Chapter 17: Finding Gold in a Dung Heap

Toshihiro Yashiro bit the end of his pen, his eyes never leaving the magazine on his desk, and he rubbed the stubble on his chin with some distress.

He was a book reviewer, or a literary critic if you prefer; his main job was to flip through various literary works, including journals and magazines, and publish professional reviews in the newspaper.

Japan publishes nearly 40,000 types of books every year, and those with high circulation numbers could fill warehouses across the entire Tokyo Metropolis.

Without objective and impartial opinions, most readers would be left fumbling in the dark when looking for books.

Under these circumstances, the profession of book reviewer emerged, with the primary purpose of acting as a guide for good books, providing readers with information on new releases, and serving a promotional and marketing role.

Because the newspaper subscription rate for Japanese households is very high, the circulation reaches as many as 27 million copies.

With such a reader base, many books could sell over 3,000 copies immediately after a simple review, hence the saying "three thousand for a book review."

However, precisely because of the significant promotional effect on books, many large publishing houses often use sponsorships or advertorials, hoping the newspaper will say a few kind words about their books.

As it stands now, the *Tokyo Daily News*, where Toshihiro Yashiro works, has received a sponsorship payment from Mantan Publishing, hoping the newspaper's book review column will provide some promotion for their literary magazine, *New Fiction*.

The newspaper's business department accepted the funds and immediately assigned the specific work to Toshihiro Yashiro.

They not only asked him to write good things about *New Fiction* but also asked him to try his best to maintain the newspaper's objective stance.

These requirements filled him with displeasure.

These bastards, wanting both praise and an objective stance—why don't you try writing it yourselves? If you're so capable, write me a "colorful black" and show me.

He was indignant, but he still opened the magazine in his hand, trying to find some merits.

After all, the pressure of the newspaper's revenue would fall on him; if he didn't write well, he probably wouldn't even be able to afford dried salted fish by the end of the month.

He took a sip of water, flipped through the contents of the *New Fiction* magazine in his hand, and began reading the story in the first column, "The Searching Footsteps."

Since this story was placed in the first column, it should have some level of quality; let's set aside my prejudices and take a look.

He lowered his head and began to ponder as he read.

The background of this story is in Hokkaido, and the local customs and atmosphere are written quite well; it seems the author's writing skill is passable, so he could at least praise that.

Oh, the conflict has started: an Australian businessman who came to invest locally was framed, and his business partner asked a police officer on vacation to investigate the case, but when he arrived at the scene, he wasn't allowed in—tsk, tsk, this is getting interesting...

Why is there still so much environmental description? Forget it, forget it, let's see how he solves the case.

He suppressed his impatience, forced himself to read to the end, then stood up and slammed the book onto the desk with a "thud."

What the hell? The police solved the case after finding a few small clues, so why write such long-winded scenery setups? And the conflict—aside from not being allowed into the scene, the rest of the plot didn't even have a ripple.

He felt he had wasted a precious half-hour of his life and was so angry he was fuming; he wanted nothing more than to write a review suggesting the author just rename it *Hokkaido Travel Guide* to avoid wasting readers' time.

After a while, he sighed and picked up the book again.

The other party is a client he cannot afford to offend, and he is just a small employee at the newspaper; he doesn't have the power to write whatever he wants, so he might as well look carefully and try his best to find some gold in this dung heap.

He actually held no hope in his heart, but he still forced himself to turn to the next page, prepared to continue wasting his life.

"Little Kozue and Yoko"—this title is interesting. Is it a dual-protagonist story? Starting from my perspective to explore my own death—this technique seems rare...

No, prepare for the worst first, so as not to waste expectations again.

He picked up his pen and made a mark on the magazine, preparing to leave a note; the depiction of the different treatment of the twins here seems like it could be combined with the social phenomenon of parental abuse to discuss.

Then, he saw Yoko meet Mrs. Mitsuko and receive a gift, only to be misunderstood by her mother as a thief later, who threatened to kill her. Seeing this, his mind was tightly gripped, and he couldn't help but follow the plot.

A series of conflicts occurred: Kozue knocked over a vase but intended to frame Yoko, Yoko sought help only to accidentally learn of the old woman's death, Yoko and Kozue swapped clothes, until Kozue walked up the stairs wearing Yoko's clothes...

A "thud" as she fell from the stairs to the ground.

Seeing this, Toshihiro Yashiro finally realized with a start: the corpse seen at the very beginning of the story referred to the younger sister, Kozue. Good heavens, a piece of foreshadowing buried for so long.

But this story seems a bit terrifying.

No, it should be that a bit of warmth is buried within the terror.

He put down his pen, freed himself from the influence of the plot, then let out a slight sigh of relief and began to ponder continuously; if it were this piece of work, it seems he could praise it.

Unlike that long-winded Hokkaido police travel story from before, this "Little Kozue and Yoko" not only has a tight plot and constant conflict but also conducts a very deep exploration of human nature.

Never mind being placed in a third-rate magazine like *New Fiction*; it should be able to be published even in a larger magazine.

But are those editors at the *New Fiction* editorial department idiots?

This story is written so well, yet instead of putting it in the most important first column for heavy promotion, they ranked it toward the back. Have their brains been pickled into dried salted fish?

Forget it, that's the publisher's own business; I should think about how to praise it.

First, talk about the social phenomenon of parental abuse, then introduce the story, then discuss the ugliness of human nature based on the content, and finally write a little about the beauty contained within the pain.

Hmm, that should be about right; a length equivalent to a press release should come out of it.

Also, if I want to explore human nature, it seems I could write longer—should I write 3,000 words?

Forget it, I'd better call the business department to confirm first.

He drank the water in his cup in one gulp, then picked up the receiver and dialed.

"This is Toshihiro Yashiro from the Cultural Features Department. I'd like to ask about the requirements from *New Fiction*; I'd like to write a book review recommendation based on 'Little Kozue and Yoko'."

"It's not possible? Their requirement is to promote 'The Searching Footsteps'? Are they sure they didn't make a mistake?!"

He frowned and said again, "Please confirm with them again; I'm begging you, I don't want to make a mistake on my end."

He hung up the phone and sat in his chair waiting.

After a while, the phone on the desk rang, and he snatched up the receiver.

"What? The *New Fiction* editorial department is certain about promoting the story 'The Searching Footsteps'?"

"They want the review for 'The Searching Footsteps' to take up half a page, and it doesn't matter if I write about 'Little Kozue and Yoko' or not?"

"They hope I can highlight the work's inner meaning and the protagonist's qualities? Fine... I understand."

Toshihiro Yashiro hung up the phone and curled his lip in frustration. He had finally dug some gold out of a dung heap, only for the client to make him go back to eating dung. It was simply unbearable.

For the sake of his livelihood, he seemed to have no choice.

He picked up *New Fiction*, looked at the name "Akiwara Yuto" in the author column for "Little Kozue and Yoko," and began to think.

Should he use his own authority to write a short message for him?

It would be a pity if something written this well went unnoticed!