. He hated writing his own story. He could only write others’ stories.”

And,

“To some extent, I also pushed him to write that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s obviously for success. Watching hit works, learning from them, and consuming them.”

Also called copying.

“The original work that sparked the plagiarism accusation in Chan-wook’s latest novel isn’t a completely original novel either. 90 percent of it was created from existing clichés and stereotypes. But that remaining 10 percent, that most important originality, was alive, which allowed it to be a hit and garner enough fans to spark a plagiarism debate.”

“Then what about Park Chan-wook?”

Han-bom nodded.

“The 90 percent doesn’t matter. From Chan-wook’s perspective, he might have thought that was also plagiarism, but that 90 percent is truly a non-issue. Everyone uses that 90 percent. No one has copyright on that separately. We don’t think there’s copyright in waking the princess with a prince’s kiss or in a hero going to defeat a demon king. But Chan-wook crossed the line. Just 1 percent. A mere 1 percent, but he crossed the line. The 90 percent became 91 percent, and that was intentional.”

“…Why?”

“People yearn for what they don’t have.”

Han-bom’s face sank. The feelings I could read from her face were of a kind I never expected to see from her.

Guilt.

“I think he tried to digest it alone. But he failed. As a result, it became plagiarism, and Chan-wook tried to take responsibility. He made revisions and rebuilt it. As you know… it flopped. If it had completely failed, it might have been better; it’s awkwardly failed, so he can’t stop. If it had failed completely, everyone would have forgotten it. But now everyone knows.”

“Why do you keep making that expression?”

“Because it’s my fault.”

Only clichéd comfort could come out of my mouth.

“That’s not true.”

Han-bom shook her head.

“I think I should have taught him a better way. Teaching him how to copy someone else’s writing, I think teaching him that is what went wrong.”

“That’s not wrong. It’s Park Chan-wook’s fault for misusing it.”

“I told him to give up originality. I said that as long as he combined existing formulas, he could succeed any number of times. And indeed, he succeeded.”

It was something that shouldn’t have succeeded.

Han-bom didn’t cry. She just sounded a little choked up.

“Don’t cry.”

“Hearing that makes me want to cry even more.”

Recalling her earlier words, Han-bom said playfully with a tearful smile.

Ah, I see. I finally understood. I could now grasp why Han-bom couldn’t succeed in web novels.

Han-bom’s story must have contained only formulas. Because she was that kind of person. She didn’t know how to write any other way. She was that kind of poet.

Park Chan-wook admitted to plagiarism, and Han-bom was a poet. The way Han-bom wrote poetry was askew, and in poetry, that would be beautiful uniqueness. However, it was not the case in a novel.

Han-bom’s poetry affirmed a world divergent from reason, absurdity, and illogicity. But because of that, Han-bom’s world was misaligned. Hence, something was wrong with Han-bom’s novel. Everything was present, but everything was different.

And there was no humanity in it. If there was, it was merely replaced by something with a similar shape. It was like a volleyball speaking instead of a person. And in a factory, they would be churning out cold stars with machines.

In Han-bom’s world, it could be affirmed. Han-bom accepted everything. But it could only be affirmed in Han-bom’s world. For others, it was probably too cold, lonely, and bizarre.

Han-bom taught Park Chan-wook her method. Thanks to that, Park Chan-wook was able to succeed. Because he was still human. Because he still had humanity left.

In a sense, Park Chan-wook succeeded in digesting it.

The problem was that it had to be Han-bom.

It was ultimately not strange for the two to become lovers. Han-bom revealed her true self. Han-bom tamed Park Chan-wook, and there was a reason she had to take responsibility for him. Park Chan-wook consumed Han-bom, and he became addicted. Now he could no longer escape. He wouldn’t give in.

That relationship was perfect in itself, and beautiful in itself. Only within them.

Han-bom did not cry until the end.