Korean Literature

VOL.
32 SUMMER 2016
Han Kang
VOL. 32 S U M M E R 2 0 1 6
The White Book
The “Docile Body”
and “Organs Without a Body”
Ryoo Bo Sun
A Parisian Encounter
with Korean Literature
Aurélie Julia
Daniel Hahn on Brexit

and Literature in Translation
BOOK REVIEWS
Neil Astley, Steph Cha,
Michael David Lukas & more
62
Korean Literature Now is a quarterly magazine published by the Literature Translation Institute of Korea
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2016
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FOREWORD
Writing in the US, Asia Literary Review in the UK, and Le

Magazine Littéraire in France. A special issue on Korean literature
from Russia’s Inostrannaya Literatura will be forthcoming in
November. Recently, Asia Literary Review wrote, “We are proud to
have worked in close cooperation with LTI Korea, which receives
Greetings prominent profiling in The New Yorker article.”

Since its inception in 2008, LTI Korea’s quarterly journal
in English, _list: Books from Korea, has played a vital role in
from the Publisher promoting Korean literature overseas. In fact, the quarterly has
been widely praised by international publishers, editors, and
literary agents. But despite its popularity, the quarterly has one
R ecently, Koreans were greatly encouraged and elated by

the news that The Vegetarian had won the prestigious Man
Booker International Prize. Thanks to the prominent novelist
decisive downside: the title. You can neither Google it nor figure
out what _list means. Thus, we have decided to change the title
to Korean Literature Now. There will be some substantial changes
Han Kang and her outstanding translator Deborah Smith, in content as well.
Korean literature is now receiving its fair share of attention from The new issue of KLN features Han Kang and Deborah Smith.
the international community. Han’s prose in The Vegetarian is poetic and full of heightened
A few months ago The Times Literary Supplement carried an sensitivity, while her narrative technique is breathtaking
article entitled, “A Glittering Korea.” In it, while comparing the and mesmerizing. At times, the novel is saturated with an
two Koreas, Toby Lichtig writes, “But away from the escapee atmosphere of sensual desire, while at others it depicts graphic
memoirs, famine histories and book-length speculations about violence in the bleak landscape of modern society. Meanwhile,
the robustness, politically and gastrointestinally, of the youthful Deborah Smith’s excellent translation vividly captures the
Dear Leader, it is the South that has been gaining headway in the author’s artistic description of the grim environment into
more refined literary arts.” It is true that, besides its breathtaking which the vegetarian protagonist is thrown among carnivorous
economic growth, cutting-edge technology, and the widespread predators. Smith beautifully renders Han’s charming prose into
popularity of its pop culture termed Hallyu or the Korean Wave, impeccable English.
South Korea has emerged on the global stage as a country of Translation is by no means an easy task. It is a painstaking
delightful literary arts and rich cultural heritage. job that requires dedication, writing skills, and verbal dexterity.
Lichtig also points out that Korean literature in the UK is Besides, without translation, a writer could not be known
now rising. “Over the past few years there has been a glut of outside his or her country. Italo Calvino once wrote: “Without
fiction in translation arriving from South Korea, much of it translation, I would be limited to the borders of my own country.
critically acclaimed and some of it even commercially successful,” The translator is my most important ally. He introduces me
he continues. “This is partly thanks to the indefatigable Dalkey to the world.” If so, we should say, “Translators are trans-
Archive, whose Library of Korean Literature, produced in nationalists” because they play a key role in bridging two or more
collaboration with the Literature Translation Institute of Korea, nations.
will—when complete—amount to an impressive twenty-five I believe the rebranded and reimagined Korean Literature Now
novels and collections of short stories.” will help international editors and publishers to recognize and
In her article in The New Yorker, Mythili G. Rao, too, agrees understand the intellectual and aesthetic significance of Korean
that the twenty-five books from Dalkey Archive offer a good literature more comprehensively. I hope KLN will continue to
starting point for English-speaking readers to learn about Korean make a distinguished contribution to this effort.
literature. Indeed, Dalkey’s Library of Korean Literature series
plays a crucial role in making Korean literature conspicuous and Kim Seong-Kon, PhD
easily accessible in the Anglophone market. Publisher, Korean Literature Now
This year, three major journals came out with special editions President, LTI Korea
on Korean literature: Mānoa: A Pacific Journal of International Professor Emeritus, Seoul National University
PUBLISHER Kim Seong-Kon
EDITORIAL DIRECTOR Ko Young-il
MANAGING DIRECTOR Park Chanwoo
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Shin Sookyung
CONTENTS
EDITORS Agnel Joseph
Kim Stoker
ONLINE EDITOR Yoo Young-seon
EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Lee Jimin

FEATURED WRITER
HAN KANG
ADVISORY BOARD Byun Jeeyeon
Steven D. Capener
Krys Lee
Ryoo Bo Sun
05 A Glimpse of the Artist
Bonnie Tilland
Yoo Sungho 12 Notes on The White Book
TRANSLATORS Sophie Bowman 14 Excerpt from The White Book

Victoria Caudle
Meri Joyce
Jesse Kirkwood
Myeong Hyejong
PHOTOGRAPHER Baek Jongheon

Seo Heun-Kang
Son Hongjoo
DESIGNED BY Soluwin Corporation

Yoon Eunjung
Kim Eunji
PRINTED BY Adsharp Company
Date of Publication August 5, 2016

All correspondence should be addressed to:
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
32, Yeongdong-daero 112-gil (Samseong-dong), Gangnam-gu,
Seoul, 06083, Republic of Korea
E-mail: koreanlitnow@klti.or.kr / Telephone: +82-2-6919-7714
ⓒ Munhakdongne Publishing Group
Fax: +82-2-3448-4247 / koreanliteraturenow.com, ltikorea.org
ABOUT THE COVER IMAGE
Sin Sun-mi
Born in Ulsan, Korea in 1980
While You Were Sleeping 8, 2008, Painting on Korean paper, 77 x 116 cm
This exquisite portrayal of a woman in a hanbok

evokes a feeling of the past and offers us a glimpse of traditional Korean painting.
And yet, elements of modernity appear unannounced.
A curious mix of the traditional and the modern permeates this painting.
-Park Young-taek, Kyonggi University
SPECIAL SECTION
The “Docile Body” and “Organs Without a Body”

The Body in Contemporary Korean Literature
Curated and introduced by Ryoo Bo Sun
20 Overview
24 Excerpts
EXCERPTS
Fiction
38 Life Unperturbed by Eun Heekyung
42 To Dream of a Mountain by Park Wansuh
52 Seven Years of Darkness by Jeong You Jeong
56 The Wizard Bakery by Gu Byeong-mo
Poetry
46 Whisper of Splendor by Chong Hyon-jong
Nonfiction
60 The Korean Table
by Korean Cuisine and Dining Production Team, KBS
ESSAY 01 FOREWORD
16 The Globalization of Korean Literature and the Status Quo 04 CONTRIBUTING ARTICLE
by Deborah Smith
06 OVERSEAS REPORT
MUSINGS 36 Q&A
64 Some Morning-After Translation Thoughts 37 REVIEWS
by Daniel Hahn
CONTRIBUTING ARTICLE
W hen I was a child growing up in the blazing California

sun, books for me were a dream, a window into a world
Connecting that seemed inaccessible to a girl whose family couldn’t afford a

basic health insurance plan, much less purchase a plane ticket to
foreign lands. But the local library was free, stocked generously
the World with books and cozy reading corners, so I didn’t grow up feeling
deprived because the entire world seemed available to me.
Charlotte Brontë’s English moors led me to Thomas Hardy’s
Through English countryside. Hardy’s religious preoccupations to Tolstoy’s

St. Petersburg. I could travel to Thomas Mann’s Davos, Gabriel
García Márquez’s legendary Macondo. But perhaps because Asians
Words were a minority in my suburban neighborhood, I encountered few

books by Asian American writers, much less writers residing in
Asia and writing in an Asian language.
Fast forward to 2016, and the publishing environment has
become very different. Though there have always been incredible
writers in South Korea, LTI Korea has been instrumental in
bringing South Korean literature to the rest of the world. Maybe,
even to my childhood town library.
Many memorable Korean books have been translated and
published overseas in the past decade, but Han Kang’s The
Vegetarian, and its recognition by the Man Booker International
Prize, is symbolically important. The Vegetarian is an astonishing
book in its own right. When I first read the book in Korean, I was
amazed by its taut sentences, its incredible marriage of plot and
form, and the wise, solitary sensibility embedded in the novel.
I had experienced this while reading a Korean novel or poem
before, but it was one of the few times where such a Korean novel
was translated, published, and embraced by an international
audience. The book gained momentum with readers and writers
in the West who recognized its brilliance and imagination. No
one can predict what book will be loved or catch the imagination
of its audience, but the timely topic of vegetarianism, the rare
perfection of form and content, a dedicated translator who
worked hard for the book’s publication, and the support of LTI
Korea was instrumental to its success. The introduction of a new,
exciting work of literature is the greatest gift to hungry readers,
and for readers overseas, The Vegetarian was the wardrobe in C.S.
Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, a glimpse into the
most hidden recesses of the human heart.
But big isn’t necessarily better, no matter The Vegetarian’s
impressive sales figures and how many articles spotlight The
Vegetarian and its author Han Kang, highly respected by Korean
literature critics and local fiction writers long before the prize
4 Korean Literature Now

brought an enormous amount of attention to the fiercely private with publishers and universities around the world, as well as with
writer. Relative to the respect that Han Kang commands, she has the foreign press. Alerting foreign industry players to the trove of
been under the public radar for over a decade in South Korea. translated Korean literature has resulted in significant coverage.
Great books will always exist, no matter how famous or obscure Twice in the last twelve months, The New Yorker, one of America’s
they remain. The Dalkey Archive’s partnership with LTI Korea best magazines, prominently featured LTI Korea’s publication
is also an event to equally celebrate. The publisher is deservedly efforts as well as the Dalkey Archive series. Well-known American
well-known for publishing noted international and experimental media venues such as The New York Times, The Washington Post,
literature. The first of the Library of Korean Literature series and NPR, have also highlighted Korean literature. Respected
was published in 2013, then magazines that have recently
followed by more additions to published or will be publishing
the series published in 2014 special issues spotlighting
and 2015. This coming winter, Korean literature include
new books to be added to the America’s Mānoa: A Pacific
series are as follows: Turbid Journal of International Writing,
Rivers by Ch’ae Man-Sik, The World Literature Today, the UK’s
Library of Musical Instruments Modern Poetry in Translation,
by Kim Junghyuk, Mannequin Russia’s Inostrannaya Literatura,
by Ch’oe Yun, Evening Proposal France’s Le Magazine Littéraire,
by Pyun Hye Young, and The and the Asia Literary Review.
Amusing Life by Song Sokze. Momentum creates momentum,
Less noticed but equally but without the years of effort
The Library of Korean Literature, published by Dalkey Archive
valuable LTI Korea projects Press in collaboration with LTI Korea
by LTI Korea to make Korean
are the support of Korean literature more available and
literature e-books, videos, more visible, I doubt such
and audio libraries, as well as the translation and publication of concentrated coverage would have been possible.
Korean classics, culminating last March with the first Korean Though I’ve lived in cold climates for a long time, every year
work included in the Penguin Classics, The Story of Hong Gildong. I dread winter for the way it imposes its dark solitude. I blame
Many professors and students complain about the lack of new that on my childhood growing up in sunny California. The first
translations of the Korean classics, and desire to read Korean winter chill unfailingly reminds me of Robert Frost’s poem
contemporary literature in a historical context. The Story of Hong “Desert Places,” where “animals are smothered in their lairs” in
Gildong, to be followed by other LTI Korea-supported translations the “whiteness of benighted snow.” What helps get me through
of Korean modern classics, is a welcome effort to contextualize winter are books, and this year, I’m looking forward to the
Korean literature. company of the new additions to the Dalkey Archive series. For
Much great art and literature never meet a larger public and in the end literature is not a nation, but the singular voices of
are fated to relative obscurity. In the information age and visual writers who found their place in the solitary yet populated world
culture that we live in, too much competes for a potential reader’s of books, and helped us become less lonely for it.
attention, and the chances of ever being heard, much less read,
are slim. Though nearly all writers value privacy and silence, the
quiet of creation now collides competitively with the pressure to
be seen. Look at me, the writer and the book are supposed to say
plaintively, whether you are a debut writer or Salman Rushdie.
Notice me. What LTI Korea has also done is help relieve the need
for Korean writers to be noisemakers by taking on some of the by Krys Lee
burden. LTI Korea has been instrumental in forging relationships Author of How I Became a North Korean
Vol. 32 Summer 2016 5

OVERSEAS REPORT
W ednesday, March 16, 5:00 p.m. The 2016 Paris Book Fair
opens its doors. Hundreds of people crowd the entrance
A Parisian to what has become an unmissable gathering point for the French
literary scene. Started in 1981 in a bid to rescue publishing from
a protracted crisis, the fair has been introducing the public to
Encounter the major players of the literary world for thirty-six years. And
while today there is endless grumbling about this important
event, nobody wants to miss out. Don’t let this apparent
with Korean contradiction confuse you, dear readers: France has the largest
number of moaners and malcontents on Earth! The French
Literature
complain about everything at the Book Fair-the location, the
lighting, the radiators, the organization, the draughts, the
rain—and yet it’s unthinkable that they would miss the festival.
The setting is certainly a little drab: an enormous grey hall
measuring 55,000m2, surrounded by wide paved areas, with
barely a tree to be seen. Inside, the architecture is functional
rather than decorative, consisting simply of walls and a roof.
This vast hangar is the venue for numerous fairs throughout the
year, with themes ranging from agriculture and automobiles to
chocolate and the sea. Horses, chickens, cows, boats, and cars
all pass through. It is the stage for shows and political meetings
alike, and books, too, have found their modest place in the
schedule.
5:30 p.m. The queue stretches a long way back on this
late winter day. With the November 2015 attacks still a fresh
memory, the police are vigilant. Bags are searched, then searched
again, and invitations checked: nobody is spared the treatment.
We hop from one foot to the other; the French don’t like to wait
around. We’ve been given access to the opening ceremony, so
why are we being made to wait in the freezing cold? Forty-five
minutes later, we gain entry and catch sight, near the middle of
the Fair, of the rather attractive Korean literature pavilion.
Since 1998, France has granted one country a year the chance
to present its own literary culture, with Portugal, Russia, India,
Mexico, and various other nations having already received this
honor. In 2016, it is Korea that is to enliven the Fair over its
four-day duration. Thirty authors, twenty or so editors, and an
intense schedule of meetings and signings—the Koreans don’t
do things by halves. Paris meets Seoul: talk about a clash of
cultures! Just imagine, on one side, 24/7 workers whose motto
could be the well-known phrase ‘palli-palli,’ and on the other,
officials who won’t even answer the phone after 5:54 p.m. Six
or seven years ago, organizing a Korean literature stand at the
From the 2016 Paris Book Fair book fair would have been unthinkable, even the best-stocked

bookshops in the capital had about ten Korean books in their
catalogue. In 2016, the situation has changed dramatically;
Korea’s excellent policy of supporting translation has enabled
the spectacular rise of its literature in France. Bookshops now
have dedicated shelves for Korean authors.
Saturday, March 19. It’s cold. I shuffle along in the queue
with some rather grumpy members of the public. I’m hosting
two round tables at the Korean pavilion: the first features Oh
Junghee, Han Kang, and Kim Ae-ran; the second Han Kang, Lim
Chulwoo, and the French writer Christine Jordis. I was given
the theme for the discussions a few weeks prior; the first was
“Women’s Voices.” Upon reading the proposal, I had been a little
frustrated (in case you’d forgotten, I’m French, so I grumble
a lot). No one would have thought to suggest a debate about
“men’s voices.” The notion of “women’s literature” suggests to
From the left, Aurélie Julia, Han Kang, Oh Junghee, Kim Ae-ran, and
me some kind of sub-literature. I needed to dispel this negative interpretor Choi Mikyung
impression as soon as possible, so I asked myself why a theme
like that might have been submitted. What did it mean in
2016? In the West, Korean society is often considered to be
highly patriarchal, derived from Neo-Confucianism: women are People may try to bury the truth, but it will always emerge one
defined first and foremost in relation to the family and their day. A seventy-year-old Korean lady speaks from the audience
role as mother. Wasn’t it time to shake up these stereotypes? with tears in her eyes: she didn’t know about this historical
Weren’t women moving out of this internal, domestic space tragedy that took place in her own country. Lim Chulwoo, sitting
and becoming independent? Weren’t they becoming a more to the right of Han Kang, witnessed these dramatic events, but
noticeable feature of the literary landscape? These questions the words get stuck in his throat: he chooses not to talk about
came pouring out during the round table. Oh Junghee, Han them. The book he is presenting at the Book Fair deals with his
Kang, and Kim Ae-ran agreed with me; all three disapproved of childhood in a poor, dirty, and harsh country—a Korea that the
the label “women’s literature.” They wanted to talk about their West is almost entirely unaware existed. He discusses solitude
Korea, the Korea of yesterday and today, a Korea which is losing and his own experiences—sometimes joyful, sometimes cruel.
its bearings and is witness to an extreme violence between We have to love our memories, he concludes, even if they are
humans. Via their entirely unique styles, these authors acquaint tinged with ashes and despair. They speak to us; they can act
French readers with both Korea’s recent history and the day-to- as beacons—or “lighthouses”—for future generations. The
day experiences of a changing country. audience, moved, is just preparing to leave after a long round
The second theme was “Does the past still have a future?” of applause when Lim Chulwoo calls out a final piece of advice:
Golly. Philosophy never has been my strong point… What does “Never forget. Dreamers find their way in the darkness. You
the question mean? Is Korea’s past under threat today? Is it a have to discover your own dream!”
barrier to the future? Is a future possible for Korea without its
past? The works of Han Kang (Human Acts) and Lim Chulwoo (The
Lighthouse) explore, in their own way, memories, remembrance,
and transmission. Han Kang was ten at the time of the bloody
repression of student and trade union revolts in Gwangju by
the dictatorial regime, which took place in 1980. She explores
the tragedy in seven chapters of unbelievable intensity. The by Aurélie Julia
audience listens to her evoke spiritual torment and also hope. Editorial Coordinator, Revue des Deux Mondes

