Chapter 53: The Ernie Reese Style

Without a moment’s hesitation, Edward Weeks made his decision.

A smile that he could barely contain spread across Puzo’s face; the corners of his mouth were harder to press down than a pair of newlywed’s.

This was *The Atlantic Monthly*, after all!

Edward Weeks’s habitual frown was likewise replaced by a grin, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bunching up as he shot a complimentary glance at Ernie, seeming to say—that was a brilliant piece to bring in.

"Mr. Puzo, this manuscript is quite exceptional, except that..."

Before Edward Weeks could finish his sentence, Puzo spoke up somewhat nervously, "If there are any shortcomings, please point them out... As long as it gets accepted, I’ll revise it however you see fit."

Weeks and Ernie: "..."

Hearing what Puzo had just said, Edward Weeks—despite being a notorious fanatic for revisions—teased, "Your novel has a complete structure, with not a single part needing alteration. I’d love to edit it, but I simply can't find a place to start wielding my pen!"

He then steered the conversation back to the main point: "I wanted to ask, where did the inspiration for your novel’s architecture come from? This writing method, along with its humorous, satirical, and absurd literary style, is practically a Hitchcockian revolution for the literary world."

"Well, that was Ernie’s suggestion," Puzo smiled, glancing at Ernie before taking a folded piece of paper from his pocket and saying to Weeks, "When you publish the novel, could this short essay be published alongside it?"

"Oh?" Edward Weeks took the paper handed to him by Puzo with a look of curiosity and unfolded it.

[Deconstruction of the "Ernie Rieser Style" — "Reticular Narrative Architecture" and "Black Humor":
The birth of this piece stems from the original conception of my good friend, Mr. Ernie Rieser. I have named this the "Ernie Rieser Style."
The core of this style lies in using a precise reticular narrative architecture to deconstruct the absurd landscape of modernity. Multiple narrative threads are nested and engaged like precision gears, driving all characters, through a chain reaction of accidents and coincidences, to slide unknowingly toward an unexpected, irrational conclusion.
Imagine a novel whose structure is not a flowing river, but an intricate spiderweb. Each character is a dewdrop on the web, reflecting the world in isolation, yet closely connected to others through delicate threads—namely, coincidence, desire, and misunderstanding...
You will witness multiple stories proceeding in parallel: a foolish swindler, an angry chef, a melancholy philosopher... They seemingly live within their respective chapters, yet because of an insignificant collision—a misdelivered letter, a stolen key, and so on—their destinies begin to resonate, fracture, and ultimately converge with a resounding crash at an absurd node.
Meanwhile, another core of the "Ernie Rieser Style" is "black humor"—an original literary genre that treats story themes using elements of humor, satire, and absurdity to depict a world that is nonsensical, meaningless, and out of control.
This literary genre does not manufacture happiness, but rather exposes the absurdity of existence. The more seriously a character pursues a goal, the more futile it becomes, and the more ridiculous they appear in the palm of fate. Behind that laughter lies the abyss of worldly contingency, where all order is an illusion. What holds the world together is merely a thin thread on the verge of snapping.
This is a storytelling style that weaves order out of chaos, and enacts chaos through order. It invites you to look down upon the entire web, becoming the God who both laughs and trembles.
Ultimately, the narrative itself becomes an elegant mockery of order and logic.]

After finishing Puzo’s stylistic deconstruction of the piece, Edward Weeks looked somewhat astonished: "I never expected this piece to be the result of a collaborative effort between the two of you..."

He paused, pondering the description of this storytelling style within the text, and nodded in profound agreement: "The naming of the literary genre 'black humor' is remarkably apt. Prior to this, many authors had adopted the same approach—handling story themes with humorous, satirical, and absurd elements—yet the literary world has never had a unified designation for it until now. I think this name is wonderful!

Next, combining the literary style of 'black humor' with an entirely new narrative structure—reticular narrative—gives birth to a brilliant novel without precedent. It’s like the unexpected, genius pairing of pineapple and ham, combining to create an exquisite 'delicacy.'

Most importantly, this literary style’s depiction and display of 'absurdity' evokes a feeling akin to Sartre or Camus for me.

Yet the difference is that this novel does not emphasize an existentialist literature of 'defiance,' but instead turns to emphasize the 'unresisting nature of the absurdity,' deconstructing it with playful banter. It reads like a clown’s defense delivered with 'laughter through tears,' possessing a profound literary depth as well.

This original style is truly unprecedented in the literary world. I must say, it well deserves to be named... ah, the Ernie Rieser Style!"

Having received such an innovative and captivating novel, Edward Weeks found his facial wrinkles multiplying with delight as he looked at Ernie: "I never imagined that at such a youthful age, you would become the 'founding patriarch' of a literary school. It truly reminds me of Percy Bysshe Shelley."

Ernie froze for a moment before snapping back to reality, raising his voice involuntarily: "The Ernie Rieser Style?"

What on earth is this??

Seeing Ernie’s utterly bewildered expression, Puzo smiled at him and said, "Although I wrote this novel, the core that made it brilliant was your conception. Therefore, I named this literary genre after you."

Good heavens, had he just founded his own school of thought?

I must admit, this was completely beyond Ernie’s expectations. When he had described this writing style to Puzo, his sole thought was to get a free meal at White Castle after Puzo’s piece was accepted.

That being the case... once *The Last Christmas* was published, it seemed he was about to create quite a stir, and the popularity of his works would surge once again!

Following the interlude of this short essay, it was time to discuss the manuscript fee.

"The word count of this manuscript is around 28,000 words, and I can offer you a rate of 6 cents per word," Edward Weeks stated. "Of course, that short essay can be included as well. I found its deconstruction to be quite impressive and deeply inspiring."

The price he quoted was already exceptionally high for a debut author.

After all, Ernie’s *A Bronx Tale*, with a total word count of around 18,000 words, had fetched a fee of 950 dollars, which broke down to just a fraction over 5 cents per word.

"...Wonderful!"

Ernie was just about to open his mouth to help negotiate a slightly higher rate—even 0.5 cents more would do—when Puzo nodded faster than a chick pecking at rice.

However, since Puzo appeared thoroughly delighted, Ernie simply let it slide with a smile.

That being the case, factoring in the word count for the short essay, the chargeable word count for Puzo’s novel came to around 28,900 words. In other words... the manuscript fee in hand would be roughly 1,734 dollars!

In a single stroke, he had entered the thousand-dollar club, bringing his wealth close to Ernie’s own savings of 2,000 dollars.

This forced Ernie to sigh with emotion: as it turned out, everything in life was better when it was longer—much like warfare, where the longer the weapon, the more accurately it hit the bullseye... and novels were certainly more profitable the longer they were, too.

It appeared that sooner or later, he would have to write a novel in the "Ernie Rieser Style" himself!

Puzo received his check and royalty statement on the spot, the corners of his mouth split wide in a massive grin.

However, because Edward Weeks believed this would be a monumental masterpiece capable of single-handedly driving a magazine’s sales—much like *A Bronx Tale* had done—he decided not to include it in the temporary supplementary issue, but rather to publish it in next month’s edition of *The Atlantic Monthly*.

The two walked down to the lobby of Houghton Mifflin. Ernie unlocked his bicycle and was just about to drag Puzo off to White Castle for a meal when Puzo suddenly wore a mysterious smile.

"I finally have the money to treat you to your favorite place."

"?"

"A nightclub~"

"..."