Chapter 91: Dynamite Kid Nobel

Regarding literary awards, their history is not actually very long; for instance, the world's first literary award was the Grand Prize of the Académie Française, established in 1912, awarded by the Académie Française, and sponsored by the Fondation Lermitte-Larivière.

However, with the changes and development of the times, literary awards have blossomed everywhere; on one hand, this is to discover outstanding writers unknown to the public, granting them their due reputation and material support.

One must know that not all outstanding writers are known and accepted by the public from the start, and many naturally cannot judge book by book from the vast sea of published works; therefore, from this perspective, so-called literary awards serve as a selection and recommendation of works.

They can ensure outstanding works receive due attention and reputation, and also, to a certain extent, protect the diversity of literature, preventing obscure works in minor languages or from small nations from being ignored and overlooked.

In this regard, the Nobel Prize in Literature is a very good example; although controversies surrounding it are overwhelming, with more and more people feeling it is some kind of trash that only pleases its own circle, it does possess a fairly decent trait: its worldliness.

Among the past laureates, one can always see writers from extremely obscure small nations and their works appearing in the public eye; if the Nobel Prize in Literature had not been awarded to them, these people and their works would likely never have been seen by more people.

In the end, it is nothing more than a selection of works in another sense; placing too much importance on it or being too dismissive of it are both not entirely correct.

Moreover, the Nobel Prize in Literature has missed far too many great writers; putting aside other things, the first winner of the 1901 Nobel Prize in Literature was the French writer Sully Prudhomme, but who was the opponent he defeated?

That was Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy, who possessed a series of characteristics such as "patient with appearance anxiety," "top-tier rich second generation," "spoiled rich kid," "enthusiast of eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling," and later "midlife crisis" and "Russian mirror," among others.

One can only say the matching mechanism was truly outrageous, but that French writer actually won.

Missing a writer of Old Tolstoy's caliber proves nothing other than that the Nobel Prize in Literature selection committee of that era was a bit of a jerk.

And the other aspect of literary awards naturally involves significant resource monopolization and corruption within small circles; in this regard, the whole world looks the same. The flaws of the Nobel Prize are obvious; meanwhile, controversies surrounding the Lu Xun Literary Prize and the Mao Dun Literary Prize are also quite large, and France's Prix Goncourt has even received severe criticism from the country's literary critics, who claim it has degenerated into a means for publishers to make profits.

Returning to the present, in these current times, a literary award is undoubtedly a very novel thing; therefore, when Mikhail spoke it out, most people present looked at him with some surprise.

Fortunately, although the thing was novel, it did not sound difficult to understand; therefore, besides being surprised, Belinsky also asked with some curiosity:

"It sounds feasible, but Mikhail, why do you have such an idea?"

"On one hand, it is an incentive; I hope to see more outstanding works in our magazine."

Speaking to this point, Mikhail paused specifically, casting a deep look at the young Dostoevsky.

And just at that glance, the young Dostoevsky's heart immediately began to pound wildly, and Mikhail's following words further accelerated his heartbeat:

"Selection will be held at the end of each year; as for the prize money, it is temporarily set at five hundred rubles; if the magazine develops well subsequently, this figure might rise further."

Five hundred rubles!

Upon hearing this number, Old Dostoevsky immediately froze in place.

Although he had indeed become famous overnight recently, with waves of people inviting him and wanting to see him, due to not writing much recently and his spending habits, his life still often fell into destitution, sometimes having to survive on barley tea and bread.

And if he could obtain this prize money, I, Dostoevsky, might just be able to have a hearty, satisfying high-stakes gamble like Mikhail, and then suddenly live a life revered by everyone.

The classic fantasy segment began again.

While Dostoevsky was fantasizing there, someone nearby joked: "Mikhail, are you trying to award yourself? As long as you write new works in the magazine, who else besides you could win this prize?"

"Of course, other writers could win."

Mikhail first smiled and waved his hand, then continued: "However, I indeed will not participate in the award selection; if you have good works, please submit them to us as soon as possible."

"It sounds like a good idea; if this money can help those talented writers who are forced to suffer due to life, that would be even better."

After thinking for a moment longer, Belinsky could not help but nod in praise: "This is a very noble proposal! I fully agree with this matter. Moreover, I feel this will be a magnificent initiative; it will help push the drowsy literary world to continue moving upward!"