FEATURED WRITER HAN KANG
HAN
KANG
Han Kang is a poet, novelist, and professor
of creative writing at the Seoul Institute of
the Arts. She has won the Yi Sang Literary
Award, the Today’s Young Artist Award, the
Manhae Literature Prize, and the 2016 Man
Booker International Prize. Following The
Vegetarian and Human Acts, The White Book
will be her third book to appear in English.
ⓒ Munhakdongne Publishing Group
8 8 Korean
KOREALiterature
LITERATURE REVIEW
Now
A GLIMPSE OF THE ARTIST
Walking Towards
the Vanishing Point
Cradling a Love of Life
I n the courtyard of an old, humble hanok in northern Seoul that

has been lovingly restored, folding chairs are set out in tight
rows with loud construction noises coming from the building site
next door, where a beautiful building like this one has already
been demolished. At the designated time the tiny courtyard fills
with people; it’s standing-room only with the entranceway full
too. In front of the small but tightly packed crowd sits Han Kang,
a unique stillness in the surrounding bustle and noise. When she
takes the microphone to begin talking about her artworks on
display in this tiny gallery, the levels have to be adjusted so her
voice can be heard, even though the builders have agreed to take
a break.
The hanok is called E’JUHEON and it belongs to a larger gallery
called O’NEWWALL. Here, Han Kang’s performance art captured
in four videos is on display in an exhibition called “Vanishing
Point.” Han’s works take up a single room of the small, squat
building. Entering the room it is hard to know where to look. At
a glance it is difficult to tell what’s going on, the videos require
The original editions of Human Acts (left), The Vegetarian (middle), The
concentration, and in this way they entice the viewer in.
White Book (right)
During the talk Han Kang describes how she came up with
the ideas for the four performances. They are closely connected to
her latest book, The White Book which began life as a list of white survived and lived in her place.
things, she explained. “When I go abroad I feel freer somehow In the first work Han sits on a wooden stool near a window
and my imagination works more actively. When I was on a plane slowly stitching a newborn’s gown, a process which she describes
coming back to Korea from the Paris Book Fair, I saw a mountain in one of the most moving chapters of The White Book—how her
range covered in ice on the screen showing what was below us. It mother realized she was going into early labor, and unable to call
made me think of the white newborn gown I had written about, for help, boiled water to sterilize scissors, and stitched together
and then the ideas for these video works suddenly came to me.” a gown for a newborn while going through the pains of labor, to
The four videos all feature items from the list, things which Han give birth alone. In the second work we see a close-up of a small,
thought she would want to give to her older sister, a baby that white stone being washed repeatedly, although it seems infinitely
died in her mother’s arms after just two hours of life, if she had clean already. The third video features white feathers covering

lines of poetry written on white paper, while the last video shows
Han walking, with a length of white string running through her
hands and charcoal between her toes, leaving a dark grey line and
crushed bits of burnt matter on a length of paper. Describing the
white string, Han says it has “a start and an end, like life, like
measuring a distance.”
Having spent a long intercontinental flight imagining the
contents of these artworks Han says that she felt a joyous
revelation, “I had imagined all of this without language—the
thing that I have lived by.” Indeed most of the questions asked
by the audience at the talk revolved around her experiences with
language and artwork, and how these two practices differ or relate
to one another. Han expressed that for her, the difference was not
all that great, “We are all born with bodies; I believe that it is all
connected, there are translations between mediums happening all
the time, poetry becoming dance, becoming music, I think I had artworks, just as she has a talent for conceiving of stories, and
already felt this.” The sense of joy that she felt in the realization despite differences in medium her works seem to share a deep
that her ideas had been detached from language then is less about and profound sensibility. In Han’s writing there is something
the content, the feeling or what they convey, but connected to which transcends language, and this is even clearer when a similar
the constraints of language. She explained, “Language is a very feeling comes across in her artwork without a single word. Her
important tool for me, it is something which I love dearly, but it is works are greater than the sum of their parts, and perhaps this
also an impossibility which causes me pain.” is why her novels have carried over so well when translated into
It is interesting to note that Han’s literary works are full other languages.
of artists, from her debut novel Black Deer to the short story About half way through the talk Han Kang suddenly stopped
“Mongolian Mark,” with which she won the prestigious Yi Sang for a moment; her parents had just arrived and were standing
Literary Award. These characters and their work as described in near the door. Having made sure that they had each found a seat
her writing come from things seen and things imagined, Han she explained, “They’ve just arrived back from a trip for their
explained, “I love art and I have many vivid dreams, on occasion I wedding anniversary and happened to be passing through Seoul
have thought ‘I could do it,’ but when I was at school it didn’t seem today. Mum doesn’t know what this book or these artworks are
like I had any talent with art.” It is quite clear from the work in this about. I haven’t told my parents. I’m sorry for writing about this
exhibition, however, that she does have a talent for conceiving of without your permission. I’m worried now how they will react.

A GLIMPSE OF THE ARTIST
Photographs by Baek Jongheon
So, let me read to you from the book.” Han then read “Newborn short, alternative universes and moments that will never return.
Gown,” the fourth chapter of the first section of The White Book. Examining this vanishing point, the blurry uncertainties at
The atmosphere in the packed courtyard grew heavy; it was clear the edges of the world each of us inhabits, is something which
that Kang’s parents were quite taken aback at what they had just takes great courage, but for Han Kang it seems inevitable. In her
heard, but also deeply moved, to find an experience they had artworks you sense a profound love of life in all its forms, all of
lived through, a fact of life, recounted in this way by the daughter the things that surround and elude it. There is a deep sadness in
who had followed. Breaking the silence that hung heavy after her her work also, but somehow it is a sadness which whispers, “Life
reading, Han repeated the words of her mother to the newborn, is fleeting, some lives never get to be, but here we are.” A sadness
“Please don’t die, don’t die, live.” With a quiver in her voice she made of light.
added, “These are words for all of us.”
Although not something intended, Han’s works of by Sophie Bowman
performance art had a strong sense of the shaman ritual about Translator
them. Like the generations of shamans who have presided over
the births and deaths, the spiritual lives of ordinary people
in Korea for centuries, Han Kang walks unafraid towards the
Visit koreanliteraturenow.com to watch highlights from the event.
vanishing point, the inevitability of death, possibilities cut

White Is Not
Always Fair
W hite things—things that are pure and clean—which

sterilize the parts of life that have been dirtied. That
cure wounds. “Something like white ointment applied to a
yet uncolored, a lack or emptiness—something akin to a blank
white canvas. In this way the whiteness of a canvas is not equal
to other colors like yellow, black, red, or blue. It is a shade on
swelling, like gauze laid over a wound.” (p. 10) This book, by a more fundamental level, and it is the background shade that
reading and writing such white things, will smooth over and makes all other colors possible. White is the same as that which
bandage the wounded heart. makes all other sounds possible, the frame of potential for
Before reading a book there are times when we have sound that is silence.1
assumptions about what it is going to offer; if your assumptions In this way white is not particularly bright or fair. Rather, it
about The White Book were like the lines above, you would be is already the frame of potential for all colors, and somewhere
left with a very different impression after actually reading the at its root those potentials bubble up towards the visible
work. At first it seems like the kind of simple friendly work surface. In this way white itself is mottled. As Han Kang writes
that divides the pure and the dirty, the light and the dark, and in “Fog” and “Candle”: in the thick white fog the ghosts of
takes only that which is clean and fair, but in the end The White many colors wander with eyes that can never be seen. As white
Book has nothing to do with such a blinkered, selective kind of is life not realized, it can also be the color of death. If we think
writing. in this way, death cannot be seen merely as a ceasing of life’s
Life can never be pure, it is always colored in various hues functions or an extinguishing, but rather must be understood
that clash, break and get broken, dye and become dyed. Our as something which is not yet a life realized—a space of
hearts and minds get caught up in the crossfire of this color potential that could be filled with life, or else a potential which
and suffer ever-changing wounds. Life is mottled and untidy; exists transcending life realized.
it is a dizzying ballroom of mottled things and is in essence the Therefore thinking about whiteness is not “turning away
possibility of getting wounded. Therefore writing which seeks from death to face life,” but rather honing in to focus on “that
to be truthful about life, as long as it does not get snagged by in life which is not yet part of life, or else that which has
foolish temptation, does not look towards purity or all that is already passed beyond life” and thus approaching death. Inside
fair, bright, and without injury, but rather proceeds out onto of thinking about whiteness it is more correct to say that life
the dance floor filled with the wounds of mottled things. This is and death in fact overlap. And so a newborn baby, a body that
the kind of writing that makes up The White Book. has just died, and the mourners who send their loved one away
So why is it not ‘dappled’ or ‘variegated’? Why white?
Because there is more to white than meets the eye. White is
not a color or hue that accompanies yellow or black, red or 1
See: Kandinsky, Concerning the Spritual in Art, Trans. Kwon Yeong-pil,
blue. For the colors from yellow to blue to be possible, there Youlhwadang Publishers, 1986, pp. 81-83; Kim Sang-hwan, Philosophy of
must first be something for those colors to color, something as the Deconstruction Era, Moonji Publications, 1996, pp. 74-85

NOTES ON THE WHITE BOOK
For Her/ Film still

Performance : Han Kang
2016 ⓒ Choi Jinhyuk
all wear white clothing—the newborn gown, the shroud, and

the mourning dress. Life that has already passed, life, which is
as yet approaching, the life that we are now living through—all
of it is held within whiteness.
Again, thinking about whiteness is the search for the white
that always lingers beneath the layers plied onto a painted
canvas that cannot be smothered completely, and from that
whiteness unearthed new colors can be brought forth. Or else
it serves to awaken that which lies dormant beneath a blank
canvas, and as a means of checking that this lack of color does
not present a simple emptiness, it also serves to make both
life and death more abundant. In the end, thinking about
whiteness can become an opportunity for us to actually, truly
want this life, which we have no option but to accept, and go
on living.
When we read The White Book, what is it that the work is
offering to us? It is precisely this opportunity. A Pebble, Salt, Ice / Film still
2016 © Choi Jinhyuk
by Kwon Heecheol
Literary Critic

The White Book

by Han Kang
I
In the spring, when I decided to write about white a short-term lease on an apartment in its capital,
things, the first thing I did was to make a list. and learned to draw out my days in these strange
environs. One night almost two months later,
Swaddling bands when the season’s chill was just beginning to bite,
Newborn gown a migraine set in, viciously familiar, and I washed
Salt down some pills with warm water. And realised
Snow (quite calmly) that hiding would be impossible.
Ice
Moon Now and then, the passage of time seems
Rice acutely apparent. Physical pain always sharpens
Munhakdongne
Publishing Group, 2016 Waves the awareness. The migraines that began when
132 pp. Yulan I was twelve or thirteen swoop down without
White bird warning, bringing agonising stomach cramps
‘Laughing whitely’ that stop daily life in its tracks. Even the smallest
Blank paper task is left suspended as I concentrate on simply
White dog enduring the pain, sensing time’s discrete drops
White hair as razor-sharp gemstones, grazing my fingertips.
Shroud One deep breath drawn in, and this new moment
of life’s on-going takes shape distinct as a bead of
With each item I wrote down, a ripple of a blood. Even once I have stepped back into the
agitation ran through me. I felt that yes, I needed flow, one day melding seamlessly into another,
to write this book, and that the process of writing that sensation remains ever there in that spot,
it would be transformative, would itself transform. waiting, breath held.
Into something like white ointment applied to a Each moment is a leap forwards from the
swelling, like gauze laid over a wound. Something brink of an invisible cliff, where time’s keen edges
I needed. are constantly renewed. With no time for our will
But then, a few days later, running my gaze to arrest or impel, we lift our foot from the solid
down over that list again, I wondered what ground of all our life lived thus far, and take that
meaning might lie in this task, in peering into the perilous step out into the empty air. Not because
heart of these words. we can claim any particular courage, but because
If I rake those words across the heart of me, there is no other way. Now, in this moment, I feel
sentences will shiver out, like the strange, sad that vertiginous thrill course through me. As I
shriek the bow draws from a metal string. Could step recklessly into time I have not yet lived, into
I let myself hide between these sentences, veiled this book I have not yet written.
with white gauze?
This was difficult to answer, so I left the list as Door
it was and put off anything more. I came abroad in This was something that happened a long time
August, to this country I’d never visited before, got ago.

