Chae Isolwas always inside.
Libraries.Bookstores.Small offices that looked like storage rooms.
Places with thresholdstoo high for people to casually enter.
There were many books,and few people.
Isol was not someone who organized books,but someone who organized flows.
Which knowledgestarted with whom,and where it stopped.
She knewthat the flow always brokeat the same point.
Knowledgewas created aboveand accumulated inward.
Papers went into drawers.Reports were locked inside servers.
The more people there werewho stored knowledgethan those who read it,
the quieterthe city became.
—Isol worked at a publishing house.
Planning meetings.Distribution meetings.Sales meetings.
"Isn't this too difficult?""This has no mass appeal.""I don't see how this will sell."
Books were eliminatedby the marketbefore they ever reached people.
After every meeting,Isol wrote the same question.
Who is this bookfor?
Most of the time,there was no answer.
—The idea of a book truckdid not come by accident.
Libraries wait.For people to come.
But peopledon't always come.
Especiallyat the edges of the city.
Industrial zones.Temporary housing.Night labor districts.
There was no information there.
Or rather,no time to touch it.
Isol didn't think books were the problem.
The problemwas fixation.
Knowledge was alwaystied to one place.
—That day,Isol received a message from Hong Raon.
Why do you make books?
Isol didn't answer right away.
To make people smarter?
Raon's next message was short.
Or to be beside people?
That sentenceheld Isol for a long time.
Beside people.
She knew exactlywhat that meant.
—A few days later,Isol stoodat the edge of the industrial zone.
Food trucks.Containers.An empty lot where nothing was finished yet.
The citywas not yet a city.
But peoplewere already there.
Doyoon didn't explain.
There was no presentation.
He simplyspread a mapon the table.
"There's no library here,"Isol said.
Doyoon nodded.
"That's whywe're making one."
"Here?"
"Starting here."
Isol didn't smile.
This wasn'ta romantic answer.
"Bookswon't sell here."
"I know."
"Peoplewon't read."
"So I'm not planningto make them read."
That's whenIsol finally looked at Doyoon.
"Thenwhy books?"
Doyoon drew a single line.
A truck.Foldable walls.A table that opens.
"Knowledgehas to be seenbefore it's read."
Isol held her breath.
"Knowledge has to come outto a distancewhere people can ask questions."
Doyoon continued.
"It's not that we don't respect books.We've just placed themtoo high."
—In Isol's mind,the shelves collapsed.
The silence of libraries.The air of meeting rooms.Manuscripts cut awayby the question of will it sell?
All of it condensedinto a single question.
Why does knowledgealways move inward?
Isol spoke slowly.
"There's no truck yet, right?"
"There isn't."
"Good."
"…Why?"
"Because having no form yetmeans it can still be shapedaround people."
Isol took a notebookout of her bag.
Each pagewas filled with questions.
What's the most common questionin this neighborhood?What adults can't explain to children.Why people don't search.
Isol closed the notebook.
"My truckwon't carry books."
"Then what?"
"It'll carry questions."
The citywas not yet complete.
But knowledge,for the first time,began movingfrom inside to outside.
After that day,Chae Isoldid not return to the publishing house.
Instead,she carried pagesto where people were.
Knowledgedies the moment it is stacked.
It survivesonly when it moves.
And this citywas nowreadyto accept that.