In just three or four days, Mr. Cogito sold over seven hundred thousand copies in the UK and the US alone. Once sales from Eastern Europe were added in, including Croatia, Russia, and Ukraine, the first-week total exceeded a million copies.
Compared to bestselling novels that easily hit several million, that number wasn't much. But Mr. Cogito was a poetry collection. Looking at Amazon UK's data, the top-selling poetry collection last year only sold eighteen thousand copies.
That meant Mr. Cogito was the second-best commercial performer among poetry collections in the past five years. The first-place one was already considered a phenomenon in the European and American literary world.
The New York Review of Books wrote: [We still don't know what kind of personality he has, because he's written too many collections with distinctive voices. Some are more exquisite than Shakespeare's sonnets, others more imaginative than Odette's romances. No poet can compare to his versatility, no poet can surpass him. The poems he wrote in 2019 and 2025 may boldly be said to be his most representative works.]
"Is it really that good?" Jack frowned at the magazine's recommendation. He was the kind of reader who bought books like mountains collapsing, but read them like pulling silk thread. Anything his friends recommended, or anything he saw online, he'd buy, only to toss on a pile and wait for "someday."
That "someday" might be years later, or never.
More exquisite than Shakespeare, more imaginative than Odette? Shakespeare's sonnets had innovation, and Odette was a cornerstone of Romantic poetry. Slapping such glamorous adjectives onto an Eastern poet sounded exaggerated.
Jack searched Twitter for recent posts. Not many, but all positive.
"#ReviewMrCogito# I haven't seen such amazing poems in ages. Highly recommended."
"Want to know the best level of international poets today? Then read Mr. Cogito. You'll understand. #ReviewMrCogito#"
"I think, therefore I am. Mr. Cogito embodies Descartes' words perfectly."
…
Must buy! Jack made up his mind. What convinced him was that claim about representing the highest level of international poets.
He rushed to a nearby bookstore and bought a copy. The book's cover band even had a recommendation from the editor-in-chief of The New York Times: He remains the most surprising poet since World War II, and this collection is his most surprising work yet.
Jack couldn't help but look forward to it. After all, he already knew a bit about Huainan and had once tweeted lines from Stray Birds.
Reading it—
His face shifted from excitement to stiffness, then to frowns, and finally to pure confusion.
Where was the greatness?
Take "Mr. Cogito and Longevity" for example: [Mr. Cogito / is proud of himself / for surpassing the limits / of many animals' lives / when diligent bees / have already rested forever / Mr. Cogito still suckles / feeling surprisingly good about himself…]
Then it went on comparing him with mice, swallows, sheep, elephants… By the end, the only thing Jack remembered was the final line: What's there for gods to envy? So arrogant.
"Wasn't there any commentary? What the hell was he even saying?" Jack searched online, but since the book had just been released, there were no explanations yet.
He reread it several times. Maybe he understood, maybe not.
"Is it saying human lifespans are long compared to animals, so we should protect them?" he muttered.
But then it mentioned war and ambitious slaughter, so the meaning had to be deeper. By the time he was one-fifth through, Jack felt like he couldn't swallow another page. That New York Times recommendation suddenly felt suspicious…
Were they even reading the same book? Jack tossed the collection onto his bookshelf, where it would probably gather dust.
"What the hell? This is the best of international poetry? Guess today's poetry isn't much."
Naturally, he tweeted about it—
Uncle Jack:[#ReviewMrCogito# What's there for gods to envy?
—is it the fresh breeze in the heavens
—is it the loose management
—is it endless desire
—or just one big yawn
Reading it moved me, refreshed me. I love this collection. It's the best thing I've read this year.]
Since he didn't know what else to say, he just copied the book's final passage. It felt powerful, especially that last bit about "one big yawn," like mocking the gods. He liked it.
Well… whether the poet really meant mockery or not, Jack didn't care. He thought so.
And there were many Europeans like Jack. With the herd mentality in full swing, very few dared leave negative reviews.
Poetry wasn't like novels. With novels, no matter how many people praised them, you could just say you didn't like the story. But poetry, tied to "literary value," was harder to dismiss.
Especially when mainstream media praised it.
The Times Literary Supplement wrote: [The average span of a poet's writing career is 26 years. If Huainan continues writing for twenty, who knows what heights he'll reach? Everyone knows that in just six years he's published seven collections: Stray Birds, I'm a Willful Child, After Permanent Silence, The Great Riddle, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Touring, and Mr. Cogito. His contributions have already surpassed 99% of 21st-century poets.]
That was huge praise. The Times Literary Supplement was the UK's most authoritative literary review. Seventy percent of works praised by it went on to win the Booker Prize.
The Booker was second only to the Nobel in literature, the highest award for English-language novels. But it was only for novels.
Even so, on Wednesday, Liam, chairman of the UK's National Book Foundation, told reporters: "Mr. Cogito is the heaviest and sharpest poetry collection I've seen in ten years. Mr. Huainan's mastery of English is breathtaking. I believe this book has a very high chance of winning."
