Breaking Boundaries in Literature: The Nobel Prize and Korea's Untold Stories

Chapter 2.1 History and Literature from Nietzsche's Perspective

As dawn broke on October 30th, I hurriedly stirred from my sleep. My manuscript was now about two-thirds complete, and since that faint vision—perhaps a dream—experienced in Busan, my writing had flourished unexpectedly. Reflecting on it now, I couldn't clearly discern between reality and imagination, but it was undeniable that my creative flow had shifted significantly.

Organizing the thoughts of various philosophers, Nietzsche among them, I found the contours of my theme sharpening. Like the essence of philosophy navigating through chaos, I too was clarifying the structure of my writing.

I usually wrote in the early hours of the morning. Sitting alone in deep stillness, it felt as if the world were asleep, and only then did the cacophony of my thoughts settle into quietude. Was it sensitivity that made me so? Or perhaps it was better to say I was hyper-aware. During those moments, my fingers moved faster than my mind. But there was no time for such musings now. A glance at the clock reminded me that the seminar was fast approaching. "I can't be late today!"

The seminar was set to take place on the 79th floor of the Lotte Tower, in Signiel. Grabbing only my laptop, I stepped outside, waving my hands in a flurry, shouting, "Taxi! Taxi!" before I could even summon a Kakao taxi app.

"Lotte Tower, please," I quietly instructed as I settled into the back seat. The driver confirmed, "You mean that big building in Jamsil, right?" and I nodded in affirmation.

As the car pulled away, I retrieved my laptop from my bag. I wanted to re-read the words I had painstakingly crafted over the past few nights to see how they connected to today's seminar. I powered on the screen, and familiar words flickered to life, each sentence rushing back into my consciousness.

"We've arrived at Lotte Tower," the driver announced, halting the vehicle. I looked up and gazed out the window. Stepping out of the taxi, I thanked the driver. "Thank you for your hard work. Drive safely." I closed the door and stood before the imposing Lotte Tower. The skyscraper soared into the sky, shimmering silver against the calm morning. Its delicately polished glass facade reflected sunlight, creating a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues with every passing moment. From below, it towered so high that the tip was nearly lost to the clouds, rendering the surrounding buildings minuscule in comparison. This place, an unwitting observer of history and culture in the heart of Seoul, was a story continuously unfolding.

I made my way toward the building entrance. The lobby was immaculate and sophisticated, exuding an aura of serene order. Bright light streamed down from the ceiling, and a faint melody resonated softly somewhere in the background.

The elevator doors slid open, and as I stepped inside, the digital display on the wall counted the floors upward, each increment evoking a sense of ascending through time itself. Upon reaching the 79th floor, I was welcomed once more by an exquisitely designed space. Entering the meeting room, I was enveloped by the luxurious leather chairs and the sleek, European aesthetic, which felt like an artwork unto itself.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes adorned in gold leaf, while soft lighting suffused the room, creating a calm and inviting atmosphere. It felt as though I had settled into an old European library, a sanctuary of knowledge and history. One wall was entirely made of glass, offering a panoramic view of Seoul's urban sprawl below. The meeting room radiated sophistication, naturally instilling a sense of tranquility among its occupants.

Attendants in sharp suits bustled around, graciously welcoming the guests. A large banner proclaimed, "God is Dead," a nod to Nietzsche's famous declaration, hinting at the theme of the discussion ahead. Several individuals, likely civil servants, moved about, directing attendees, while the moderator tested the microphone on stage with a few tentative "Ahem"s.

Seated in the front row were five panelists, including the moderator, already arranged and preparing. Their expressions were serious as they sorted through materials on the table, engaging in hushed conversations. One participant held a glass of water, slowly swirling it as he appeared lost in contemplation. Another observed the audience, seemingly attuned to the palpable tension building for the impending debate.

Though not all attendees had arrived, around ten individuals were already present, waiting expectantly.

"Please feel free to take a seat wherever you like," came the gentle voice of the attendant. At her invitation, I chose the closest chair. To my pleasant surprise, the seat was soft, allowing me to sink into it comfortably.