EXCERPT THE WHITE BOOK
Before signing the contract for the lease, I

went to look at the flat again.
Its metal door had once been white, but that
brightness had faded over time. It was a mess
when I saw it, paint flaking off in patches to
reveal the rust beneath. And if that had been all, I
would have remembered it as nothing more than
a scruffy old door. But there was also the way its
number, 301, had been inscribed.
Someone – perhaps another in a long line
of temporary occupants – had used some sharp
implement, maybe a drill bit, to scratch the
number into the door’s surface. I could make out
each individual stroke. 3, itself three hand spans
high. 0, smaller, yet gone over several times, a
fierce scrawl that tugged at your gaze. Finally, 1,
a long deep-gouged line, taut with the effort of
Sealed / Film still
its making. Along this collection of straight and never mind that its pedestal was brown.
curved wounds rust had spread like a vestige of Finally I stepped out into the corridor to paint 2016 © Choi Jinhyuk
violence, like long-dried blood stains, hardened, the front door. With each swish of the brush over
reddish-black. I hold nothing dear. Not the place I the scar-laced surface, its impurities were erased.
live, not the door I pass through every day, not even, Those deep-gouged numbers disappeared, those
damn it, my life. Those numbers were glaring rusted bloodstains vanished. I went back inside
fiercely at me, clenching their teeth tight shut. the apartment to take a break and get warm,
That was the flat I wanted that winter, the flat and when I came back out an hour later I saw the
where I’d chosen to spin out my days. paint had run down. It looked untidy, probably
because I was using a brush rather than a roller.
As soon as I’d unpacked, I bought a tin of After painting an extra layer over the top so the
white paint and a good-sized paintbrush. Neither streaks were less visible, I went back inside to
the kitchen nor the bedroom had been re-papered, wait. Another hour went by before I shuffled out
and their walls were spotted with stains large in my slippers to find that snow had begun to
and small. These dark splotches were especially scatter down. Outside, the alley had darkened;
conspicuous around any electrical switches. the street lights were not yet on. Paint tin in one
Wearing pale grey tracksuit bottoms and an old hand, brush in the other, I stood unmoving, a
white sweater, so the splatters wouldn’t show up dumb witness to the snowflakes’ slow descent, like
too badly. Even before I’d started to paint, I had no hundreds of feathers feathering down.
ambition of achieving a neat, even finish. It would
be enough, I reasoned, just to paint over the stains Translated by Deborah Smith
– surely white splotches are better than dirty ones?
I swept my brush over the ceiling’s large patches, Printed with permission of Portobello Books, London, UK.
where the rain must have seeped through at one
time, watching grey disappear beneath white.
I gave the sink’s grubby interior a wipe with a
flannel before painting it that same bright white,

TRANSLATOR’S ESSAY
The Globalization
of Korean Literature
and the Status Quo
Many translators and publishers were in town last June to attend the Seoul International Book Fair. Deborah Smith, the winner of the
2016 Man Booker International Prize for her translation of Han Kang’s The Vegetarian, visited Seoul on the invitation of LTI Korea as
part of its Translators in Residence program. Smith attended a press conference organized by LTI Korea for her on the first day of the
fair. At the 2016 Forum for the Globalization of Korean Literature held on the last day, she spoke about the success of The Vegetarian
and its significance. Below is an abridged excerpt of her presentation.
How to account for the success of The Vegetarian? reader with a suspenseful plot to pull them through the pages.
In the immediate aftermath of the Man Booker International And there is the portrayal of Yeong-hye herself, a character
Prize, a lot of the reporting speculated on what had led the judges approached through the obliquely intersecting gazes of those
to single out The Vegetarian. But though the MBI has created around her, onto whom they project their own repressed fears
excitement on an unprecedented scale, The Vegetarian’s critical and desires.
and commercial success has been ongoing since its original And yet, even the most astonishing literary accomplishment
publication in 2007. Though never (until now) a bestseller, the is never a guaranteed success. This is all the more so in cases like
book received strong critical acclaim when it first appeared, The Vegetarian’s UK publication—a work of translated fiction,
with its middle section taking home the Yi Sang Literary Award, published in a country where translation accounts for no more
and was already a cult “steady seller” before any of the MBI than four percent of overall publications, written by an author
announcements started having an effect. In addition, by the time whose work had never been published in English outside South
the contract for the English translation was signed the book had Korea itself. This is not the kind of book that will sell itself;
already been published in countries as far afield as Argentina and ensuring the best possible chance of success requires intelligent
Japan, Poland, and Vietnam. This impressive feat was down to marketing and tireless promotion. In the case of The Vegetarian,
the tireless work and connections of Han Kang’s agents, Joseph this extended from the cover design and marketing copy to a
Lee and Barbara Zitwer, and the book’s favorable reception in social media campaign and publicity events. One of the most
these countries was enabled by the skill and dedication of a range distinctive—and significant—features of these first two was
of translators as well as the strength of the original work itself. that the author’s nationality, though not effaced, was also not
Because of course, the most important reason for The foregrounded. It was simply not an issue.
Vegetarian’s unprecedented success is that it is an extraordinarily
powerful work of literature. First, there is Han Kang’s style, What might this mean for the future?
restrained but never indifferent, perfectly calibrated to describe Over the past few years, I’ve heard people involved with South
scenes of extreme violence or sexuality without the least hint Korea’s publishing and translation scene bemoan the lack of a
of sensationalism. Then there is the form she uses, the varying “Korean Murakami.” For me, this has always begged the question
voices and perspectives which combine to create a subtly shaded of what would constitute successful globalization, as well as
triptych of tones and atmospheres, while still providing the what, exactly, is meant by Korean literature. After all, Murakami

Haruki is not “Japanese literature” any more than Han Kang is for a domestic audience and those which may in fact be more
“Korean literature.” Fervent Murakami fans are not, by and large, appreciated abroad), there will be room for a broad spectrum—
spurred on by this passion to read more Japanese literature— from those which will introduce aspects of Korea’s rich culture
they want to read more Murakami. When a writer succeeds and eventful history to international readers, to those which are
on the international stage they become, for that audience, an not set in Korea and do not feature Korean protagonists. Within
international writer. One of the most beautiful things about a few years, Korean literature (and please, let’s not call it “K-lit”)
literature has always been its ability to reveal the flimsiness of could become a byword for originality, artistic quality, formal and
those boxes which we all too often put ourselves or others into— stylistic diversity.
not perhaps to transcend borders, but to show that if there is an But none of this is guaranteed, and will not happen
unintelligibility between countries, it is no more than that which automatically. The Vegetarian has opened the door, but so
exists between any two individuals. did Murakami, yet his success had absolutely no effect on
In considering whether there is a certain type of book contemporary Japanese literature as a whole, which is still sorely
that will be more or less likely to succeed abroad, these ideas under-represented in English. Here, the crucial advantage which
of representativeness or cultural essentialism are definitely gives Korean literature the edge is its funding organizations—
unhelpful, but what seems to be replacing them in the source LTI Korea, the Daesan Foundation, ARKO, and others—
markets, and has always been strong in the target markets, is
equally problematic. These days, “universality” crops up with
alarming frequency in UK-based discussions on translated
fiction—when asked what they look for in a foreign book, editors
(particularly at the bigger publishing houses) have become so
accustomed to providing this stock response that it’s clear they
haven’t really thought about what they mean by “universal
themes,” or whether their idea of universality has in fact been
shaped by their own particular background. From listening
to the examples they cite, you could be forgiven for thinking
that to qualify as universal, a book must feature a white male
protagonist, preferably a university professor or someone of a
similarly elite background, having some kind of mid-life crisis.
In addition to the obvious political / representational issues
with this view, it also seems to stem from a confusion about
the term “universality” itself. Earlier this year, I listened to the
Scottish writer A.L. Kennedy give a talk in which she explained
that universality is not the opposite of specificity, but in fact
proceeds from it, which seemed to me absolutely true. To confuse
universality with generality, the absence of the particular—
in this context, we might think of the absence of the local—
is the kind of thinking that has led the whole notion of “world
literature” to be criticized as encouraging homogenization and
reinforcing lopsided power structures.
There is no doubt that the outsized success of The Vegetarian
has vastly expanded the range of Korean books which publishers
might be willing to take a chance on. Though there will always
be some kinds of books less likely to cross borders (and every
country’s literature needs a balance of books that work best ⓒ David M. Benett/ Dave Benett/ Getty Images

TRANSLATOR’S ESSAY
long-established, generously endowed, staffed by friendly, impressed by the artistic achievement of certain writers, learn
dedicated women and men. The role these organizations play about cultural traditions and contemporary lives. Some will be
is more important now than ever before, if this unprecedented inspired to study a language and become translators themselves.
opportunity to introduce Korean literature to the Anglophone The continued opening up of Korean literature to the world
world is neither to be missed nor left entirely to market forces, will be an organic, holistic process, made up largely of people—
which are concerned neither with the politics of representation writers, translators, publishers—doing what they love, aided and
nor with presenting the full spectrum of literary talent. supported by funders and other organizations. We’re not selling
a product; we’re opening a door. I believe that if we all work
Conclusion together with this common goal in mind, the future of Korean
There’s always a danger, in this kind of discussion, of thinking literature will be very bright indeed.
that what is required is some kind of programmatic action
plan—ten steps to Korean Literature’s World Domination!, like by Deborah Smith
those books about how to get ahead in business. Publishing is a Literary Translator
business, of course, but those of us with a passion for literature Founder and Publisher, Tilted Axis Press
don’t publish in order to make money, we only try and keep our
heads above water for the sake of being able to publish. A state-
sanctioned attempt to increase a nation’s “brand value,” or a
homogenizing push for inclusion in some global canon, will be
entirely at odds with this ethos. Through the books we make
available, there are so many other things we can help make
happen: readers will fall in love with individual characters, be

SPECIAL SECTION
Overview
Ryoo Bo Sun
Fiction by
Cheon Un-yeong, Hwang Jungeun, Kim Un-su, and Kim Young-ha
Poems by
Choi Seung-ja, Kim Hyesoon, Kim Sun-Woo, Moon Chung-hee, and Shin Kyeong-nim

OVERVIEW
The “Docile Body” and “Organs Without a Body”
THE BODY IN
CONTEMPORARY
KOREAN LITERATURE
For a long time Korean literature has both recreated the violence of the body within the
regulation of the symbolic order and dreamed of a different kind of body, one which can
go beyond the regulation of bodies.
1.
The Vegetarian is receiving worldwide interest with its peculiar genealogies that can be traced back within Korean literature.
story about a woman dreaming of becoming a tree, however this It is fascinating to examine the path of imagination in Korean
kind of imagination about the human body is not something that literature with regards to the human body. Such an endeavor
the writer Han Kang has created alone. Rather, it is something provides an opportunity both to locate the outstanding tree that
made by Korean literature in its entirety. The Vegetarian is the is The Vegetarian within the forest of Korean literature, and to
outcome of a unique take on a theme repeated throughout take in a panoramic view of this diverse and expansive forest.
the long history of Korean literature. For a long time Korean
literature has both recreated the violence of the body within 2.
the regulation of the symbolic order and dreamed of a different The current symbolic order does not allow for an individual to
kind of body, one which can go beyond the regulation of bodies. have their own individual body or for the individuality of each
Interest in the human body, therefore, is one of the various body. Without having to quote Michel Foucault, it should suffice

SPECIAL SECTION
to say that in contemporary society bodies that do not fit the a “suicide guide” character in the novel I Have the Right to Destroy
norm are constantly being repressed and rejected. It has already Myself and expressed the depression and strong sense of futility
been a long time, then, since the fall of the human body in the of modern people, this time focuses on a serial killer who has
symbolic order to that of a docile body. Korean literature has lost his memory. Every time he feels embarrassment towards
reflected an interest in the docile body for many someone stronger than himself, he coerces this
decades, but it is the examination of control over other to the extent that they can no longer put
the body, or controlled bodies, expressed from
Another tendency up any resistance, and with this behavior he
the mid-1990s onward that particularly merits in the imagination becomes a habitual murderer. The act of killing
attention. of the body in becoming the means through which he finds his
Over the years there have been two main sole meaning for existence. Diary of a Murderer,
trends in consideration of the human body in
Korean literature through the method of memorization of a serial
Korean literature. One of these is to reproduce is the longing killer, which brings the logic of capitalism to its
the process of the human subject being reduced for a completely extreme, demonstrates in a shocking way just
to a docile body, and examine the way in which how much of a brutal monster the being who
these docile bodies exist. For example the poet different body, has been degenerated into a docile body by the
Shin Kyeong-nim, who was extremely vocal free from symbolic order can become.
in the struggle for political democracy and
regulation or
unification in Korea that took place from the
1970s onwards, in a recent poem titled “Snow,” control. 3.
compares the body to a “dark and stifling prison.” Another tendency in the imagination of the body
Choi Seung-ja, who has a strong sense of historical philosophy in Korean literature is the longing for a completely different
in which, beneath the weight of the patriarchal order, women body, free from regulation or control. In such works we find
have been living as bodies even more systematically regulated— a belief that the human body must not be regulated by the
expressed both a strong will to escape from the controlled body symbolic order, and indeed that such regulation is impossible.
and the process by which this is denied in “For the Second Time Such works incite the potential of an individualized body to turn
in Thirty-Three Years.” Through the frustrated attempt at escape expectations upside down, or else express “organs without a
described in this poem Choi hints at how solid the wall of the body” that search for the light of truth in the impulses felt by a
symbolic order is which constrains and confines women. single body part.
Hwang Jungeun, who depicts the current sadist symbolic The writers leading this trend in Korean literature today tend
order with a masochistic cheerfulness, describes in detail in the to be female. This is probably because, unlike most male writers,
short story “The Seven Thirty-Two Elephant Train” the physical their bodies are different from the masculine body as emphasized
and linguistic violence committed against an individual in order in the patriarchal symbolic order. By actively expressing
to restrain a person as a docile body. In “The Third Breast,” Cheon the experiences of their bodies, or—taking it further—the
Un-yeong, who often writes about characters that reject the body sensations of a particular part of their bodies, female writers
as emphasized by the symbolic order and instead seek after an express a completely new language of the body. For example,
individualized beauty of the body, focuses on the cruelty of docile in the poem “Person Crafted Out of Water” Kim Sun-Woo, who
bodies. For the narrator in this short story the greatest happiness places high value on the potential for digression inherent in the
of his life is being with a woman who has a unique body, but the female body, focuses on female menstruation and hints that as
moment she tries to leave him he turns on her, committing a beings who menstruate, women, or “people crafted out of water,”
brutal murder. In this story we encounter the terrifying nature have quenched the dry desolation of the world. In “Memories of
of the being groomed as a docile body and the way in which it Giving Birth to a Daughter,” Kim Hyesoon, who has relentlessly
can transform in the blink of an eye, to enact great cruelty when brought back the history of womankind concealed by patriarchy,
faced with an other who stands outside of the symbolic order. In focuses on the agony of childbirth, and in that agony remembers
a similar vein, in Diary of a Murderer, Kim Young-ha, who created the maternal line of genealogy which is hidden by the paternal

OVERVIEW
bloodline. In a poem titled “Spuds,” Moon Chung-hee, who the world does not simply stop at The Vegetarian, but grows and
believes that female beings who cry together with the pain of matures into interest in Korean literature in its entirety.
others are the doors through which humanity will walk into the
future, actively praises “a woman the size of a clay pot” who hides by Ryoo Bo Sun
a man, who is being chased by a soldier with a gun, in her “skirt,” Literary Critic
and credits this female body with bringing about a world filled Professor of Korean Literature
with laughter. Kunsan National University
At the same time there are also works which dream of
becoming an utterly different kind of body, one that can
transgress the symbolic order completely. Works such as
Lee Seung-U’s The Private Life of Plants and Han Kang’s The
Vegetarian, which have already been translated into various
languages and have come to represent Korean literature,
receiving acclaim across the world, fall into this category. The
protagonists of these works reject the body which endangers the
natural environment to sustain itself, and dream of becoming
non-human, or to put it more precisely, becoming plants. Also
in Kim Un-su’s Cabinet, which displays a peculiar “mutant
showroom” imagination, we meet a “man with a ginkgo tree
growing out of his little finger.” Instead of removing the ginkgo
tree to protect his body he chooses to become part of the tree
in order to let it grow. Through this kind of “ginkgo tree man,”
Cabinet rejects the idea of the human body as standing atop the
apex of the natural order destroying nature and instead aspires
to a body that exists in the living natural ecosystem.
4.
With the announcement of Han Kang’s The Vegetarian as the
2016 Man Booker International Prize winner it seems as if
people all over the world are taking more interest in Korean
literature now than ever before. While this attention is welcome,
it also feels somewhat belated. The potential of Korean literature
is substantial. Serious literary excavation of the catastrophic
situation that the human race is faced with is being carried out at
least as fiercely in Korean literature as it is anywhere else in the
world, with challenging and exciting works being published one
after another. The Vegetarian is a good example of this. However
Han Kang’s novel is not only a single work of Korean literature,
but rather one of many—something that has taken inspiration
from numerous other works of Korean literature. This means,
therefore, that the history of Korean literature does not begin
and end with The Vegetarian. There are many comparable works
lined up waiting for the intrepid reader, and so I very much
hope that the interest in Korean literature currently sweeping

SPECIAL SECTION
Snow
On the day my body ends its stay on earth
ⓒ Han Young Hee

I will race out at full speed
from the body that held me captive
from the dark and stifling prison.
Stick to a tree and become a leaf

hang from a branch and become a flower, then
seep into the ground as water and soar in midair as wind.
I’ll be a bird and fly up to the Big Dipper, to Scorpio,
and into air scatter whitely in powdered silver. Shin Kyeong-nim is a
poet and Endowed Chair
Professor at Dongguk
I will not be sad. Even if my dreams in this world
University. He has won
leave nothing on earth but the trace of a tear prestigious awards such
even if in the end, whatever those dreams were as the Manhae Literature
is all forgotten when the time comes. Prize, the Daesan Literary
Award, and the Ho-
Am Prize for the Arts.
Translated by Sophie Bowman
The Swedish Institute
awarded him the Cikada
Prize in 2007. The French
edition of Dreams of
the Fallen (Le Rêve d’un
homme abattu: Choix de
poèmes) was published
by Éditions Gallimard.

