(transcripted & edited from obabakoak)

从来没见过我这么懒的人 @_@

I. A plagiarist must select texts with a clear plot. That will be the first rule of my method. In other words, one must choose stories or novels whose plots can be summed up in a few facts or events. For that reason, models such as a Robbe Grillet or Faulkner are unsuitable for the plagiarist, because in the works of writers such as these, the story is the least important thing. Writers like Saki, Buzzati or even Hemingway, on the other hand, can be highly recommended. In general terms, the more ancient the model chosen, the better for the plagiarist: you could use a thousand stories from those collected in The Arabian Nights but not one from some avant-garde anthology.

II. In order to plagiarise one must discard all rare books. The plagiarist should never consider using a rare book which has not been translated into his own language, for example, the novel his parents bought for him in a bookshop in Red Square on the their trip to Moscow, not even if his friend the polyglot prepares an attractive synopsis of its plot. Because, after all, what does he know about the latest in Russian literature? And what if his parents, in all innocence, have happened upon someone about to become a dissident? Then what would happen? After a couple of years, that someone will be proclaimed by the mass media and then even university students will know by heart the plots of every novel he ever wrote. And, of course, if that happened, the plagiarised work would be placed in grave danger.

No, the plagiarist should not employ sly stratagems to achieve his ends. He should not direct his feet to far-flund neighbourhoods or dark alleyways as if he were some shabby thief, rather he must stroll in the broad light of day through the open spaces of the very centre of the metropolis. He must head for Boulevard Balzc or Hardy Gardens or Hoffmannstrasse or Piazza Pirandello… in other words, he must choose his models from amongst writers who are household names. And don't worry. No one will ever know. Because, as with archangels, all anyone ever knows about the classics are their names and their faces.

III. An example will explain better than any dissertation how to resolve the problem of time and space. Let's suppose that we have to plagiarise a story that takes place in Arabia or in the Middle Ages and that its two protagonists - who are embroiled in an argument over a camel - are Ibu al Farsi and Ali Rayol. Right, the plagiarist should take the story in its entirety and set it - let's say - in modern-day England. So the protagonists become, for example, Anthony Northmore and Philip Stevens and, instead of a camel, the cause of the argument between them can be a car. As you can easily imagine, these changes will bring in their train a thousand more so as to render the plot completely unrecognissable to anyone.

IV. The preparation of a good defence is of vital importance to the plagiarist. There is a possibility that despite following the preceding four rules point by point, a splagiarist may have hsi plagiarism uncovered. Anyone can have a stroke of bad luck. This is especially true amongst minority cultures where, since there is little space, relations - especially literary ones - tend to be rife with intrigue, malice and hatred.

However, that stroke of bad luck need not necessarily prove prejudicial to the plagiarist; on the contrary, he may emerge strengthened from his enemy's nets. But three conditions must be satisfied if this is to hapen: firstly, he must leave scattered whroughout the work 'traces' of the text he has taken as his model; secondly, he must find out a little about metaliterature; thirdly, he must make a name for himself. It he fulfils these three requirements, he will have built his own Practorian guard.

Let's suppose - to explain the first two rules of the defence - that the plagiarist has used for the purposes a story by Kipling and has done so by moving the story far ahead in time and setting it in the environs of the planet Uranus. To fulfil the first rule, it is vital then that the plagiarist call the astronaut Kim.

'May I ask you a rather impertinent question now?' a journalist will say to him a few days after his book has been published. 'It seems that the story you tell in your book bears a remarkable resemblance to a story by the writer Pikling. Some have even used the term "plagiarism". What do you have to say to that?'

'The writer's name is Kipling, not Pikling,' the plagiarist will begin with great dignity, adding, with just a hint of scorn in is smile:'If my accusers were true readers and, instead of sharpening their claws, had read the whole of Kipling's work, they would immediately realise that my work is nothing more nor less than a homage to that great writer. That is precisely why I call the astronaut Kim. For that is the title of a work written by that charming imperialist. To be honest, it doesn't strike me as a particularly difficult reference to pick up. But, as I said before, these accusers of mine do not even have a clear idea of what reading involves.'

'Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I hear you use the expression "charming imperialist"? With respect, whose two words together do sound slightly odd to me…' the journalist will start in on his attack again, from another front this time. However, the plagiarist will not let him continue along that road and, deploying the second rule for the defence, he will launch a further attack on the enemy.

'Moreover, I must say that these hairsplitters intent on discrediting others are very backward when it comes to literary theory. They've probably never even heard of metaliterature…'

'I have heard something about it, but I don't quite remember…'

'Well, briefly, all the term means is that there's nothing new under the sun, not even in literature. All those ideas the Romantics had…'

'Ah, yes, love and all that…'

'Well, no, or rather yes, their concept of love too, but I was referring to their literary ideas; the Romantics considered a word of art to be the product of a special and unique personality, and other such nonsense…'

'And metaliterature?'

'Well, as I said, we writers don't create anything new, we're all continually writing the same stories. As people often say, all the good stories have been written already, and if a story hasn't been written, it's a sign that it isn't any good. The world today is nothing but a vast Alexandria and we who live in it merely write commentaries on what has already been created, nothing more. The Romantic dream burst long ago.'

'Why write at all then? If all the good stories have already been written…'

'Because, in the words of someone whose name escapes me, people forget. And we, the new writers, merely serve to remind them of the stories. That's all.'

From everything that has been said up to now, it is clear that the respectability of the plagiarist would thus be placed beyond doubt. But just in case - bearing in mind that no one believes a complete unknown - he would be wise to have fulfilled the requirements of rule number three for the defence. In other words, he should make a name for himself. Because if his name is known and talked about, all the aforementioned reasons will take on extraordinary force and significance.

And, however arduous it may seem at first, there is no need to be intimidated by the task of making a name for oneself. Because, given the quantity of newspapers and the sheer volume of cheap chitchat - whether such and such a politician did or did not say something, whether the arrangements for the Carnival are satisfactory or unsatisfactory, whether the problums of traffic or trafficking have been resolved - getting your name into the public eye every week - answering surveys, signing peittions, etc. - will be a cinch for the plagiarist.