Chapter 358: The Literary Spectacle: Wei Ming Shines Alone

Although the doors were closed, several English banners made it clear what was happening.

"Firm Protest Against South Africa's Participation!"

"We must return to our homeland! Our homeland where war drums thunder!"

"Oppose Apartheid! Demand the Immediate Release of Mandela!"

Melinda sorted it out: "The South African publisher must have come too, but now the South African government is reviled across Africa—other African publishers are protesting by closing their booths."

The book fair organizers are now in a tough spot, since their core principle is to allow any publishing house from anywhere in the world to display any book.

If they expel the South Africans, they violate their own principles; if they let them stay, this year's theme pavilion is ruined.

"But who exactly is Mandela?" Melinda wasn't sure.

"Probably some kind of fighter." Wei Ming wasn't surprised Melinda didn't know Mandela.

He remembered learning about Mandela only in the late 1980s; by the early 1990s, Mandela was released, gave speeches, became president, reached peak international acclaim, and by the 21st century, some had branded him a "traitor to South Africa."

Melinda worried: "Will they keep the pavilion closed forever? We still have our Lion King promotion plan."

Wei Ming asked: "Is the international community paying close attention to South Africa right now?"

"Yes," Melinda nodded. "South Africa's apartheid policy has enraged the world; ethnic tensions are escalating. Since the 1960s, the UN has imposed sanctions, and lately it's been all over international news—it's a global focal point. Maybe one day South African blacks and whites will erupt into full-scale war."

Although Britain was once South Africa's colonial master, it was the first to stand at the forefront of opposing apartheid; you still see anti-apartheid ads and slogans on London streets and in the media.

After all, the white rulers now in power are Boers—descendants of Dutch, French, and German settlers—who fought bitterly with the British over gold mines back then.

But the UN sanctions from twenty years ago clearly didn't cripple South Africa; its GDP kept rising to become Africa's top economy, since the white South African government had the backing of the U. . and Israel, and even occasionally launched raids into Angola.

In Wei Ming's memory, it wasn't until the mid-1980s that internal racial tensions intensified and the U. . and USSR began imposing economic sanctions on South Africa.

With the two superpowers leading the charge, countries worldwide joined in. Trapped between internal chaos and external pressure, South Africa's economy collapsed, forcing it to release Mandela in the early 1990s and hand him the mess to clean up.

Wei Ming asked: "Are there any literary works about South Africa? I'd like to read them."

Melinda unfolded the Book Trade Report and flipped to the back page: "Here—Nadine Gordimer's latest novel, July's People. She's a South African writer, white but also an anti-apartheid fighter. The novel deals with racial conflict, published by an American press, and sold several translation rights yesterday."

Wei Ming didn't know that Nadine Gordimer was South Africa's first Nobel Prize winner in Literature, largely thanks to July's People; she even helped edit Mandela's famous speech "I Am Prepared to Die," which is why her works are often banned in South Africa.

Melinda: "But why are you interested in this? Didn't you say you don't like black—"

Wei Ming quickly covered her mouth—don't say things that are incorrect or divisive.

"I just meant Chinese people consider white beautiful—I like you, a white girl. Black girls? I can't handle them. When did I say I dislike black brothers? As long as we're in Africa or in Europe and America, black brothers are all good brothers."

They headed to Pavilion 5, where Melinda planned to help Wei Ming find a few books on South Africa and Africa's current situation—all in English.

Africa is now a complete mess—ethnic massacres and warlord conflicts everywhere. Ultimately, isn't this the fault of Britain, America, France, and the USSR? They caused the chaos, so they must bear the consequences. As long as it doesn't spill over into China, we had nothing to do with those vile deeds.

Wei Ming even considered pouring gasoline on the fire of Africa's anti-apartheid struggle.

As soon as they reached Pavilion 5, Wei Ming spotted Gong Biyang, signing a contract with Macmillan staff—he had already secured the Traditional Chinese rights for the picture books The Lion King and The Game of the Brave.

Next, he planned to secure the novel Jurassic Park as well.

Wei Ming smiled: "Why not just buy it directly from the mainland? Translation's easier—you just change the font."

Seeing Wei Ming return, Gong Biyang immediately stood up to greet him.

"Alright, let's talk about that after we've handled these two books."

If Taiwan's regulations are loose, we can start working on Jurassic Park, Heroes from Youth, and The Love of the Terracotta Warriors—all these books avoid any connection to the current mainland government, so risk is low.

Wei Ming told Gong Biyang: "We also hope to bring in works by Taiwanese authors—like Bai Xianyong's novels. You can talk to our team leader."