EXCERPTS
For the Second Time in

Thirty-Three Years
For the second time in thirty-three years
I resolve to escape from myself.
First I detach my head
place it on a shelf.
Take off my arms and feet
put them on my desk and
detach my torso, seat it on a chair.
Using only my creaky knees, I steal away furtively
and start a desperate run.
I run on and on and run some more Choi Seung-ja has
published eight poetry
when I can run no longer
collections. The English
when I want to be still, to rest
edition of Portrait of
someone walks ahead of me. a Suburbanite: Poems
I run to them seeking pity. of Choi Seung-ja was
Let me rest in your arms awhile, published in 2015 as part
and, if only I could, of the Cornell University
East Asia Series. She has
softly, as air escapes a balloon
translated the works
softly, let me die in those arms.
of Paul Auster, David
They walk off pretending not to hear. Fontana, Max Picard,
I beg them again for pity and Edna St. Vincent Millay,
at last, reluctant, as though it’s bothersome Richard Brautigan, May
when they turn to look back at me Sarton, and Friedrich
Nietzsche.
There it is......
my own crumpled face.

SPECIAL SECTION
The Seven Thirty-Two

Elephant Train
Passi’s uncle had a gentle voice and face, but he did Passi was mimicking someone. My face went
cruel things when no one was watching. He was cold when I heard that voice. I had never heard
a cruel man. Passi barely moved his lips when he Passi speak in such a voice. There was something
uttered those words. sticky to the tone. I thought of the time when I had
Did he beat you? With his fist or a tool? I asked touched a freshly painted wall. I took my palm off
him. the wall, and a thick layer of enamel paint came
Passi rocked his body back and forth. It was a off with it, like skin. I washed my hands using all
more subtle form of abuse, he said. Verbal abuse kinds of cleansers, but the paint wouldn’t come off
that conveyed a physical form. Malicious acts. completely. I felt as if I were looking at the paint.
Unpleasant contact. For instance, when he was Passi took his fingers off his ear, and rubbed his
talking to you, he would always pull your upper ear. flushed ears with his hand.
Like this. Passi pulled the top part of his ear with a My uncle said ordinary things in the same way.
thumb and an index finger. His muscles tightened, When he did, there was always saliva on his lips,
and the right side of his face flattened out subtly. A and the lips touched my ear. Over and over. Have
kid has a thin neck, so when you pull his ear up like your ears ever been bruised?
this, his head tilts right away. Then you yell into his I replied that I didn’t remember.
ear. Ears are a little different from other body parts,
Again! Again! You, little, bastard, you spilled, and aren’t easily bruised. I once tried to bruise my
your food, again! Pick it up, and eat it, before I rip own ear, but it didn’t work. But whenever my uncle
that thing off! touched my ear, it always got bruised.

EXCERPTS
Didn’t his wife say anything? see from both sides at the same time means that
She didn’t say anything. I don’t think she knew. you lose your sense of balance. You can’t keep your
Maybe she was pretending she didn’t know. Anyway, distance from the cruel scenes inside you. Even
she worked and came home late in the evening. after I began living with my aunt, I went to see that
She was nice on the surface, but she wouldn’t let house several times. I stood at a corner, looking at
us cross a certain line. And there was something the house, and pictured cruel things. An intruder
about my uncle’s cruelty that couldn’t be explained attacking my uncle and his wife and slashing them
to others. What he enjoyed the most was to make to death. That’s me. That’s me. I thought this
us stand in a room. He would make us stand there hundreds of times. I’ll simulate it perfectly and Hwang Jungeun has
and pile verbal abuse on us, pull our ears or wave go in when I’m ready, I’d tell myself. It was like written three novels
and two short story
something sharp, like a pencil, before our eyes. For throwing darts. You take a dart in your hand, glare
collections. She has won
hours on end. He would go get a drink of water or at the target, get a hold of the concentric circles of
several literary awards
go to the bathroom in between, and always come the target in your mind, and when you’re confident, such as the Hankook Ilbo
back to where we were and say awful things to us. you throw the dart. I would picture detailed scenes Literary Award, the Lee
We stood there. How do you explain something and their order over and over, then return home Hyo-seok Literary Award,
like that to others? Uncle makes us stand there to my aunt’s, having worn myself out. I waited. and the Daesan Literary
Award. Her novel One
and hurls abuse at us—like that? Listening to him For my thoughts to develop naturally so that I’d
Hundred Shadows is set
say those awful things, I felt as if the structure of think that I wanted to kill him, that I had to kill
to be published by Tilted
my body were gradually getting bent out of shape, him, that it was all right to kill him. But then he Axis this October.
becoming different. My head turned into an arm, really died. My uncle. On a freeway. He was crushed
an arm into a leg, an arm into my head, my back under a dump truck. My aunt took my brother and
into my stomach, and my stomach into my back. me to the funeral. Girin was eleven, but everyone
I thought with a leg and with a finger. I thought it thought that he was a mute. My aunt stood with
was strange and painful but I couldn’t tell anyone us before the portrait of my uncle and said we had
else about it. There was no way to explain why it felt to forgive him. He had gone wrong because of our
strange and painful. Maybe I was too young. grandfather, so it wasn’t entirely his fault, was what
Passi had his head kicked during his last she meant. She wept. I could no longer understand
summer at the house. His uncle’s big toe dug deep what she was saying. I was looking at the dart that
into his right eye. After the incident, Passi and had fallen to the floor. Because my uncle had died
his brother were sent to live with their maternal suddenly, the dart had lost its target and fallen to
aunt. It took a long time for Passi’s right cornea to the floor. For a long, long time, I stared at the hard,
heal. He still had his vision, weak though it was, red body of the dart, which remained on the floor
but he developed severe corneal opacity. He said without disappearing, full of energy. This happened
From the short story
that when he closed his left eye and saw the world long ago.
collection The Seven
through only his right eye, everything seemed
Thirty-Two Elephant
to be steaming. Face. Faces. Street. Streets. Tree. pp. 72–75
Train, Munhakdongne
Trees. Light. Lights. The world of my right eye grew Publishing Group
Translated by Jung Yewon
distant. I lost my sense of depth. Not being able to 2014, 293 pp.

SPECIAL SECTION
The Third can see Venus’s third breast if you closely examine
her statue at the Louvre. It’s barely a bud without a
Breast nipple, but you said that it was clearly visible near
the armpit above her right breast. When I didn’t
believe you, you brought a book that had the story in
Do you remember how I unwittingly pinched your it and showed it to me.
nipple when I first scooped up your breasts? You let “It’s like a tailbone—the trace now extinct,
out a short shriek and laughed loudly as you wrapped though it surely existed a long time ago when
Cheon Un-yeong’s your hands around my face. humans gave birth to more than two babies. I guess
books have been “Men usually touch it with their tongues first. I haven’t fully evolved. Still, I like this third breast—
published in Chinese,
Don’t you think you’re a little strange?” you asked even Venus had one.”
Japanese, French, and
me, pausing your laughter for a second. For some You were so proud of your third breast. I glanced
Russian. She was invited
to the Saint-Louis Literary reason, your words made me feel smug. You kept through the book while listening to you. The book
Festival after the French giggling and left your breasts to me. I felt a tightly was a sort of general knowledge encyclopedia that
edition of her book closed door gently open at the sound of your covered sundry topics in separate sections. Among
Farewell, Circus! (Adieu le laughter. Warm memories, confined behind the them, I was most interested in the section about
cirque!) was published
closed door, walked out. I wanted to keep playing the mysteries of the human body. It was fun to
by Serge Safran Éditeur
with your breasts as I had done a long time ago with read, with the chapters on the human eye, shoulder,
in 2013. She stayed in
Malaga, Spain in 2013 as my grandma’s bosom. and buttocks all carrying interesting photographs.
part of LTI Korea’s writing Your breasts are not that pretty—I mean, at While glancing through pictures of women with
residency program. She least not according to generally accepted standards. their breasts exposed, I stopped at the words “third
will stay at the Residencia You told me the most beautiful breasts were firm, breast.” As you said, the chapter listed names of
De Estudiantes in Madrid,
cone-shaped ones, around size 30B, with about people who had a third breast. It also mentioned
Spain later this year.
a four-inch difference between upper and under the story about Venus de Milo. You might’ve read
bust measurements, the nipples facing away from the following explanation as well: the third breast
each other like two sisters who don’t get along. The became grounds for accusing women of witchcraft
line connecting the collarbones and nipples should during the Middle Ages, and witch hunters would
make an equilateral triangle, and the areola should search every inch of the body for a hidden third
be less than half an inch in circumference. Your breast. The book also said that people believed
breasts are more bowl-shaped than cone, and they witches had more than two nipples with which they
are 28A, which is a little small. Your collarbones and would fed their errand boys. But of course, you’d
nipples do not make an equilateral triangle, you see. love that, not because it was a trace of the wild but
Nevertheless, you have something else that is not because it was the mark of a witch.
usually seen on other people—a third breast. That’s A witch’s errand boy—as soon as I read those
what you called the small bump on the edge of your words, I thought it would be fine for me to put my
areola. head on your chest and my mouth on your nipple
I thought you had made up the name, but you like a child. If what came out of the third breast was
told me it was the official term, and listed names of witch’s milk, becoming an errand boy didn’t sound
famous women who had more than two breasts. You too bad. As a witch’s errand boy, I would have to find
mentioned the name of a Roman emperor’s mother prey or ingredients for magic. In the meantime, I’d
and the name of a woman who was the wife of Henry probably get to pick up magic.
From the short story
collection Myoungrang
VIII. I don’t remember exactly who now, though. pp. 137–139
Moonji Publications Among the many names you listed, the only one
2014, 277 pp. I recognized was the Venus de Milo. They say you Translated by Ally Hwang

EXCERPTS
Diary of you think would happen? Wouldn’t the train and the
freight pile up at the point where the tracks stop?
a Murderer And it would be chaos wouldn’t it? Sir, this is exactly

what’s happening inside your head right now.”
*
I killed people regularly for thirty years. I was really I remember an old lady I met in the poetry
diligent back then. Now the statute of limitations class. She told me that in the past—she emphasized
has passed for them all and I can even go on about this part—she had had a lot of love affairs. She
them anywhere. If this was America I could probably said, I don’t regret it. When you get old, they’re all The English editions of
publish a memoir. People would attack me. Let them, memories. Whenever I’m bored I think about each of Kim Young-ha’s I Have
the Right to Destroy
if they want. It’s not like I have many days left. If the men I slept with.
Myself, Your Republic Is
I think about it, I’m a pretty tough one. After all I’m living just like that old lady. I recall each
Calling You, and Black
those killings, I stopped cold. I felt like, well, like a of the people that have died at my hands. Now Flower were published
boatman who’d just sold his boat or a mercenary that I think about it there was a movie about that. by Houghton Mifflin
who’d just retired. I can’t say for sure, but there must Memories of a Murder. Harcourt, who will also
have been guys in the Korean War or the Vietnam * publish his latest book in
2017. Kim was a resident
War who killed more people than me. Do you think I believe in zombies. There’s no reason why
writer at the University
they’re all losing sleep over it? I don’t think so. Guilt something you can’t see doesn’t exist. I often watch
of Iowa’s International
is fundamentally a weak emotion. Fear, anger, or zombie movies. I once kept an axe in my bedroom. Writing Program in 2003,
jealousy is much stronger. In the grips of fear or When Eunhui asked why I kept an axe there, I said and a contributing op-ed
anger, you won’t fall asleep. When I watch a movie it was because of zombies. Axes work best on dead writer for The New York
or TV show with someone unable to sleep because of people. Times from 2013 to 2014.
His books have appeared
guilt, I laugh. What are these writers who don’t know *
in more than twelve
a thing about life trying to say? The worst thing in the world is to be murdered.
languages.
That’s the one thing that I won’t let happen to me.
... *
I hid the syringe in the sewing kit near my head.
One of my walls is covered with notes. They are A lethal dose of pentobarbital sodium. It’s a drug
notes of various colors that stay on the wall when you used to put cows and pigs to sleep. I’m thinking of
stick them on, and though I don’t know where they using it on myself when I get to the point where I’m
came from, they’re all over the house. Eunhui might smearing my shit across the walls. I can’t let it go
have bought them to help me remember. These notes that far.
have a special name, but I can’t remember what that *
is right now. After the north wall was covered with I’m afraid. Frankly, I’m kind of afraid.
these notes, now the wall facing west is plastered I’ll read a sutra.
with them, but they’re no good. They’re notes I don’t
understand, notes I don’t remember why I stuck pp. 44–47
there in the first place. Like the one saying “You must
tell Eunhui.” What was I supposed to tell her? Each Translated by Krys Lee
of the notes are like distant stars in the universe to
me. Nothing seems to connect them to each other.
Diary of a Murderer
There, there’s also one that the doctor wrote for me: Munhakdongne
“Imagine it like a freight car hurtling forward Publishing Group
without knowing the rails are cut off ahead. What do 2013, 176 pp.

SPECIAL SECTION
Person Crafted Out of Water
When that time of month comes near

my body exudes the scent of the sea
From inside a deep well a gyesu tree flows out

and a pair of snails that made love flows out
and curling its wings that will turn to ash a firebird flows out
the feet of all the things which flow out of me
are always imbued a little with the salty scent of the sea
The musk of mother’s body when her lap was a pillow Kim Sun-Woo is a
poet, novelist, and
every night when I could smell only the soft sea brine,
essayist. She has won
why with such unquenchable thirst the acacias on the low mountain
the Hyundae Literary
waved their skeins of white flowers, Award and the Cheon
why a desert shoal of fish, their green backs sparkling Sang-byeong Poetry
swam toward me like a waterfall across the night sky Award. Her poems were
published in the 2015
winter issue of Mānoa:
I think I know now, mother is a person crafted out of water
A Pacific Journal of
those old stories, how in a year of severe drought
International Writing.
on white cotton the red, menstrual smudge vivid on a rag Her book Falling Asleep
was made into a flag, offered up as a rainmaker, under a Peach Blossom
I think I know them now, (Unter Pfirsichblüten
making rain with the juices scooped from their insides eingeschlafen) has been
translated into German.
my mother’s mother’s mothers’ stories
When that time of month comes near

the moon is filled with the scent of the sea

EXCERPTS
Memories of Giving Birth to a Daughter

-in p’ansori narrative
I open a mirror and enter,

mother is inside a mirror, sitting.
I open a mirror and enter again,
grandmother is inside a mirror, sitting.
I push aside this grandmother mirror and step over a doorsill,
great grandmother is inside a mirror, laughing.
I place my head inside great grandmother’s laughing lips,
great-great grandmother, younger than me
turns around inside a mirror, sitting.
I open this mirror and enter, Kim Hyesoon is a poet
enter, and and professor of creative
writing at the Seoul
enter again.
Institute of the Arts.
All the ancestral mothers are sitting She has written twelve
inside a darkening mirror, poetry collections, out of
and these mothers mutter and call in my direction, which Poor Love Machine;
“Mommy, Mommy.” Sorrowtoothpaste
Their mouths pucker, crying for milk, Mirrorcream; All the
Garbage of the World,
but my breasts have no milk, and someone
Unite!; Mommy Must Be a
keeps pumping wind into Fountain of Feathers; and
my intestines. I’m Ok, I’m Pig! have been
My stomach grows bigger than a balloon, published in English. Her
blows here and there above the sea. poetry has been featured
It is so wide, wide inside the mirror and reviewed in The
Independent, Guernica,
that I can’t even catch one blade of straw,
Mānoa, The Margins,
and sometimes lightning passes through my body. World Literature Today,
Every time I dive into the sea and Po&sie.
a row of mothers’ shoes dissolve
on the sea’s bottom.
A bolt of lightning!
Power’s off! A blackout!
Suddenly, all the mirrors shatter in front of me,
and one mother is vomited out.
People in white, wearing gloves
collect the bits of mirror and hold up a small mother
smeared in blood with eyes still shut—
mother of all my mothers—
and say, “It’s a ten-fingered princess!”
Translated by Don Mee Choi

SPECIAL SECTION
Spuds
In a wide, empty potato field

sat a woman the size of a clay pot.
Hungry from digging potatoes
she sat atop the potato pile
roasting potatoes to eat alone.
From far off a man, like a water deer
bounded over.
I’m chased, I’m chased, hide me, he said.
Potato in hand, hurriedly Moon Chung-hee is a

the woman gestured below. poet and Endowed Chair
Professor at Dongguk
The water deer went inside her skirt.
University. She has won
The two became a large clay pot. prestigious awards such
as the Sowol Poetry
Gun in hand a soldier ran over. Award, the Chong Chi-
Potato in hand, hurriedly Yong Literature Prize,
the woman gestured far off. the Mogwol Literature
Prize, and Sweden’s
The soldier disappeared to a far off place
Cikada Prize. She has
and the woman still seated wobbled. participated in the
The mountain tottered. International Writing
The potato was stuffed into her mouth. Program at the University
The potato field surged with flame. of Iowa. English editions
of her books include
Windflower, Woman on
Day by day the woman grew fatter.
the Terrace, and I Must Be
As big as a manure heap. the Wind.
As big as a house.
Finally, she bore potatoes.
Bore one after another for a thousand years.
Our Earth filled with potatoes.
The potatoes, looking alike, thought each other funny
and laughed every day.
What was the soldier, gun in hand, where did he go?

