Paul Pigout, the editor-in-chief of Le Petit Parisien, was naturally the most aware of its weekly sales.
He was currently puffing on a cigar, looking at today's sales statistics that had just arrived, still smelling of ink, his mouth stretched almost to his ears.
The number far exceeded his boldest expectations.
The office door was pushed open, and the associate editor, Jacques Mathieu, excitedly entered: "Mr. Pigut! The newsboys on the street report that almost everyone asks, 'Do you have the one with Benjamin Button?'!
Newsstands in several districts sold out by morning and are urging us to print more!"
Paul Pigout took a deep drag from his cigar, exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, and proudly tapped on the desk: "See? This is the magic of Lionel Sorel!
Readers want good stories! Stories that make their eyes widen and forget the taste of the black bread in their hands! That 'backward-growing' baby is the best bait!"
He stood up and walked to the window, looking at the bustling crowd on the street below, as if he could see everyone holding a copy of Le Petit Parisien, eagerly reading the extraordinary adventures of benjamin button.
He also envisioned the bright future of Le Petit Parisien, which, by serializing this novel, would surpass competitors like Le Petit Journal and Le Matin to become France's largest newspaper.
"Tell the printing factory to print more tonight! Double the print run… no, triple it! I want everyone in Paris, from the textile factory women to the shoeshine boys, to be talking about 'Benjamin Button'!"
Georges Charpentier's color illustration collection game is thriving in the salons? Very well, let those ladies chase Renoir's little pictures.
And he, Paul Pigout, with a price of 5 centimes and this incredible yet deeply moving story, was conquering the "appetite" of all Paris.
"Benjamin Button," this life created by Lionel, moving against time, had already become the most incredible and talked-about "newborn" in Paris in the spring of 1879.
— — — —
On Sunday afternoon, at Mr. Flaubert's apartment at 240 Rue Saint-Honoré, it was, as usual, packed with people.
However, Ivan Turgenev was not among those present; he had returned to Russia as the weather warmed up.
It was said that the great Leo Tolstoy had written him a letter, wishing to reconcile, and perhaps he was rushing back to see his old friend.
But even so, the salon's liveliness remained undiminished, and Lionel's the extraordinary adventures of benjamin button, being the most sought-after novel in Paris that week, naturally received extra attention.
Several copies of Modern Life and Le Petit Parisien were scattered on the living room's round table, and Huysmans even asked Lionel for the only card he was missing.
To this, Lionel could only spread his hands, indicating that he hadn't collected all the illustration cards either, which made everyone laugh, expressing their disbelief.
Zola suddenly snorted: "A trick!" His voice carried a mix of pleasure, mischief, and good-natured jealousy.
He looked at Lionel with some emotion: "When did George become so cunning? Your novel, combined with Renoir's color illustration collection trick, is simply a stroke of genius.
Four illustrations per issue, forcing those ladies to buy several copies of the magazine? Truly a business prodigy!"
Everyone joined in the praise, saying that if Mr. Georges Charpentier could make this flash of inspiration a regular practice, their own new works might as well be published by Charpentiers Bookshelf.
French writers of this era were not ashamed of seeking profit or engaging in commerce; on the contrary, they were very keen on making a lot of money.
Not to mention Balzac, who was obsessed with money—the Goncourt brothers were art dealers, Alexandre Dumas opened his own theater, Daudet was a publishing planner…
With Zola's opening, everyone began discussing how to sell books better.
Finally, Flaubert brought the conversation back: "Ha, my dear friends, let's not forget that the source of it all is Lionel; this time he didn't bring a down-and-out old man or a neurotic woman, but a freak born with the skin of an eighty-year-old!
Now all of Paris is talking about him. Tell me, what do you think of this marvelous creature? Guy, you first."
Maupassant hastily put down his coffee cup: "teacher, Lionel's concept… is indeed astonishing. He had discussed some ideas with us before, but seeing it in writing, especially the dual-timeline flashback structure at the beginning—
The deathbed reading amidst the storm of the Paris Commune, intertwined with the horrifying birth amidst the smoke of the Revolution, this impact far exceeded my imagination.
He successfully created immense suspense at the outset—how does this life, born old, flow upstream in the river of time?"
Zola's interest also shifted to the novel: "Suspense? No, Guy, not just suspense! Lionel chose an extremely grotesque setting—born an old man, growing in reverse.
This seems utterly absurd, violating natural laws, like those malformed embryos in a medical school dissection room! Yet, it is rooted in one of the most chaotic and 'unnatural' historical turning points in French history—July 14, 1789!
The fall of the Bastille, the collapse of the old order, a new world struggling to be born in blood and fire—isn't an 'aging-at-birth' infant the sharpest, most grotesque metaphor for that mad era?
A monstrosity born on the eve of the old regime's death, this is a 'grotesque naturalism' based on pathology!"
Lionel: "…"
Émile Zola never gave up trying to pull him into the "naturalism" camp; almost every one of his novels, he could attribute to heredity or pathology.
Fortunately, Edmond Goncourt also couldn't listen anymore. He twirled his meticulously trimmed mustache and slowly said: "Émile, you can't fit everything into 'naturalism,' can you?
I, on the other hand, think Lionel's work always has a touch of the 'documentary novel' that my brother and I attempted in "Germinie Lacerteux".
Look at his description of the Parisian street scene on the eve of the Revolution—'the heat wave like boiling grease,' 'the air filled with the smell of fear, sulfur, and rotting garbage,' 'the streets turned into raging torrents'…
How delicate, how accurate! This is by no means pure imagination; he must have thoroughly studied Michelet's "History of the French Revolution" or the memoirs of eyewitnesses.
This is not 'grotesque naturalism,' but 'absurd documentary style'!"
Lionel: "…" How could you, Goncourt, with your thick eyebrows and big eyes, also betray me?
Flaubert, however, keenly sensed a certain tension between the two—Zola's desire to draw Lionel into the "naturalism" camp was long-planned; Goncourt's intention to classify his novel as "documentary style" was certainly not a sudden whim.
Lionel's previous three works, due to their length, did not have a lasting influence and were not enough to make these literary luminaries eager to recruit him.
As his first full-length novel began serialization and gained widespread popularity among both the aristocratic and commoner classes, the question of "which ideology Lionel belongs to" was placed on the agenda of the Paris literary salons.
Flaubert recalled the time after he published madame bovary in 1856, when critics eagerly categorized him as a "naturalist."
Later, Zola simply called him the "father of naturalism."
But when he was writing madame bovary, he thought more of Balzac's "The Human Comedy" than of "heredity" and "pathology."
Defining a faction has its pros and cons—
The good side is naturally receiving promotion and support from the same faction; whether publishing works or giving lecture tours, it's a smooth path.
Therefore, he did not object to his student Maupassant also following Zola and jointly raising the banner of "naturalism."
The downside is that creative freedom would be restricted and constrained; unless one strongly identifies with a certain theory, it would gradually become a torment.
That is why he was always dissatisfied with Maupassant's creative state, believing that he wasted too much time on "naturalism" but achieved nothing.
Lionel's the extraordinary adventures of benjamin button won the favor of both aristocratic and commoner readers, as well as "aristocratic writers" and "commoner writers."
Edmond de Goncourt was the former, and Émile Zola was the latter.
Flaubert was very curious how Lionel would choose his camp—rather than being evasive as in previous gatherings.
He specifically poured Lionel a glass of wine and handed it to him: "Lionel, tell us!"