"Oh, that's wonderful—I'm very close friends with Mr. Bai Xianyong."

"Oh, really?" Wei Ming subtly stepped back—Gong Biyang had a round face and a full beard. Could he be that kind of "close friend"?

Wei Ming knew Bai Xianyong's orientation. He didn't discriminate against gays, but were AIDS cases already common? He prioritized safety.

After Gong Biyang left, Wei Hong arrived. She chatted fluently in English with Macmillan staff while Wei Ming continued reading his yellow books.

After over an hour, Melinda returned with several books—and a white man with her.

Wei Ming had seen him from afar at the opening ceremony: Wei Haoshi, the book fair's chair.

Wei Haoshi, in his forties, with a thick beard and thinning hair, had only led the Frankfurt Book Fair for a few years, yet he pioneered the theme pavilion and brought China—with its billion-person market—back into the fair. Each year, sales increased by over 10%, and its international influence kept growing.

Just now, after his persuasion, 400 publishers from 32 African nations agreed to give him face—closing for only one day, reopening tomorrow.

Melinda happened to meet Wei Haoshi and mentioned the closure of Pavilion 7. Wei Haoshi immediately apologized—it was a prearranged deal with Macmillan, and he'd made them come all this way for nothing.

He made plans with Melinda to hold the event as scheduled tomorrow and promised to attend in person. As they walked, Melinda invited Wei Haoshi to visit Macmillan's booth to offer guidance and introduce him to Wei Ming—they both shared the surname Wei.

For an author from a non-English-speaking country to gain global recognition, beyond writing skill and translator quality, two things matter greatly: awards and book fairs.

So Melinda wanted Wei Ming to cultivate a good relationship with Wei Haoshi, the book fair's top figure.

Wei Haoshi was also curious about Wei Ming—a writer who spanned both children's literature and serious literature, and was also an accomplished musician; even in Germany, people often heard his duets with Sarah Brightman, clearly of high caliber.

Now he was even more intrigued: Melinda said the books on South Africa were for Wei Ming to read.

So, why?

Wei Ming took the books: "In China, I've read more than most. I've followed international news, but I never realized millions of blacks in South Africa suffered injustice—80% of the population confined to 10% of the land. I'm insignificant, probably can't change anything, but at least I can understand. I won't be a fool—I'll have a clear stance when I see those banners."

Wei Haoshi nodded in surprise: "You're different from the Chinese in Germany I know—they're quiet, hardworking, seem uninterested in the world, only care about their own lives. But you have broad international vision. No wonder you write outstanding works that travel the globe."

"Actually, many Chinese university students are energetic, deeply curious, eager to explore the world—but they lack the means to see it," Wei Ming waved the books. "As someone who can travel, perhaps I can tell them what I've seen."

As he spoke, Wei Ming felt a quiet stir within himself—he'd been abroad twice. Could he write truthful, unbiased, objective articles about foreign countries?

That way, when young friends later read the idiotic articles in Reader or Youth Digest, someone could stand up and say: "But Mr. Wei Ming wrote an article saying Germany's big cities flood in the rain, and not every Japanese person drinks toilet water!"

As Wei Ming was thinking, Wei Haoshi began applauding: "Well said. That's exactly the purpose of book exchange—the very thing Frankfurt Book Fair hopes to see. I hope more books are translated into Chinese, and I hope to see Chinese books go out into the world."

After praising him, Wei Haoshi invited Wei Ming: Günter Grass will hold a meet-and-greet at the fair this afternoon.

Günter Grass is the leading literary figure in West Germany today; Wei Haoshi invited several internationally known writers to attend.

Wei Ming hadn't been on the guest list—his reputation was still mostly as a children's writer, while Günter Grass's literature was serious and fierce.

Günter Grass, born in 1927, future Nobel laureate, had last year won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film with The Tin Drum, adapted from his novel, and previously won the Palme d'Or at Cannes.

Worried Wei Ming didn't know him, Wei Haoshi elaborated: Grass wasn't just a writer and poet and painter—he was also a politician.

Wei Ming didn't know him deeply, but he was very familiar with The Tin Drum—one of his favorite German films, which he'd watched more than once.

"So, will you come listen too?"

"Of course." Wei Ming agreed readily.

Wei Ming then began reading the books Melinda had gathered for him—Nadine Gordimer's The World According to Strangers and others; the latest, July's People, he'd have to check at the publisher's booth.

Although Wei Ming had just spoken lofty words, Melinda still felt it wasn't that simple.