The potatoes wondered sometimes.

EXCERPTS
Ginkgo Tree
But after three years, the Ginkgo tree suddenly the man’s body, and there was no telling what that
started to grow with frightening speed, remarkable meant for him. The roots already run all the way
considering its slow progress in the first three years. down to his wrist, and he had next to no movement
The pea-sized tree grew to the size of a chestnut in a in his left hand. But he was completely oblivious to
mere month, and an orange in two months. On the our worries and driveled on about his plans for the
third month, it was the size of a watermelon. tree.
“It’s awesome! It grew so much this month, too. “Maybe I should just let it all out in the open
I think the manure really helped. A little smelly, and raise it proudly. It’ll be a little trying, but that’s
though. Ha ha. Anyway, I’m glad the tree is growing the only way I can have some semblance of a social
well, but I’d hate to draw attention to myself life and still keep my tree. By the way, they have
because of this. What if I end up on TV? What if Ginkgo tree experts at the Korea Forest Service,
people crowd me and demand to see my tree? I can’t no? I have so many questions. How much sunlight
stand a racket. It can’t be good for the tree, either.” does the tree need? I hear Ginkgoes have male and
But that was the least of our worries. We were female trees. How does the pollination work? Does
worried about his health. It goes without saying the wind take care of everything, or do they need
that the only source of nutrients for the tree was the help of bees and butterflies? ‘Cause I hate bees.

SPECIAL SECTION
ⓒ Dahuim, Paik
Butterflies are okay, though.” The tree is well. I am also well. I think the time has
come for the tree to lay roots in the ground. I’ll have to
As time went on, the man shriveled. He kept go deeper into the woods. Once the Ginkgo tree goes
losing weight until he went from chubby to scrawny. into the ground, I won’t be able to write anymore. But
His face was jaundiced, and his entire left arm was things will be just fine as they’ve always been. Thank
paralyzed. His digestive system started to fail him— you for planting a life in my body. Don’t worry about a
he couldn’t hold anything down. We implored him thing. I am happier than I have ever been in any life I
to consider the only option he had: to have the tree have ever lived.
surgically removed by taking out a part of his finger Kim Un-su has written
three novels and one
and digging the roots out of his arm. The way things I don’t have a Ginkgo tree growing on me, so
short story collection. He
were going, he was sure to die soon. But he politely I don’t know how a monstrous tree that feeds on
won the Munhakdongne
declined and put his affairs in order like someone human blood like a vampire can make anybody Novel Award in 2006.
on his way out. happy. But he said he was happy. If he hasn’t died His books have been
“Has he lost his mind?” cried his agitated wife. yet, he’ll be living somewhere deep in the Jiri translated into French,
“It’s not like he’s got a new woman! He’s throwing Mountain woods with the Ginkgo. If he lives on, Japanese, and Chinese.
He was invited to the
everything away—his life, his family!—and for it will be thanks to the tree. He will hang onto the
Saint-Louis Literary
what? A Ginkgo tree! Tell him to repot the tree in a tree, now bigger than he, like a leaf or a fruit, and
Festival and the
pot if he loves it so much.” From her point of view, live on the nutrients the tree draws up from deep French literary festival,
this whole affair was unconscionable. I agreed. But within the earth. “Meeting.”
his closures were irrevocable, quick, and simple. He The Ginkgo tree has been around for 350 million
transferred ownership of the stationery store and years. They lived through the dinosaur age and
the house to his wife, and left. He called us at the survived the ice age. Their average life expectancy is
bus terminal. “I’m leaving now,” he said. “Thank you anywhere from a hundred to a thousand years. The
for everything.” It was a simple message. He didn’t Ginkgo tree will raise him now.
mention where he was going. I sometimes wonder if he has turned into a tree,
his body stretched out to become roots, branches,
I’ve heard that some plants only grow on and leaves. I wonder if he’s fluttering in the wind
carcasses. But I’ve never heard of trees that grow on high up on a branch, quietly looking down at our
organisms that are still alive. What happened there? messy, inconsequential lives below.
Why did that Ginkgo tree choose human flesh and
veins over the sacred and fertile soil endowed with pp. 40–43
the blessings of Mother Nature? What an enigma.
Translated by Jamie Chang
He sometimes wrote us. He was living in a hut
From the novel Cabinet
on Songni Mountain at one point, and in Taebaek
Munhakdongne
Mountain at another. We couldn’t tell how he was
Publishing Group
able to feed himself and stay hidden from the rest of 2006, 391 pp.
the world. His last letter came from Jiri Mountain.

Q&A
A Conversation with
Ethan Nosowsky
of Graywolf Press
Ethan Nosowsky, Editorial Director at Graywolf Press,
visited Korea in June for the Seoul International Book
Fair. Though small in size, Graywolf is widely known for
its list of award-winning writers and experimental yet
trendsetting works. It is set to publish its first Korean book,
The Impossible Fairy Tale by Han Yujoo, in 2017. Nosowsky
shares his thoughts about Han’s book, about literature in
translation, and about books that interest him.
LTI Korea: What brought you to Seoul? Literature Festival in India. As you might imagine, we have no
editors on staff who read Korean, so when Kelly submitted a
Ethan Nosowsky: Graywolf is an enthusiastic publisher of sample translation and a detailed synopsis, we commissioned
translated literature, which occupies a significant portion of two experts to report on the book for us. The reports were
our list. And although we have published poetry by two Chinese stellar and the sample translation was intriguing. The voice in
authors, Han Yujoo’s The Impossible Fairy Tale is the first work the sample pages was extraordinary, and while the story was
of fiction we’ve published from Asia. This is a shortcoming of chilling and disturbing, we thought it was very powerful. I
ours, and we hope to remedy it. After we acquired Ms. Han’s should say that we were initially a little concerned about the
novel, LTI Korea offered Graywolf a generous translation and metafictional turn that the story takes in the second half.
publication subsidy for The Impossible Fairy Tale and extended This has in some ways become a well-worn trope in Western
an invitation to me to visit publishers and writers in Seoul. I literature, but we agreed that Ms. Han had done something very
thought it would be ideal to visit during the Book Festival, and organic and original with it. In the end, we felt this debut novel
I’m so grateful for this opportunity. presented us with an opportunity to collaborate with an author
at the beginning of a promising career.
LTI Korea: What made you decide to publish The Impossible
Fairy Tale? LTI Korea: Can you share your decision-making process of
publishing a book?
EN: Graywolf’s publisher, Fiona McCrae, first heard about
the novel from Ms. Han’s agent, Kelly Falconer, at the Jaipur EN: There are five editors at Graywolf, and when one of us finds

Q&A
a manuscript that he or she is interested in acquiring, we share are interesting and I can feel a real intelligence at work behind
it with the entire editorial team to solicit feedback and measure them. The fiction we publish at Graywolf is always literary but
enthusiasm. This is a fairly informal process, and it doesn’t runs the gamut from fairly conventional psychological realism
at all amount to the formal acquisitions meetings that are to pretty far out formal or linguistic experimentation. Mostly
common at the bigger houses. We ask ourselves I just don’t want to be bored. I like books that
a series of questions: Is the book distinctive teach you how to read them. Books that set
and singular? Do we have a vision for how we their own terms and build their own world. Han
would approach the publication? Do we think we The fiction Yujoo’s The Impossible Fairy Tale did all of that.
bring something to the table that another house we publish at It’s not like anything else I’ve read.
couldn’t? And finally: Could we live without it?
Our lists our very full, so we have been setting a Graywolf is LTI Korea: What do you think is the most
higher and higher bar for our acquisitions. We’re always literary essential element for Korean literature or any
a small company and we want to feel completely literature in translation to be widely read in the
but runs the
enthusiastic about a book when we decide to US?
publish it. gamut from fairly
conventional EN: A distinctive sensibility paired with a
LTI Korea: Do you think it is a good time for powerful and original voice would certainly
psychological
Korean literature to step into the US market? be a sweet spot for publishers like Graywolf.
realism to pretty Additionally, we’re less interested in books
EN: I don’t think there’s ever been a far out formal that mimic or reflect existing trends in our own
better time. First of all, a number of new literature. Obviously it’s necessary that a story
independent presses in the United States have
or linguistic be “legible” to an American audience in order
begun publishing international literature experimentation. to work there, but telling us something that we
unapologetically and with renewed vitality. don’t already know has enormous value. Beyond
Along with a newly reinvigorated independent that, I don’t think we are all that different in the
bookselling community they are finding a end: If you’re telling a human story well, about
receptive readership for stories that are not simply reflections what it’s like to be alive in the world—in your world—today, it
of the American experience. has the potential to resonate broadly.
Translation is never easy. Because editors often can’t
read the languages of the books that are submitted, it makes LTI Korea: How did you come to know about LTI Korea and
them inherently more conservative about taking a chance on what do you think about the work we do here?
something. This can be especially so when there are cultural
differences that might not travel very well into a new language. EN: I believe it was Han Yujoo’s agent who first told us that
But I think that reticence is lessening. funds might be available that would contribute to the cost
As all of you likely know, Han Kang’s The Vegetarian, which of our translation. I can’t tell you how valuable the work
has just won the Man Booker International Prize, has been met of organizations like LTI Korea is to American and British
with rapturous reviews in both the US and the UK. Its success, publishers. There are many barriers of entry to foreign markets,
following the warm reception of other Korean authors such as even more so with a language that is not widely read in the
Shin Kyung-sook, are certainly convincing some publishers that West. The more that LTI Korea does to erase those barriers—
these books can work. with sample translations, dossiers that describe a book and its
reception in detail, funds to lower publication costs—the easier
LTI Korea: What kind of story are you looking for as an editor? it will be for English-language publishers to take a chance on
new work.
EN: I’ll read just about any kind of story as long as the sentences

EXCERPTS
Life Unperturbed Eun Heekyung 38
To Dream of a Mountain Park Wansuh 42
Whisper of Splendor Chong Hyon-jong 46
Seven Years of Darkness Jeong You Jeong 52
The Wizard Bakery Gu Byeong-mo 56
The Korean Table Korean Cuisine and Dining Production Team, KBS 60

EXCERPTS
Life Unperturbed shot through his heart. The powerful light which emanated from
her reached him in a flash and gripped his feet.
by Eun Heekyung This took place at a bus stop in front of a university. Liu’s
father, of course, got on the bus after her, regardless of the
direction of his home. That was the day Liu’s parents first met.
The two were attending the same university. Liu’s mother
was a senior and her father was a year behind. That didn’t matter
so much. What mattered was that her mother had a boyfriend.
Her mother was a romantic who wouldn’t easily have a change
of heart. That only added fuel to the fierce flame with which
her father was seized. His desire flared up like a forest fire.
Immediately he began his persistent efforts to win her heart,
armed with all his romantic temperament and reckless action.
The entire school was able to witness her father chasing after
her mother, and he was always laughing and reeling as if drunk.
Changbi Publishers, 2012, 268 pp.
He was possessed like a sleepwalker, and blind like a sightless
For publication inquiries,
man. The results were gratifying. He was accepted not only by
please contact us at
koreanlitnow@klti.or.kr Liu’s mother but by her parents as well, and the two became
engaged. Liu’s father, however, failed to find a job even a year
after her mother had graduated and was hired as a secretary at a
foreign-affiliated firm. He couldn’t ask his family for help, either.
Liu’s Narrative Liu’s mother made persistent efforts to persuade her parents
to let them go study abroad together, and was finally granted
On a spring day long ago, Liu’s father saw the most beautiful permission. Flying for the first time in her life in an airplane
woman in the world. several days after the wedding, she looked down through the
She was talking on the phone, leaning against the glass of a window at the clouds beneath her feet, and felt that she was at
phone booth. Slight of frame, she was wearing a pale green polka the pinnacle of her life. The two encouraged each other, wishing
dot dress with a white sweater. She was holding the receiver to the other success in their future days as a poor couple studying
her ear with one hand, and her face, fair and transparent, was abroad, and felt intoxicated by the fulfillment of their love. That
tilted to one side. She was carrying books and notebooks under was when they decided to name their future child Liu. And that
her arm. Her long-lashed eyes looked into the distance as if was the end of the lyrical epoch allowed to Liu’s parents. Many
dreaming, and her lips were lustrous as rose petals. Her chin, things changed after that.
which looked as if it had been chiseled out of ivory, was lifted She asked her mother later on why they had named her Liu.
slightly, rendering her neckline even more graceful. Her cheeks Her mother replied by asking what could be a better name to
were flushed peach, and whenever she spoke, her black bob come up with inside an airplane than one that meant “flow?” She
bounced slightly over them. Liu’s father could not take his eyes told her about the relationship between the airflow and the force
off the movements of those eyes and cheeks and lips. Listening that made an airplane rise. When the airflow above is fast, the
to the person on the other end, she raised the toe of her brown wings grow light, and the force below lifts them up. When young
shoe and tapped the floor lightly with the heel. Her hair spilled Liu had difficulty understanding, her mother said: What flows fast
over her bent face, revealing the small, round bones at the back of becomes light. If you want to fly, Liu, you have to be fast. If you run
her neck. Suddenly, her movements stopped. The next moment, with all your strength, you soar all of a sudden. You can go anywhere
her expression stiffened—then when she smiled quietly, and from that point. But when you stop, you drop right down. Around
when the smile spread out and the phone booth suddenly lit up that time, her mother had already become cynical about life. And
as if spring sunshine had shone through, a high-voltage shiver always somewhat unequivocal, as far as she remembered.

FICTION
Her father’s answer was different. He said that her name

came from an operatic aria titled “Don’t Cry, Liu!” Liu is the name
of a slave girl who is swept off her feet by a smile she catches
from a prince on the one and only beautiful spring day of her life.
The prince, in love with an icy princess of a foreign land, is about
to plunge into danger to pursue his love. Unable to dissuade him,
Liu stabs her own heart with a dagger to save the one she loves.
Moved by Liu’s devotion, the princess of the foreign land accepts
the prince at last. Liu gifts her life to the man she loves so that
he can be with another woman. Why did Liu’s father name his
daughter after such a tragically fated slave? Was it because it was
easy for him to empathize with the dramatic sentiment of fate?
It didn’t matter who was telling the truth, her mother or
her father. Perhaps both answers were true in part. Everyone
remembers the past with their own revisions. They each have
their grounds, and often, even witnesses with their own versions
would appear. In any case, the different explanations of her
mother and father as to the origin of her name came to Liu as
images of two different things. An airplane and an opera. If one
was that of grey duralumin wings, attempting to find balance
in a vast expanse of air, the other was that of a tearful operatic
aria calling for death. If what her mother taught her was the
organized logic of the world which scientists and philosophers
had sought to reveal, what her father taught her was fascination.
And fascination, as was her father’s temperament, was inherently
irresponsible and selfish.
To a poor couple studying abroad, life in a foreign country
was like the first winter with a baby wrapped in a flimsy
blanket. After a painful year had passed, Liu’s mother came to
the conclusion that it was impossible for two people to study
together on the money sent from home. She would be able to
finish faster and her grades were better, too, but she chose to
have Liu’s father study first. She decided that she herself would
earn money. While Liu’s father was at the library, she served food
at a Korean restaurant, sold things, and mended clothes. She
cut down her own expenses as much as possible, but they were Liu’s father—and worked hard for extra pay, anticipating the day
always struggling. Fortunately, she found a good job working as she would be set free from the home of the fussy old couple.
a resident maid in a mansion in the suburbs. Having grown up in Liu’s father went to pick up her mother every weekend,
a well-to-do family, she was familiar with a refined lifestyle and driving for two hours in the secondhand car whose engine often
had no difficulty getting hired. Her weekends would be free. A died. Every time, she had a big bundle ready, containing items
week later, carrying a bag containing several articles of clothing, discarded by the couple who had an abundance of material
her identification, and a wedding picture, she left for the home things. First he put the bundle in the trunk, then sat her down
of some strangers. Thus she became completely isolated from the in the passenger seat. Contrary to her worries, his face took on a
society she had known, the status she had enjoyed—and from healthier glow, thanks to the money and the bundles she brought

