Paradigm

Chapter IV

Paris, France, February 1998.

Seonghwa did not know more about his mysterious author. Squeezing information out of him turned out even harder than he thought : that time Paul confessed his limitless love for Germany was the only time they properly talked together. Afterwards, he just pretexted an emergency back in Korea. In the meantime, he just tirelessly read the only thing the man left behind him, only testimony of his existence among the living : "Paradigm".

Oscar Wilde once said in the preface of his famous masterpiece "The Picture of Dorian Gray" : "To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim".

The editor did not agree at all. Wilde was undeniably a man of genius, of course, but in his editing work, he had countless occasions to notice how much a manuscript was, one way or another, the reflection of his creator. An author could scatter parts of his personality in each of his characters, describe meaningful places, romanticize tragic or happy moments of their existence... Sometimes all at once. A novel is only the complex puzzle of its creator's thoughts.

There are those who draw genealogical trees for their characters, files for each one of them, who start writing their story already knowing the plot by heart from the beginning to the end. The disciplined ones.

Some others, the fanatics, the passionate ones (and most intriguing according to Seonghwa) write in inspiration peaks, entranced. No matter whether the trance was fueled by alcohol, drugs or a passion full of adrenalin, the result was the same : the reader was not granted access to the conscious part of themselves but their guts, their internal monster, the primitive side of their personality magnified by a breathtaking culture and a complete mastery of the language and its intricacies...

Seonghwa, with the thousands of books that had passed through his hands, learned how to recognize both types of artists. Paul Jung was doubtlessly part of the fanatics. But what was his propeller ? Drugs ? Stress ? Cakes ?

Exhausted, the young man laid down on the sofa and dug into his pack of crisps. His lifestyle was a desperate cause : working all day, his eyes blood-injected by fatigue, impatient to go back to bed and then spending the whole night reading relentlessly only to bitterly regret it the next morning. Both friendly and sentimental loneliness added some more pitifulness to his life : Claire who took great care to take her revenge on him daily at the office, some vague friends already settled with children scattered in the city, his house that resembled more a battlefield than an actual house... He just used three plates in turn, only making the effort to wash them when it was really primordial. His cupboards were full of crisps bags which did not encourage him to cook and dirty laundry was scattered from the bathroom to the entrance... In all honesty, it wasn't very surprising that no one ever tried to step into lifelong bachelor sanctuary !

Well, there was his best friend Yeosang who did not seem to mind his mess at all, but they had always been exclusively platonic, so it did not count.

Seonghwa threw a glance to his clock : 20:12. It was still time to come and say hi to Yeosang at his workplace and live worthily that tad bit of youth he had left. There was nothing more boring than Friday evenings, so he better put some spice into it !

After putting on a decent outfit, he hit the road for the bar. Montmartre has always been one of the trendiest neighborhoods in Paris. The place was full of designer boutiques, vintage objects, retro cafes and cozy bars. There were other addresses where young people would go , especially those from high society, to party as if there were no tomorrow. Seonghwa surely wasn't from high society, but he certainly wanted to get wasted and hook up tonight. The bar where Yeosang worked was rather on the chill side so the editor would probably take his leave after greeting his friend and taking a few shots to pursue the goal of his night.