## Chapter 139: Britain’s Top Literary Critic
Arthur held the manuscript, turning page after page.
Although he was familiar with the content, this time he was reading the original draft, penned by Charles Dickens himself.
He read slowly, not just out of respect for Dickens, but also as a way to reminisce about the past and another world.
After an unknown amount of time, Arthur set down the manuscript, leaning back in his chair and jokingly saying, “Perhaps this manuscript should be displayed in the British Museum instead of on my desk. After all, it’s a rare piece of British-made treasure.”
Dickens’ face flushed crimson. “Arthur, you’re at it again. You always praise me so highly, it makes me believe you.”
Arthur shook his head. “How could I be praising you? Your recent short stories, ‘Mr. Mings and His Cousin’ and ‘Scotland Yard’, published in ‘The Monthly Magazine’, weren’t they both excellent? I told you, Charles, you will become a great writer one day. This novel, ‘The Pickwick Papers’, will make you a fortune. It will be even more successful than your previous two short stories.”
“Really?”
Dickens was initially excited, but then his confidence wavered. “Arthur, be honest with me. I sincerely want your opinion. You know, I’ve always been busy making a living, working to pay off debts and all that, so I haven’t had many friends. And out of my few friends, I think you’re the only one with a taste for literature. Honestly, Arthur, give me some feedback. I’ve only written the beginning and some story outlines. If there are changes to be made, now is the time.”
Arthur just smiled upon hearing his persistence, then picked up the manuscript and flipped through it. “If I had to say anything I didn’t like, it would be this part.”
“Where?” Dickens grabbed the manuscript and scrutinized the spot Arthur pointed to. “You mean the part where the conman, Jingle, lures Miss Wardle away? Do readers dislike this plot? Or does it not align with the moral views of the devout?”
“No, no, you misunderstood me.”
Arthur laughed. “Readers love this kind of plot, and as for moral views, who cares about them these days? The best-selling London tabloids are filled with ‘love stories’ that would make anyone blush just by looking at them. What I dislike is that after Mr. Wardle discovers his daughter eloped with the conman, he decides to pay 120 pounds for the conman to stay away from his daughter. That’s a bit unrealistic.”
Dickens was taken aback. “What’s unrealistic about it?”
Arthur chuckled. “The novel says, ‘Here’s how much money, leave my daughter.’ In reality, it’s, ‘Here’s how much money, or else leave my daughter.’ But it’s not a big deal, Charles, it’s a novel after all. Maybe there really are people like Mr. Wardle.”
Dickens chewed his lip and pondered for a moment. He drawled, “No… Arthur, what you said makes sense. What if I change Miss Wardle to Mr. Wardle’s sister? They grew up together and are deeply attached, so he can’t bear to shatter his sister’s dream, so he secretly gives the conman, Jingle, a sum of money to stay away from Miss Wardle?”
Arthur shrugged. “It’s up to you how you handle it, it’s no big deal. Because in my opinion, your novel already has enough elements for success.”
Dickens looked hesitant, perhaps due to his repeated failures over the years, the young man lacked confidence.
“Arthur, is it really that good?”
Seeing his expression, Arthur could only encourage him. “It’s not that it’s good, it’s that you’re good. Don’t you remember what I told you? Charles, you’re destined to be a great writer. If the royalties from this ‘The Pickwick Papers’ are less than 1000 pounds, Charles, you can come to me anytime and I’ll make up the difference. I’m that confident.
If you don’t believe in my judgment, you can wait another month. I guarantee you, a month later, a novel called ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’ will be all the rage in the streets of London. I helped review that novel too.
Perhaps that novel will even be more popular than your ‘The Pickwick Papers’ because from a popular literature perspective, besides the fact that its author is French, you can’t find any flaws.”
Dickens became interested. “The Frenchman you’re talking about, wouldn’t that be the one you rescued from the high seas? Alexandre Dumas?”
Arthur smiled and nodded. “It seems that the fat guy’s kidnapping was a blessing in disguise. At least he’s quite famous in London now.”
Dickens was disheartened again. “Dumas’ fame is partly due to his kidnapping, but also because of his ‘Henri III and His Court’. That play was a hit in London last year. Dumas is a fairly well-known playwright, it’s only natural that he can create great works, while I…”
Arthur wagged his finger. “No, Charles, don’t think that way. Maybe your earning power is a bit less than his, but the fat guy’s writing usually lacks depth and cultural significance. In terms of literary and artistic status, he can’t even confidently claim to be on par with Victor Hugo of the same era.