EXCERPTS
home. Compared to him, she looked more and more tired and raised. But to keep herself from getting hurt, she had to keep
anxious. She also developed a habit of studying people’s faces. herself from suspecting what was suspicious. The thought made
As time went on, he started to come pick her up once every two her feel as if something precious she’d been holding in her hand
weeks. Then once every three weeks, and then once a month, and for a long time had crumbled completely. Quietly staring ahead
in the end, a day came when he didn’t come even as she sat rocking in the car whose engine might
after a month and a half had passed. die again at any moment, she suddenly raised
It was a clear summer day. Liu’s mother Because she a hand and put it on her left chest. She was
vividly recalled the intense sunlight and warm offering condolences to a world that had grown
had grown up
breeze. The owners of the home had gone to visit unfamiliar, and to the loss of love.
some relatives, and inside the mansion, which in a family that Even after that, the two lived together for
had been cleaned up early in the morning, there neither concealed sixteen years. Liu was sixteen when her father
was nothing but chilly silence. Liu’s mother was and mother got divorced. On that summer day
sitting in a chair by the kitchen window, with a
nor exaggerated
when her mother inevitably witnessed that
large bundle tied up neatly. She had been sitting unhappiness, her life had become unfamiliar to her, Liu was
for four hours in that spot, staring out at the Liu learned starting her own life in her mother’s womb.
long tree-lined driveway where you could watch While living together, Liu’s parents were on good
a car coming through for almost two minutes.
about pain and terms at times, and not on such good terms at
Flowers, arranged by height and color, bloomed solitude early others, but they no longer loved each other. They
in the well-manicured garden, and the grass in on. On the other both loved Liu, however. Liu’s childhood wasn’t
the wide front yard, cut meticulously along the especially happy, but it wasn’t unhappy, either.
grain, sparkled green. The sunlight was intense
hand, she also You could say that she lived in peace as most
that day. The enormous shadow of a Japanese learned that the children do, without wondering whether she was
cedar on the lawn looked delicate and fancy, as
discord between happy, until she reached an age when children
if a black lace tablecloth had been spread out. ask questions about happiness and unhappiness.
As afternoon came on, the shadow gradually her parents bore Because she had grown up in a family that
changed in color and shape, and swayed gently no connection neither concealed nor exaggerated unhappiness,
whenever a breeze shook the branches. Light Liu learned about pain and solitude early on.
to her own
began to shine obliquely down on the lawn. The On the other hand, she also learned that the
splendor of the moment was gradually waning. unhappiness. discord between her parents bore no connection
Liu’s mother gazed vacantly at everything for a to her own unhappiness. Through a family life
long time. Another thing she saw in the flow of that resembled work life with colleagues you’re
time and the lengthening shadow was the decline of her own life. not too fond of, Liu’s parents taught her that there’s no reason
Liu’s father showed up the next day at noon, saying that he to band together with other unhappy people because you’re
had gotten the car fixed. He looked unfamiliar, probably because unhappy, just as you don’t want to be friends with someone
he had a new haircut. Liu’s mother tried not to care whether he cowardly because they’re as cowardly as yourself. Liu had a
was telling the truth. Then she realized that the hardest thing happy relationship with both her father and mother. One of the
to do was to reject the desire to believe it as the truth, even many things that shocked her when she came to Korea was that
though her suspicions had been aroused. It was pride, but more everyone put on an awkward expression when she mentioned
than that, it was the determination to preserve her life the way that her parents were divorced.
she knew how. She realized vaguely how the foolish optimism Just once, Liu’s mother referred to being a residential maid
and deceptive peace with which people tried to guard the very as being a servant. Then she said, Liu, people who love each other
framework of their life could drive them into a conservative must be equal. In a relationship where one person is in debt
ideology; how unwittingly people play an active role in solidifying to another, you can’t share love, no matter how much of it you
this ideology even without trusting it. Her suspicions had been have. When one of you is in debt, love can’t be restored. What if

FICTION
the debt is repaid? Liu asked, and her mother smiled. I suppose there’s no need to examine its authenticity. So for Liu’s father,
you can start over when the debt is repaid. Recalling those words there was neither doubt nor pain. There was no debt for him
later, Liu thought that perhaps her mother had wanted her to pay, either. But what guided the life of Liu’s mother, which
father to repay the debt. But he didn’t. Fascination wouldn’t be belonged to the world of narratives, was a pattern, not an image,
fascination without shamelessness, irrationality, and imbalance. and it had to continue like a knitting pattern; so the wound
No reckoning was made, of course. where the cut was made was deep. It required a cost. You could
What impressed Liu the most about her parents’ story was say that Liu’s father, who wasn’t of the world of narratives, was a
their first encounter. Her mother, was in love with another man, solitary man. Solitude couldn’t be avoided. On the contrary, Liu’s
an office worker, at the time. Spotting a pay phone, she suddenly mother chose the world of narratives, and had to, as a necessity,
missed her boyfriend and went into the booth. She felt a little accept pain.
nervous because she had never called him on the phone before. Liu wondered at times: Why does Father think that my name
But her face brightened as soon as she heard his voice. It’s me. comes from “Don’t Cry, Liu?” In the opera, the prince sings
Her cheeks flushed, and her lips formed a flirtatious smile as two songs. “Don’t cry, Liu. Leave me to fulfill my love. And take
she spoke. I just thought I’d call and say hi. Where are you? Her care of my father, who may, tomorrow morning, be all alone in
boyfriend asked, and she casually glanced outside the phone the world” and “Sleepless princess, guess my name. Solve the
booth, but nothing came into her sight. She was in love, and riddle and let everyone sleep.” At last, the song of the princess
there were only the two of them, she and her boyfriend, in the resounds. “I know the name now. His name is Love.” Was Liu’s
world. Can I see you today? She asked cautiously, and he said he role in this narrative to be responsible for the ideology of the
had to work overtime. There was a momentary pause. She bit world called Father, and offer her destined love at someone else’s
her lip, and tapped the floor with her heel without realizing it. feet, then die bleeding there? Is solitude more fatal than pain?
And then she heard him say, I love you, over the telephone. She
was startled, and then her face broke out into a bright smile, like Translated by Jung Yewon
a flower blossoming, unable to bear the joy that rose from deep
within her body and began to fill it entirely.
Liu had lived longer with her mother. As planned, her
mother became a professor at the foreign university where she
had studied, and after retirement, divided her time between
her country of residence and Korea, where Liu lived. Liu grew
up hearing countless times that she took after her mother, and
trusted in her mother with mixed feelings of love and hatred. But
often, she searched for her identity in the world of fascination
handed down from her father. She was able to make her way
through the hatred, contempt, fatigue, and desire that distressed Eun Heekyung has won several literary
awards such as the Munhakdongne Novel
her frequently in her life by entrusting her body to her mother’s
Award, the Yi Sang Literary Award, and
flow, but what helped her endure her solitude was the fascination the Dongin Literary Award. The French
life still held for her. edition of My Wife’s Boxes (Les Boîtes de
A woman in love glows, at her most beautiful in life. What ma femme) was published by Zulma. Her
Liu’s father had seized upon and shivered at was that beauty. works have appeared in German, Spanish,
Such beauty generally takes the form of an image. That is why so Russian, Chinese, and Japanese. She also
participated in the International Writing
many lyrical tales end in a lovers’ embrace or a wedding, and why
Program at the University of Iowa.
such an ending is called a happy ending. The world of narratives,
of the life that unfolds thereafter, and of ideology, is a different
realm that bears no connection to the world of images. An image
Visit koreanliteraturenow.com to watch a trailer of this book.
is like a momentary beam of light and is complete in itself, so

EXCERPTS
To Dream of a “I want to know if you saw any people! Any North or South
Korean soldiers?” Brother cried.
Mountain She shook her head. Unable to stand Brother’s pestering,

the three of us, including Mom, rotated in and out to watch the
by Park Wansuh movements of the outside world, but we didn’t see a soul. His
anxiety increased by the day. He didn’t even let us cook rice or go
out.
“D...don’t you see which flag is on the flagpole? A...are you
stinking blind?”
Brother started to stutter. It was a weak, empty sound, as
if he were drawing it from inside, but to me, it sounded like an
outcry. What he wanted to find out so anxiously finally became
very clear to me. He didn’t want to know if there were other
families aside from our own in the city; he wanted to know
Segyesa Publishing Group, 2012
whose rule we were under. We were sent out in turn to find out if
343 pp.
the sky we had over our heads belonged to the Republic of Korea
(The first edition of this title was
published in 1995 ) or the Democratic People’s Republic. Other buildings besides the
For publication inquiries, prison had flagpoles, but nothing fluttered on them. The South
please contact us at Korean army retreated after evacuating all the residents and left
koreanlitnow@klti.or.kr Seoul empty, but curiously, the North Korean army hadn’t made
its entry yet. Was Seoul in a political vacuum, then? A vacuum
state of ideology? Brother couldn’t follow the political right or
left, lost favor with both, floundered in the cracks, and ended up
Sister-in-law changed the dressing for the bullet hole in Brother’s like this. A world with no ideological pressure should have felt
leg in the main room. His calf was skinny but the hole was fresh euphoric to him, but he was more afraid of that euphoria than
and deep. The old gauze dressing, a centimeter wide, spiraled out of being accused as a commie. As I watched him turn pale, grow
endlessly from the hole, and the new one seemed to go in inch anxious and lose his ability to speak by the minute, I thought
after inch with no end in sight. The suffocating pain of watching that euphoria should swiftly brush past like a hallucination;
probably added to that feeling. It was difficult not to wish the stretching it on day after day was much too long.
bullet had pierced his heart instead. It was a fiery yet chilling The water in the well in front of the house was indeed dark
thought. Brother asked what I saw outside. and deep. The cylindrical wall of the well was frosted white,
“Nothing. I didn’t see anyone,” I replied. “We’re the only and it seemed pure, even holy. The well’s mouth, which had a
ones left. There are no signs of other people. Seoul is completely rope hanging from it, was a cement pipe that came up to my
empty, but it looks like the North Korean army hasn’t entered chest. I was often surprised by the clear reflection of myself
yet.” in the gloomy surface of the water. Did anyone ever imagine a
“That can’t be. Why don’t you go out and check?” Brother world in which nobody had to take sides? My image in the well
asked his wife. undeniably, unflinchingly reflected that I, too, was fearful. Just
She wrapped the old dressing that was stained with sticky because I wasn’t stuttering didn’t mean I wasn’t afraid.
ointment and blotches of dark blood in a sheet of newspaper Our family couldn’t eat a bite until evening. We were all
and went out. Brother’s anxiety made the waiting seem to last huddled on our bellies under the blankets because Brother
forever. When she returned after making us wait for a long time, wouldn’t let us light a fire since the smoke would escape from
she reported something completely nonsensical. the chimney. Fortunately, there was some used coal and cold rice
“There’s a well right in front of the house. The water looks in the kitchen. Before it got dark, Sister-in-law lit the coal in the
quite dark and deep.” brazier and boiled the frozen rice that had swelled like plump

FICTION
white lilac blossoms. We could feed my young nephews, but frustrated that we didn’t know for sure whose rule we were
we adults barely quenched our thirst with cloudy rice soup. We under. I wondered what the front line looked like. It was a place
didn’t feel hungry and the little ones strangely didn’t fuss either. where mortal enemies were stationed with their guns fatally
Brother’s stuttering didn’t get better. He seemed to be aware that aimed at each other. It would be impossible to cross the invisible
it was getting worse. He often just stuttered and didn’t finish line without being riddled with bullets. But Brother did it. If he
his sentence. Listening to that was torture. His wife must have left as a people’s voluntary soldier and returned to the South
felt worse. She and I meandered outside to avoid Brother and Korean army region, he must have crossed the line somewhere
eventually squatted on the kitchen floor. at least once. Did he think he was invincible? It was only natural
“We’re so lucky. There is a well in front of the house and that he came back as a total wreck. The leg wound was only
there’s plenty of firewood, too.” symbolic. There was no way to avoid my love for Brother and
She must have been afraid that she also might start to stutter when this love overlapped with my cold aversion for the dead, I
like Brother; she spoke slowly and clearly, as though she were felt an anxious and repulsive shudder.
fingering Braille letters. How could we be so unlucky? I could go “Wait. I hear something.”
crazy thinking about the misfortune that followed us around for
two, three days until only our family was left in the city. How pp. 13-18
could she say we were lucky? But I meekly agreed with her. I …
could feel the presence of misfortune near us, so I thought we
had to appear relaxed and bold in front of that monster. Gyoha was an area where two large rivers met. Big and small
The kitchen ceiling was made into an attic so the floor was brooks that flowed to the river drenched the large, fertile fields
deep. When we opened the plank door, stones the size of a of this village. We walked slowly along the melted river. The fact
cornerstone were stacked into stairs so we could step on them that there wasn’t a single place to run to for cover even if a plane
as we came down. Rash-like scabs of mud peered through the suddenly flew by made us walk even more leisurely. We were
scraped spots of cement on the wood stove over which two iron amazed and felt like we were in a different world when we saw
cauldrons and one nickel cauldron hung. The iron cauldrons were a woman washing clothes on the riverbank and little children
permanently fixed, but the nickel cauldron was removable. The playing and poking something into the mudflats. I didn’t even
bottom of the stove was a coal furnace decked with an iron plate remember the last time I saw children playing outside. Plus, they
that collected the ashes. Underneath the raised wooden floor at seemed like normal children, not starving orphans.
the entrance of the kitchen was a pile of powdered coal that had I made Sister-in-law rest on a hillock and went down to the
blackened the kitchen floor, but the lids of the iron cauldrons mudflat. The children were catching crabs. They were toying
gleamed as if they had been polished with sesame-seed oil. On with the crabs they had strung on a line after battling numerous
the raised floor itself, however, a dining tray with a broken leg, bites. I was a glutton for crabs ever since I was little. I would
a cement-mended jar, a half-broken sieve, an earthen steamer, a lose my mind at the sight of seasoned female crabs and scarf
gourd bowl, a tin pail, a box and other things were haphazardly them down in a second. I also loved the fried male crabs. The
scattered about in neglect. We crouched down as if we were flesh of the crabs was delicious but the shells that covered their
miners trapped at the end of a mineshaft relying on each other flesh were all so indiscriminately and hideously ugly. Like a true
with no hope until all these things sunk into darkness. aficionado, every time I ate crabs, I marveled at the intelligence
“I gave him some sleeping pills after dinner, so he should be of the primitives who first discovered the soft flesh inside those
able to sleep,” she said to me when she noticed me trying to make ugly shells. From afar, it looked like what the children were
out the noises in the room. There were some painkillers among playing with were king crabs. But as I got closer, I realized they
the medicine that we got from Gupabal Hospital. I think that was were neither king nor shore crabs. They were smaller than the
what she was referring to. king crabs but bigger than the shore crabs. They were much
“He should feel better after he gets a good night’s sleep,” I uglier than other kinds of crabs with needle-like hair spiking out
comforted her quite cheerfully. “Where do you think the front from their legs. But in my eyes, they looked delicious. Right now
is right now?” she asked with a sigh. She, too, must have felt wasn’t the season for king crabs but in the olden days when they