The Foundation's awards had four categories: fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and young adult. They weren't as prestigious as the Booker, but for the chairman to declare this before the shortlist was even out was rare. Side note, the Booker was under the Foundation.
The British knew how to sell books. They priced Huainan's complete set of seven collections, including the new one, at 200 pounds. Sales were decent.
Expensive? That was the discounted price.
Single new books in the UK were already over 20 pounds. Books were notoriously pricey, especially among international students.
If cultural exchange meant a new generation every three years, then literature shifted every five. Mr. Cogito's fame in Europe and America wasn't just because of quality. The first six collections had already built Huainan's reputation, paving the way for this explosion.
And the explosion wasn't limited to the Anglo-American world.
France didn't want to fall behind. By "coincidence," the Femina Prize announced its nominees. Chu Zhi's self-translation of Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night made the list.
Normally the Femina shortlist came out in October, with awards in November at Paris's Crillon Hotel. This year, they moved it up by more than a month to August.
The Femina Prize wasn't as famous as the Goncourt, but it was founded as the "women's Goncourt." Later, men won too, so that nickname faded.
Meanwhile, the Goncourt had no shame about scheduling. Its shortlist always came mid-August, with awards in Strasbourg in September.
There were four Goncourt prizes: poetry, debut novel, novella, and biography. Chu Zhi's epic-length work Touring was nominated.
Ono Akio couldn't contain his excitement.
"Hahaha, those stupid Europeans and Americans are bowing under Master Huainan's jeans!" He laughed like a comic book villain in his home.
"Akio, can you quiet down?" his mother's voice came from upstairs.
"Sorry, Mother!" he quickly apologized.
He took a deep breath. It was already 11 p.m., but he still had endless work to do. He had to make sure Huainan's fame spread throughout Japan, and drafting a promo plan was no small task.
Technically, even though Ono Akio was Huainan's editor, advertising wasn't his job.
But a female coworker had said, "Ono-san, I don't know Huainan-sensei at all. I don't know how to promote him. Can you help me?"
Other than his mother, no woman had ever acted cute toward him. Of course he couldn't resist, so he agreed.
Sleeping at 1 a.m. and waking at 5 a.m., even the King of Hell would greet you at the gates. But Akio was used to it. He rode the subway to work, even though he owned a car. His coworkers didn't drive, so he dared not stand out.
Thanks to Mr. Cogito's success, the editor-in-chief was in a good mood and didn't scold anyone. During lunch break, Akio handed the plan he'd stayed up writing to his coworker.
"Ono-san, you're amazing! Are you free tonight? Let me buy you dinner."
"Of course." He agreed immediately.
But life had other plans. At dinnertime, he got a call from the hospital—his mother had fallen again. She had mobility issues but stubbornly refused to use a cane or wheelchair. Falls were routine, which meant Akio's already-busy life was split between work and hospital visits.
So the dinner was canceled, and he rushed off on the subway.
The train wasn't crowded, but he still felt suffocated, like people were pressing in from all sides.
He put on his headphones. Once, I Too Wanted to End It All played, the song opening a clear passage in his chest.
"Without Chu-san and Huainan-san, I don't know what I'd do," he thought.
If Chu Zhi hadn't pulled through in the hospital back then, Akio would've killed himself. The stress of work and life was too much. With less than five hours of sleep a day, he was constantly exhausted.
It was Chu Zhi's songs that gave him the will to keep going. And Huainan's success made his work smoother.
At the hospital, he put on a worried face as he entered the ward. In truth, her weekly falls had long drained his concern. Since that missed dinner, his coworker never brought it up again. Akio could only sigh. Life gave him nothing good, but work brought news—
The Goncourt really awarded Huainan!
===
"飞鸟集" (Fei Niao Ji)
Original Title: Stray Birds
Original Author: Rabindranath Tagore (1916)
"我是个任性的孩子" (Wo Shi Ge Ren Xing De Hai Zi)
Original Title: I Am a Willful Child (This is the direct translation. It is a famous poem by the Chinese poet Gu Cheng).
Original Author: 顾城 (Gu Cheng) (1956-1993)
"永久沉默之后" (Yong Jiu Chen Mo Zhi Hou)
Original Title: After Long Silence (This is the direct translation. It is a famous poem by W.B. Yeats).
Original Author: W.B. Yeats (1865-1939)
"巨大的谜语" (Ju Da De Mi Yu)
Original Title: The Great Enigma
Original Author: Tomas Tranströmer (2004)
"不要温和地走进那个良夜" (Bu Yao Wen He Di Zou Jin Na Ge Liang Ye)
Original Title: Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Original Author: Dylan Thomas (1951)
"巡回" (Xun Hui)
Original Title: The Circuit (This is a direct translation. The most famous poet associated with a collection titled Oku no Hosomichi (The Narrow Road to the Deep North) is Matsuo Bashō). Given the context of a journey, it likely references Bashō.
Original Author: 松尾芭蕉 (Matsuo Bashō) (1644-1694)
"科吉托先生" (Ke Ji Tuo Xian Sheng)
Original Title: Mr. Cogito
Original Author: Zbigniew Herbert (1974)