Although the fat guy might not be upset about it, after all, readily accepting failure is one of the few good qualities of the French.
But you’re different. You’re completely overshadowing a bunch of people in Britain today. If you’re willing, your words could even have a certain driving force on this era. And in the history of British literature, you can be considered second only to the best.”
Arthur’s flattery didn’t register much with Dickens, he stared at Arthur, hoping to get some concrete evidence from his mouth.
Dickens fell into deep self-doubt. “I’ve been wanting to ask this question for a long time. Arthur, why do you think so highly of me?”
Arthur fell silent upon hearing this, he was thinking about how to answer Dickens.
Suddenly, he raised his gaze, focusing on Agareus who was wiping his glasses at the table, seemingly interrogating the devil’s mind with the same question.
The Red Devil, seeing his gaze, couldn’t help but take off his glasses and cover his mouth, laughing.
“Why are there so many whys? I think highly of you because you’re capable. Only the strong are worthy of my company, only the weak fall into self-doubt. So, Arthur, stop hanging out with these cowards, it will corrupt your bones and nerves.
Think about why you formed the London Area Provisional Measurement and Survey Statistics Bureau. If the world can’t love you, then make the world fear you. The way you use Jones is very suitable. Why should we reason with them?
We had to reason in the past because we had no power. Now that we have power, be unjust and unreasonable as much as you can. Frankly, your useless kindness will only lead to more attacks.”
Arthur just shook his head and smiled. “The best indicator of a person’s character is what they laugh at. You think you’re laughing at others, but in reality, you’re laughing at yourself.”
Dickens was stunned. “Arthur, what are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” Arthur pulled out a few magazines from the desk drawer and placed them on the table.
They were magazines like ‘The Monthly Review’, ‘Blackwood’s’, and other literary review magazines.
Previously, in order to investigate Disraeli’s background, Arthur had specially bought back those issues that attacked him from the second-hand bookstore.
He thought these things would be useless after the investigation, but unexpectedly, he could use them to show Dickens some extra value today.
Arthur casually opened one of the magazines and pointed to the words on it.
“Don’t you know that recently, London’s citizens, especially the middle class, are very fond of reading fashion novels? Nowadays, writers with skills and ambitions to make a fortune usually don’t describe the psychological activities of any male protagonist, but focus on his dress, trying to shape him into a typical fashion icon, and then have him say a few witty remarks.
When describing the female protagonist, they will list the addresses of high-end clothing stores she frequents and try to be as meticulous as possible in some details of her life, such as telling the reader that upper-class people eat fish with silver forks.
Perhaps the gap between the middle class and the upper nobility has narrowed today, so when they have a little money, they start to care about the behavior of the upper class, learning their mannerisms, eating habits, and so on.
In short, the more detailed and refined you write about these aspects, the more readers will love it. What’s more, your ‘The Pickwick Papers’ also includes elopement, elections, banquets, imprisonment, and a whole bunch of plot twists. I really can’t think of any reason why this book would fail.”
Dickens gradually gained some confidence upon hearing this.
He looked at Arthur, hesitated for a moment, then mustered his courage and said, “Arthur.”
“What is it?”
Dickens stared at Arthur and earnestly requested, “Since you think so highly of my book, why don’t you write a preface for me?”
Arthur’s expression froze for a moment, then he raised his eyebrows and half-jokingly said, “Are you sure? I’m a Scotland Yard policeman, not a literary critic.”
Dickens blinked and scratched the back of his head, embarrassedly laughing. “If this book is really as good as you say, why should I worry about the identity of the person writing the preface? If you write the preface, and if the book makes money, I can share some with you.”
“Oh… Arthur…” The Red Devil covered his mouth and sneered, “See, what did I tell you? Your insignificant kindness will only hurt you. Maybe this guy was aiming for this from the beginning… a book with a Scotland Yard inspector’s preface, it should be easy to publish, right?”
Arthur glanced at the Red Devil, he took out a piece of white paper, then pulled out a quill from the inkwell and began to write, muttering as he wrote, “If this can be considered hurting me, I’d rather he do it with every book. After all, even a fool knows this might be more profitable than buying Rothschild shares.”
(End of Chapter)