EXCERPTS
were in season, the royal family ate crabs from this region of Songdo. We were on our way to another town but we fell behind
Paju. the group so we decided to stay here.”
I approached the children and asked what kind of crabs they “We are from Gaeseong. We fell behind too and got stuck in
were. They said they were mud crabs. Tanhyeon-myeon this whole time. They told us that there might
“Can you eat them?” be a battle in the mountains and sent us here. Do you have an
“Who would eat a crab like this?” empty room we can use?” I chattered away and cut Sister-in-law
“Then why did you catch them?” off as though it was my turn to lead.
“So we can play with them. There are tons of them here.” “Oh, I am glad you came! We have lots of empty rooms. What
“Do you die if you eat them?” are you waiting for? You can just grab any room, and it’s yours!
“Why would you die? You don’t eat them because they’re not You don’t have to worry about saving face. Look what kind of
very tasty.” world we are living in!” said the woman as she led us to an empty
Of course they would turn up their noses to inferior crabs. room.
After all, this was the home of crabs for kings. Surprisingly, the It seemed like there were plenty of empty rooms but I didn’t
children didn’t seem even a bit suspicious of new refugees like us. think there were many empty houses. The men had fled and only
There was quite a large village nearby. There were people the women remained behind in the house we chose. She said
walking on the road and working in the fields. It felt like a dream we were the first refugees in this household because there were
to see a village functioning normally like this. It didn’t look like many vacant houses around. There was no need for people to
there were vacant houses but we didn’t want to go anywhere stay in a house with an owner. As I had guessed by the Gaeseong
else. One way or another, we wanted to latch closely onto a place dialect, the refugees here were of a different type than we were.
with a lot of people. Not only were we envious of the prosperous I didn’t think it was necessary to tell them we were refugees who
atmosphere, we could also sense a secret bustling of freedom defected from our escape to the north. The best thing was to let
that was a bit ahead of its time. But on the hill that overlooked them know that we were no different from them. It was such
this village a North Korean flag flapped in full, ostentatious a shame that our differences could easily become a reason for
display. There was also a square, two-story building with a large hostility. Since it wouldn’t be too long until the world changed
front yard that looked like an elementary school or a town hall. I again, we decided to make sure everything was well planned and
had never seen a North Korean flag waving so boldly anywhere in under control.
Seoul or Gureongjae, but I didn’t believe for a second that there I acted like a refugee from Gaeseong just like I had
might be an authority figure in there. The audacious waving of blunderingly told the woman earlier. We were originally from
the flag only looked shamelessly deceptive; I didn’t feel at all Gaeseong so that wasn’t difficult. How nice it would have been if
threatened by it. Except for the flag, there were no other signs all refugees were considered equals. Being a refugee was already
of North Korean control—no soldiers, no signs for the National an exhausting task but since refugees fleeing north and south
People’s Congress office or the youth league. I think Sister-in- had opposite ideologies, it could cause problems. But we were
law liked this village, too. But we were hopelessly trapped in a the only ones who were actually anxious about keeping things
quagmire where we longed for people and feared them at the straight. What the other women in the house really wanted
same time. We made it a point to decide whether we were going to know was what we had in our bundles. As far as I could tell,
to act as leftists or rightists before we mingled with anyone. We they had grown used to exchanging grains for clothes and fabric
felt nervous otherwise. with other refugees. One young woman prepared her wedding
We were going around peeking in people’s homes when our gifts this way without so much as lifting her finger. When they
eyes met a landlady who was hanging laundry in the yard. She found out that we had more grain than fabric, they looked at us
was wearing a bright wrapped skirt and a traditional blouse. with confused eyes and asked us why we were carrying such a
“Hello, can I help you?” she asked in a familiar Gaeseong heavy load. This was such a different world. In the evening, the
dialect. village maidens gathered in the main room around a lamp to
“Hi, we are refugees.” work on their embroidery. This looked like a whole new world
“We are refugees, too. Where are you from? We are from from the perspective of a runaway who had been chased by war

FICTION
and fear of hunger. The maidens embroidering pillowcases and most unforgettably delicious, yet the most pitiful meal I’d have
garment covers as their future weddings gifts in a village with no for decades to come.
prospective grooms seemed unreal and otherworldly indeed.
The next day, I borrowed a feedbag from the landlady and pp. 105-110
headed out to the riverbank. The bank was more like a mudflat
probably because the mouth of the river wasn’t too far away. Translated by Hannah Kim
There was plenty of water but it was still like a lake and it was
hard to tell which way it was flowing. When I took my shoes
off and went into the mudflat, my body felt numb with the
cold. But the warmth of the spring air made it bearable and it Park Wansuh (1931~2011), one of Korea’s
most revered writers, debuted at the age of
even reminded me of that famous line from a poem, “The water
forty, and in a career that spanned almost
of spring filled every pond.” Then I started to catch crabs just
forty years wrote over one hundred novels
like the way the children taught me when we first entered the and short stories. She won prestigious
village. The feedbag wasn’t sufficient to hold the crabs, and some awards, including the Geumgwan (Gold
escaped, poking me all over as I carried them home. When I Crown) Medal, the highest Order of Cultural
put a little bit of soy sauce and stir-fried them in the thick iron Merit in Korea. Her books, including The
Naked Tree, My Very Last Possession and
cauldron, there was no better dish in the world. I didn’t even
Other Stories, and Lonesome You, have been
remember the last time I tasted fresh meat. The traces of my
translated into more than twelve languages.
battle with these crabs left all over my body whet my appetite
even more. Sister-in-law and I ferociously conquered the rough
hard shells like starving demons and devoured the inner flesh
until our stomachs were stuffed. I would remember this as the

EXCERPTS
Whisper of Splendor
Ten poems by Chong Hyon-jong
Time Blossoming 1

Behold the waves of Time
It’s morning
Already tomorrow morning
Sailing on this very night
to meet another day
my waves
are blue, oh so blue
their undulation
tinges the light of every day;
oh the heart,
where dawn rises
Moonji Publications, 2008, 104 pp.
koreanlitnow@klti.or.kr

POETRY
Poetry Came Surging and Surging
Poetry came surging and surging

while I slept;
the world is but a window
or an egg called earth
whose beak is now cracking it open
or time is a perpetual
pulse of ethereal daylight,
poetry as such surging over anyhow
the universe with some blue ether
the light for which nothing is impervious
infinity smiling, formed by that light—
the infinity right in my eyes
the infinity suffusing my whole body
poetry as such still surging over anyhow
yet I chose to sleep on
instead of arising to set it down…
(it may well be that I no longer think
it’ll be lost unless put down
that the egg will hatch just the same
in the bosom of slumber)
O My Hearts

This day is so fair
dusk is in its own hue
sky in its own hue
clouds in their own hue
and these are the cumulus clouds
that I used to see as a child
O my hearts-
twilight-heart
sky-heart
cloud-heart
O heart of its own hue


EXCERPTS
Some Solitude

Suffering a brief lonely spell
wild flowers you gathered
and twined into a bracelet.
Boundless was the time spent in silence
the round thing, inside and out, full of solitude.

You wore it on your wrist
or left it on the table
and I, in your absence,
look upon the floral bracelet lying there.

Upon it converges the universe
and loneliness pervades without end.
In that air I too at once
am kindred with solitude—
together with the hand that brought it.

A Day

A day is ten thousand years
a moment veritably an eon.
Where does the day end?
It never ends.
Somewhere the sun rises
somewhere it sinks.
(Just as love rises then sinks)
Heat knows no end.
Nor do ashes.
The wind’s chest is limitless
and so are the river’s sighs.
The sky with all its folds
the heart with all its chambers,
so goes laughter endless
as are tears.
No way to contain the body heat of the whole of creation
infinity unfolds, channels its course full to the brim.
The sky with all its folds
the heart with all its chambers,
a day never ends.


POETRY
Ode to a Cricket A Visitor

It is all very well Autumn came but To have a visitor
O cricket you’re making a sound is indeed a matter of gravity.
underneath my desk, For he
though not quite like a stone step, brings with him his past
so intent present
on and on without a break plus
pouring into my ear his future.
your clear music Brings with him his whole life.
your pure sound Brings with him his heart
O cricket vulnerable as can be
you’re letting flow as may have been cut asunder—a heart
from my ears whose written account
a spring that never dries out a wind may be able to read;
and the clearest in the world should my heart imitate such wind
your sound this visit after all will be a hearty welcome.
vibrating from the wings
on a tiny, 17-millimeter body
arousing me from my summer-long sloth
and the mind prone to be slothful
is a Word which, let us say,
the sacred texts of all those so-called religions
put together
could never be anywhere near; O better singer
intent, purposefully intent,
pouring your word into my ear
until I grasp
(in truth, I did upon hearing)
and turning my heart
into a wellspring
of the world’s clearest spring-water
O you a better singer


EXCERPTS
Tang of Energy O the Dazzle of the Diamond

- Istanbul Poems
This morning
I’m having a green apple, an early crop, Topkapi Palace Museum’s Treasury Section
and so rapt The very moment you stand before
over its green fresh flavor the 86-carat diamond,
my heart at once a lightning of lights!
dances. All gemstones are virtual suns
Energy unbounded yet this enormous diamond is literally the sun itself!
in the freshness To let your eyes fixate such luminescence
the tongue savors. is dangerous, for you will be blind
The tang of or lose your mind.
vitality O the stone so dazzling, you just gasp,
now in my mouth not a word, and certainly no creed
after all the flowing but a virtual light
and winding through O the dazzle of the diamond.
the labyrinth
of those dynamic resources
stored in Nature.
The heart dances
to the wavelength of light
O freshness.


POETRY
Whisper of Splendor Chong Hyon-jong worked as a reporter

for seven years and subsequently taught
at Yonsei Unversity as a professor of
The splendor
Korean Literature. He has received the
of the movement of Time
Pablo Neruda Medal and the Eungwan
as the day draws to an end (Silver Crown) Medal, which is the second
in the gloaming highest Order of Cultural Merit in Korea.
nothing wanting He has translated the works of Rainer
so are solitude or seeds Maria Rilke, Pablo Neruda, and Federico
one separate universe each García Lorca into Korean.
(which is splendor of all splendors)

could poetry, I wonder,
join in that movement.

Whatever sweeps over you when you secretly weep
for the loneliness of the ailing
could that be perhaps poetry.
(O splendor of loneliness and tears)

Underneath this ground still tracked
with all the past shadows of footprints
could poetry lay her breast somewhere there.
(Splendor of shadows and breast!)

The sky’s windy edge still suffused
with all the past breaths
could poetry breathe somewhere there.
(O splendor of breaths and winds)
Translated by Cho Young-Shil

EXCERPTS
Seven Years of coiled around the handle and fastened by a padlock. He turned
on the lamp at the lowest setting. He needed light to unlock
Darkness the padlock. Once inside, he slung the chain and the padlock on
the inside and locked it, to ward off anyone who might possibly
by Jeong You Jeong disrupt him.
The concrete ramp down to the docks was about twenty
meters long. On either side were the banks of the lake, tangled
with branches and vines. The floating bridge was at the end of
the ramp; tied to it was a boat by the name Joseong, a barge used
for regular cleanings by the trash service company for the dam.
Seung-hwan put his backpack down in front of the Joseong’s
cabin. He took out the fishing line, tied it to the pier, and
prepared to enter the water. When he tugged on the pin strap
and slid the breathing apparatus in his mouth, his watch said
EunHaeng NaMu Publishing Co. 9:30. He entered feet first. He turned his lamp as bright as he
2011, 523 pp. could and descended, carefully unraveling the fishing line so
For publication inquiries, it wouldn’t get tangled. When he passed the first thermocline,
please contact Joseph Lee
he spotted the yellow center dividing line of the two-lane road.
KL Management:
A long time ago, when cars, people, and cultivators used the
josephlee705@gmail.com
road, this place was called Ssangryeong Peak. The undercurrent
was fairly strong but visibility wasn’t bad, considering he was
underwater. He wasn’t sure but he could tell there was a long
The new manager didn’t show up even after Seung-hwan finished valley beneath the road. Seung-hwan wrapped the fishing line
making the depth gauge. He calmed his nerves with beer he loosely around a tree so the current wouldn’t wash it away and
bought at the rest area. Only after he downed two cans did he continued his descent. He slid along the undercurrent as though
realize what he’d drunk could kill him. He waited until nine, he were skiing downhill.
doing push-ups, trying to clear the alcohol from his system. He Seung-hwan stopped descending when the water became cold
had to go to the lake that night. He had to enter the lake without enough to give him a headache. His feet were on the bottom of
the people from the lowlands and the company housing finding the valley. It was dark and quiet. The objects were colorless and
out, and seek Atlantis between today and tomorrow, when he only the concrete road reflected by his underwater lamp glistened
was alone and off duty, to complete his mission of taking detailed in silver. On the other side of the darkness, the phantom of the
pictures of the scene below. vanished old village flickered. He felt conflicted: afraid, excited,
Once he was on the other side of the fence, Seung-hwan and overwhelmed. He swam into the darkness along the road.
turned on his headlamp. He made it as bright as he could but Welcome to Seryeong Village, the sign engraved on a rock at
he still couldn’t see very well. The fog was too heavy. It was the the entrance of the village greeted him. A bus stop was next to it.
peculiar fog of the lake that came at you like a snowstorm. It He looped the fishing line around the rusted sign. He wrapped it
began to rain. He had to turn off the lamp when the path ended, around the bus stop; its glass was gone and only the frame was
as there was a CCTV camera under the first entrance to the lake. standing. He wound it around a large tree trunk. Aquatic plants
Darkness descended. had grown thick on the ruins of a rice mill; fish swam through
He arrived at the dock ten minutes after he began walking by its walls. A telephone pole lay in the street and the red rusted
feeling the fence around the lake. The dock was the one point of body of a cultivator was stuck in the link canal. He wound the
entry to the lake that was guarded by a steel door. The door was fishing line around them all and went into the village. A rock wall
about as tall as the fence and there was an air gap of about thirty had crumbled, a shingle dangled on one end, a wall’s steel beam
centimeters between the ground and the door. A thick chain was skeleton lay exposed, a doorframe was broken, roof tiles were

FICTION
scattered about, fallen trees were rotting away, a stroller was stopped at the nameplate of that one house. He recalled a man
missing a wheel, and a well was covered with a steel lid. Was this and a frighteningly pretty girl.
what the world would look like after humans went extinct? His It had happened the first weekend night after he moved to
Atlantis was desolate but beautiful, melancholic but charming. Seryeong Lake. The manager had gone home to Seoul for a visit
With this single encounter, he’d become and Seung-hwan was alone at the house. Around
bewitched and given over his entire soul. midnight, at the moment he started to nod off,
Seung-hwan flitted around like a fish among It had happened Seung-hwan heard a sharp scream. His eyes flew
the roads and bridges and stone walls. He open but everything was quiet. He closed his
the first weekend
watched an elderly couple enjoying a relaxed eyes again, thinking he’d heard it in his dream.
evening meal in a lot where only the walls night after A moment later, he heard a quiet weeping and
remained. He sat at the bus stop bench and he moved to woke up fully. It was faint but he could tell where
listened to people talking as they waited for the it was coming from—outside his window. He
bus. He heard the story of how a young mother
Seryeong Lake.
picked up his underwater lamp and opened the
met her husband as she pushed a stroller. Pieces The manager window. Outside there was a cypress tree whose
of his imagination were stored one by one in his had gone home trunk was divided in two with each half curved
camera. He felt he could put the pieces together across the other. A girl was hiding in its shadow.
and create an amazing story. He felt he could
to Seoul for a His light revealed the girl in her underwear, her
write it really well. visit and Seung- arms crossed in front of her chest. She crouched
Time underwater flowed as capriciously as hwan was alone into a ball and cried, “Don’t look, don’t look!” her
the current. Sometimes it was as slow as a three- voice dripping with a deep shame.
year-old’s tricycle and other times it sped by like
at the house. Seung-hwan decided to listen to her. He
the motorcycles of a biker gang. Atlantis’ time Around midnight, didn’t know what was going on but he thought it
was like the hand of a magician. In the brief
at the moment would be better to pretend not to have noticed.
moment he waved his hand once, an entire hour If she hadn’t fainted right then, he wouldn’t
vanished into his sleeve. Seung-hwan’s body heat he started to nod have changed his mind and climbed out of his
fell dangerously low and he had little feeling left off, Seung-hwan window. She looked as though she had met a
in his skin. His vision shook, and not because of mugger in the woods. Her nose was swollen and
heard a sharp
the current. The village scene, which should have phlegm rattled in her throat each time she drew
looked washed out, became overlaid with vivid scream. in a breath. Her body was covered in whip marks.
colors. He was feeling ecstatic, to the degree that Her skin had broken in some places. He wrapped
it was getting dangerous—warning signs that he her in a blanket and ran to the main entrance,
was starting to feel nitrogen narcosis. carrying her in his arms. He’d remembered there was a clinic in
This is the last one, he told himself, as he pointed his camera the commercial area. Figuring out whose kid she was and who’d
at the nameplate hanging on a house. That house stood at the beaten her up was a secondary concern.
highest point of the village. He pressed the button and the flash The doctor was present even though it was a weekend night.
popped over the dark letters of the nameplate. The nameplate The young doctor, whose head was buzzed like that of a soldier,
disappeared under the flash and the letters floated up like they took an X-ray and told him that her nose was broken. He asked
were embossed. Oh Yeong-je. Seung-hwan something he couldn’t answer. “What happened?”
10:45, 120-bar remaining. Seung-hwan hurried out of “I don’t know. She was in front of my bedroom window and
the village. He started to take the air out of the buoyancy just fainted.”
compensator and ascend. He didn’t have time to take the same The policeman who arrived after Seung-hwan’s call knew the
route out so he ascended directly above the house. He looked girl. The daughter of the owner of the arboretum, her name was
down at the village as he ascended at nine meters per minute. Se-ryeong and she was twelve years old. He also knew how to
Everything was starting to return to black and white. His mind reach her father; he took out his cell and made a call. Soon, a man