And if Belinsky, when considering this award, focused more on its helpful role for writers, then Nekrasov, after serious contemplation, felt he truly understood Mikhail's idea.

On one hand, this would undoubtedly attract more outstanding works and expand the magazine's influence; on the other hand, if in the future every Russian writer took pride in receiving this award, then what status would our magazine hold?

As for Mikhail, he would be remembered by every Russian writer!

If this award were not limited to Russia alone...

Just as Nekrasov thought of this, he heard Mikhail continue smiling: "Currently, the award is selected only within our magazine, but after a while, we might consider selecting it across the whole of Russia. If development goes well, expanding to a larger scope is not impossible; even saying it need not be limited to the literary field."

Hearing Mikhail's words, many present merely took it as a somewhat feasible fantasy, but speaking truly, how could a small award possibly expand to such a vast scope?

Moreover, a literary award is easy to understand, but if it is not limited to the literary field, it becomes a bit strange; what is Mikhail trying to achieve by doing this?

Others, thinking this far, did not ponder further, but Nekrasov could not help but linger on this part for a long time; originally just finding it interesting, but for some reason, the more he thought, the more he trembled, until finally only one sentence Mikhail had once said echoed in his mind:

"For our common cause!"

So what cause is that?

Nekrasov remained silent for a long time, then could not help but cast a deep look at Mikhail.

Mikhail, sensing Nekrasov's gaze: "?"

Why does it feel like Nekrasov's look at me is very complex? Is there something about this literary award that doesn't suit his taste?

To be honest, Mikhail himself certainly did not think that far; after all, whatever the matter, one must always start from the present; as for further goals, that is certainly just a fantasy.

Of course, if one insists on saying it, Mikhail feels there is a chance to turn those future fantasies into reality; after all, when he gets old, he could always make a will or something.

By the way, although Alfred Bernhard Nobel and his family were Swedes, in 1838, the whole family moved to St. Petersburg in Russia.

Nobel's father, Immanuel Nobel, was an inventor; due to his achievements in inventing household heating boiler systems, designing a machine for manufacturing wooden wheels, designing and manufacturing large forging hammers, and modifying factory equipment, in 1853, Tsar Nicholas I, this great despot, to honor him, exceptionally awarded him a medal.

As for Nobel himself, besides a deep love for invention, he also had a long-term love for literature; in his youth, he wrote some poems and plays, and in his later years, he began writing novels, but many of his works were still branded with charges such as "slander and provocation" and "blasphemy," and were destroyed after his death.

And although after reaching adulthood, due to extremely busy affairs in both technical invention and business development, his spare time was scarce, his love for literature remained as consistent as his love for science. It can be said that literature and science were Nobel's two great spiritual pillars.

So the question arises: if Nobel, the dynamite kid, were in St. Petersburg today, he would indeed have a chance to see those works Mikhail published, and then Mikhail should...

The more he thought, the more it felt like something was wrong.

Just as Mikhail was recalling things and finding it a bit hard to hold it together, Belinsky also asked a seemingly very important question: "So Mikhail, what name do you plan to give this literary award? The Mikhail Literary Prize? Or the Raskolnikov Literary Prize? Both sound quite good."

"I do not plan to include anyone's name, because this belongs to the common honor of all of us. Anyone could receive this honor, and at the same time, anyone's life might also be closely related to this honor."

Waking from his reverie, seeing everyone present looking at him, Mikhail unconsciously added some body language, then solemnly spoke out the name of this award:

"How about calling it 'People'? Although it sounds a bit strange at first, I believe people will eventually get used to it. And the day it no longer belongs to all of us, it will be time for it to be abolished."

Hearing the name Mikhail chose, although some present indeed felt the name was not beautiful or melodious enough, nor did it have sufficiently rich and Gao Ya connotations, because it was proposed by Mikhail, after exchanging glances, everyone present jokingly began to applaud:

"Then let us here today celebrate the birth of the 'People' Literary Prize; Mikhail, perhaps you should treat us all to a drink."

"Definitely next time."

Amidst the applause of others, Mikhail smiled and waved his hand, then could not help but direct his gaze toward the card table:

"For now, let us play cards for a while."

Belinsky, who had been applauding enthusiastically: "?"

(End of this chapter)