EXCERPTS
wearing a navy suit and shiny shoes appeared. moment,” the policeman said.
“You must not be coming from home,” the policeman Seung-hwan couldn’t do that. Step out? The girl had his life
observed. dangling between her small teeth.
“I got your call on my way home,” the man said, not bothering “You too, Director Oh.”
to glance at his daughter. He stood as though he meant to block The man didn’t move, his gaze fixed on his daughter.
the door and looked at Seung-hwan. His dark pupils were wide “Didn’t you hear me?” the policeman pressed.
open. It was as though his eyes were all pupils, no whites. “Who The man and Seung-hwan glanced at each other before
are you?” turning toward the door at the same time.
Seung-hwan coughed. “I live in 102.” “Don’t go far. I’ll just be a minute,” the policeman said.
“Since when? I’ve never seen you.” The man sat in a chair outside the doors. He leaned on
Seung-hwan could feel his breath getting shallow, which was the armrest, threw his head back, and looked down over his
what happened when he became nervous. It was because he’d cheekbones at Seung-hwan without expression. His black, dilated
glimpsed something unpleasant in the man’s eyes, something pupils, his tense, coiled shoulders—the man looked like a wild
people usually called a challenge. “It’s been a couple of days,” he animal about to pounce. Seung-hwan sat down across from him.
said slowly, to regulate his breathing. “I didn’t know she’s your He tried his best to look calm. He tried to relax and maintain a
daughter.” poker face. It was hard. All rational thought flew out of his head.
“Tell me why you brought my daughter here.” Rage, humiliation, and nervousness filled its spot. His breathing
“I want to ask you something too. Why did your daughter became rougher and rougher. He craved a cigarette but couldn’t
faint outside my window?” leave because he couldn’t tell what these people would do in
The man addressed the doctor. “Is there evidence of assault?” his absence. There was no sound coming from the examination
The doctor repeated what he’d told Seung-hwan. “Her nose is room. Twenty minutes slogged by as though they were twenty
broken. There are abrasions that look like whip marks…” hours. Seung-hwan was about to pass out by the time the
“Is that all you can see? What I see is my daughter lying policeman came out.
naked in the clinic, and this man who supposedly brought her “She says she was playing tag with a cat she met in the forest
here in the middle of the night.” and crashed into a tree,” the policeman reported, standing
Seung-hwan stared at the man. His words felt like a punch. between the two men. “So she tried to go home but she got
The doctor clacked the chart closed, displeasure spreading across confused with the house next door because it was dark. She felt
his round face. dizzy because her nose was bleeding and she fainted. She wanted
“So doctor,” the man continued unpleasantly. “Are you saying me to tell her dad that she’s grateful to the next-door neighbor
you don’t see the police who’s here because of a report?” who brought her to the clinic even though he doesn’t know her,
The policeman was looking down at the girl. Se-ryeong was and that he never hit or touched her.”
now awake, glancing sideways at her father. The man realized Seung-hwan stood up. Rage was coursing down his throat
that she was listening. “What did this man do to you?” he asked, like hot water. “So you’re saying that a twelve-year-old girl
pointing at Seung-hwan. “Did he hit you? Did he touch you?” was playing tag with a cat? In the middle of the night? In her
Seung-hwan drew in a breath. underwear? You actually believe that?”
Se-ryeong whispered, “No.” “What did she say the cat’s name was?” the policeman
The policeman took over. “So how did you get hurt?” muttered to himself. “Anyway, she said it was his favorite game.”
Se-ryeong’s gaze scanned over the policeman and the doctor “How did she explain the lash marks on her body? Her
and paused at Seung-hwan before returning to the policeman. shoulder is all cut up.”
She seemed to be trying her best not to meet her dad’s gaze. Her “She said the cat scratched her. I guess they played pretty
large cat-like eyes glistened with moisture. It looked like tears rough. Anyway, the doctor says he can’t determine whether
but it wasn’t. Seung-hwan would bet an entire month’s worth of there was sexual assault, and according to the X-rays her nose is
his salary that it was fear. definitely broken.”
“Mr. An Seung-hwan, did you say? Please step outside for a The girl’s father stood up. “So are you saying that we need to

FICTION
go to a gynecologist to determine that?” about all. The dad’s defense went overboard compared to the
“If it were me, I’d take her to an ear nose and throat doctor penalty. It was as though he’d swung a chain saw to remove some
first. The doctor says that pretty nose is broken. It’s not too late cobwebs. It was as overreaching as it was risky, since he could be
to pursue an official investigation after that.” liable of making a false accusation. Why would he do that?
The girl’s father went inside and carried her out wrapped Park, who was well informed on the history of the area, gave
in a blanket. He didn’t say anything. He looked at Seung-hwan him a clue. The man was in the middle of divorce proceedings and
as though he were pummeling him with his gaze and left. The a custody battle was brewing. Oh wasn’t a “director” due to his
policeman grabbed Seung-hwan’s elbow. “Come with me to the status as the owner of the arboretum. He was a dentist by trade
station.” and he had a medical building in S city that housed eleven private
Seung-hwan shook him off. This was unfair treatment. practices, including his own dental practice. Not only that, he
He didn’t know anything about the law, but he knew enough was the only son of a large landowner who lorded over the entire
that bringing an injured child to a clinic wasn’t something that Seryeong River area, amounting to 100 li before the dam was
required a visit to the police station. And the child had stated his built, and he owned the Seryeong fields on which the people of
innocence. the lowlands depended for their livelihoods.
“Come with me. Since you reported this, you should file an Seung-hwan could understand the policeman’s attitude.
official report.” The policeman strode out of the clinic. Seung- Director Oh versus a dam security guard; a native versus an
hwan followed him to the station and wrote down the events outsider. In both power and fame, there was a marked difference.
of the night. He suppressed his urge to throw the pen; his He could read Director Oh’s message, too: Stay out of my family
fingers cramped. His head was whirring busily as he tried to life.
understand the puzzling words and actions of the girl, her so- Even as August came to a close, no investigation was initiated
called father, and the policeman. Why was she lying? Why was at the police headquarters. Seung-hwan heard Se-ryeong’s
her father trying to make him out to be the criminal? Why was screams a few more times. He also heard her desperately cry,
the policeman uninterested in getting the person who abused “Dad!” through her open window.
her? The actions of the three shared a silent premise that he and On that house, on the nameplate of 101, was that name. Oh
the doctor weren’t privy to. They knew who the perpetrator of Yeong-je.
the violence was. The girl’s father hadn’t gotten the call on his
way home, and the policeman seemed to know this. Seung-hwan Translated by Chi-Young Kim
mulled over the situation in his head.
For some reason, Se-ryeong was beaten in the nude by her
father. She ran away but she was unable to do anything. She was
too scared to go into the forest, and she couldn’t go to the main
road because she was naked, so she hid under the tree near her
neighbor’s window. Her father looked around for her. At that
moment, the nosy neighbor butted in. The father watched as the
Jeong You Jeong’s Seven Years of Darkness
neighbor brought his daughter into the house and then took off sold more than 400,000 copies in Korea
running toward the clinic. A little later, he received a call from the alone, and its German edition was ranked
police. The policeman knew that the girl was beaten on a regular eight on the “Best Crime Fic tion of
basis and that the neighbor was caught in a dicey situation. But December 2015” list by the German weekly
he still pretended not to know and defused the situation. Zeit. Rights to her books have been sold in
Germany, France, China, Taiwan, Thailand,
To Seung-hwan, the truth was simple. The girl’s father used
and Vietnam.
him as a smokescreen to hide the assault on his daughter. But
that didn’t make any sense. Korea wasn’t the kind of society
where they sent the parents to prison because they hit their
child. The parents’ reputation might suffer a little, but that was

EXCERPTS
The Wizard Bakery be a matter of time before the rumor would spread that the
neighborhood baker was a little cuckoo. The Apartment Complex
by Gu Byeong-mo Women’s Association, with all their concern about falling real
estate values, might even join forces to drive him out.
The girl swatted him on the stomach with the back of her
hand and told him to stop kidding around.
Of course, he was kidding. As I sighed and bent down to pick
up the tongs, I spotted wafer cookies on the next shelf. He saw
what I was looking at.
“Titi bird shit,” he said. “Spread ever so thinly between two
wafers. Glazed with a syrup made from marinated raven eyeballs.
They strike a delicate balance between sweet, bitter, and sour,
rather like Ethiopian coffee…”
“Are you trying to drive all of our customers away?” The girl
jabbed him in the side.
Changbi Publishers, 2009, 252 pp. Why was he teasing me with such lame jokes? Just to see
how far he would go, I pointed at something that looked like jelly
koreanlitnow@klti.or.kr
candies.
“Pack of three cat tongues. Persian, Siamese, Abyssinian.”
I slammed the tongs on the countertop with a loud clank.
The girl took them in the back to wash them, while the baker
Provided he kept his mouth shut, people saw a man of intellect, adjusted his hat and laughed.
an artisan or an expert, unpretentious yet with a certain “I’m not joking. I am telling you the truth because a kid like
mystery. They saw his silly paper hat and the ponytail peeking you would understand.”
out beneath it, his face the color of finely sifted baking powder, Who are you calling a kid?
his meticulous, graceful, efficient gestures. A baker with talent I looked around the bakery. The pink and yellow-checkered
enough to keep his shop running on word-of-mouth alone wallpaper looked cozy. Hanging crookedly on the wall was one
without joining a franchise. of those crudely designed calendars, the kind they hand out for
I’d always seen him that way until one day, I pointed a pair free at banks or churches every year. The display case, where
of tongs at a piece of pastry that sort of resembled a streusel- the pastry lay in straight rows and columns, was so clean there
topped bun but with some questionable modifications, and asked wasn’t a single handprint in sight, and the handle gleamed
what was in it. gold under the overhead lamps. But overall, there was nothing
“Oats, rye and—” the girl behind the counter started to fancy about the place, and in fact, it was closer to run down.
explain, when a voice interrupted her. Nevertheless, there were no cracks in the walls, and no streams
“Liver. Dried.” of unidentifiable liquid trickling down the walls and stinking up
I looked up and saw the baker standing in the kitchen the place or giving it a creepy air. It was more or less sanitary.
doorway, just beyond the girl’s stiffening shoulders. Just your average clean and humble neighborhood bakery. The
“Finely ground liver of a newborn baby. Three parts liver, baker looked normal, too. No matter how hard I looked, there
seven parts wheat flour.” was nothing creepy about him at all, despite the things he’d said.
The tongs slipped out of my hand. Clank! The metal scraped Stuttering, I asked him if there was anything he could
the floor. I didn’t really believe he had put liver, dried or raw, in recommend for a normal person to eat, and grabbed a bag of
the bun. And if it did contain liver, it would have to be from a plain rolls, no sausages or cheese or anything else in it, and set
pig, and not a newborn. (Refrain from imagining that unsettling it on the counter. Surely there was nothing in them besides the
taste.) But why was he joking about ingredients? It would only basic ingredients, like flour, eggs, and milk. I tried to act casual,

FICTION
but whether he had been joking or not, it wasn’t easy after building from the bus stop, you know, if only for the sake of the
hearing him recite those atrocious ingredients. But then, as he neighborhood children…
passed the girl on his way into the kitchen, the baker offered, But who on earth would I tell?
unsolicited, “Instead of flour, I collected Rapunzel’s dandruff…” Returning home and opening the front door, I would confirm
I lifted my hand, stopping him before the girl could interject, that no one was there to listen to me. Wasn’t that why I bought
and put 2,500 won in change on the counter. Assessment the rolls on my way home in the first place? So I could take a
complete: the baker is nuts. mouthful of bread and a sip of milk, chew on the sentiments of a
I opened the door and stepped outside. Suddenly, I felt as day that was neither too dry nor too soggy, then store them in an
though the dingy neighborhood bakery was in the middle of airtight container and pack them away somewhere deep inside?
a dark forest, the kind of forest that appeared in fairytales:
“Once upon a time, there was wizard who lived in a deep, dark pp. 9–13
forest, and he made different pastries every single day. Each
time a breeze passed through the forest, the leaves would rustle, …
carrying the scent of those pastries out, out, out, to the edge of
the woods.” They are coming after me.
The moment I got home, I would have to tell someone about The spiral cleats on the bottoms of my sneakers claw at the
the place and ask if someone shouldn’t do something about the ground, rapidly, savagely. The smell of rubber burning from the
crazy man in the bakery located on the first floor of the third friction hits me in the face. The shrieks, the cries, and the fury

EXCERPTS
that cling so tenaciously to the cleats are kicked off in the wind. and is burned alive—the witch who bided her time fattening
As I race down the street, I realize I have nowhere to go. I Hansel up, but fell headfirst into the woodstove thanks to
could spend the night at an Internet cafe or something, but it all Gretel’s cunning. I am momentarily confused as to who should
happened so quickly that I ran out without grabbing anything. be pushing whom into the oven.
The cellphone I almost never use (since I don’t speak) is still in But there is no time for musings. I put one foot into the still-
the bag next to my desk. Not that having the phone on me would warm oven. Why isn’t he telling me to take my shoes off first, if
make any difference now. Do I have any “friends” I can call? Who this oven is for baking? As he gestures with his chin to get in, I
would have the patience to invite me in with open arms in spite say, “O-o-o-kay, b-b-but d-d-don’t t-t-turn the o-o-oven on.”
of my stutter? There’s my maternal aunt and grandmother, but
I haven’t heard from them in six years. I don’t know if they are pp. 18–21
alive or dead, let alone where they live. How much longer and
farther can I run? I am about to run out of ideas when I see the …
bakery.
I gasp for air. I spot the baker past the anonymous And so the tables turned and turned again. Muhee
handprints stamped on the display window. consistently identified the English teacher as the offender three
I have become a regular at the bakery for reasons beyond my or four times in a row, but by the time the prosecutor repeated
control, but if it wasn’t for my speech impediment, I would ask his question for the seventh time, her behavior became erratic
him: as she began to claim she couldn’t remember, refused to pay
Why is your bakery open twenty-four hours? Does anyone ever attention, or burst into tears, and so put Mrs. Bae in an awkward
come looking for bread this late at night? position.
He does seem busy all the time, but he can’t be immune to “Look. The current legal system in Korea requires physical
the stir of emotions, between the hours. Isn’t he lonely working evidence to prosecute someone. It’s realistically difficult to take
there day after day, all by himself? More importantly, when does a child’s testimony as evidence. They say that the very first
he sleep? testimony made in a calm environment in the presence of a
But thanks to his twenty-four-hour bakery, I now have a psychiatrist and a child psychologist should count as evidence,
place to seek refuge. but that works only in theory. They should try applying that in
I push the door open. The store is warm from the heat of the the field themselves. That’s right. You’re a teacher, aren’t you? So
freshly baked goods. He looks at me with his bright, brown eyes. you know how often children lie without knowing what they’re
He doesn’t have his hat on. He’s wearing his regular clothes, not doing. They don’t mean any harm, do they? Children are like
his usual white baker’s uniform. Is the bakery closed for the day? ostriches with their heads in the sand…75 percent of all child sex
Hurried and desperate, the words rush out all at once. offenders are someone the child knows. Of the 75 percent, 38 are
“Hide me,” I say without a hint of a stutter. someone from the neighborhood, 19 are relatives, 17 are from
They will never suspect I’ve hidden in a bakery just a few educational institutions… So stop picking on one person and cast
hundred meters from the apartment complex instead of running the net wide.”
as far as I can.
He doesn’t ask questions, or speak, or nod. He simply opens And then, one night, when the gloom and disquiet of the
the door to the kitchen where the sweet smell of chocolate still household had reached its height following these events, it
hangs in the air. He says nothing, but his broad shoulders usher happened. Father had been good about getting home from
me in. work on time of late, but it did nothing to alleviate the sinister
The kitchen is identical to any other that I have ever glimpsed atmosphere in the house.
from across the counter at other bakeries. There are two On top of that, the English teacher had a change of heart
enormous ovens. He opens the door to the slightly larger oven, when Muhee changed her testimony, and he pressed charges
pulls out the racks, and looks at me. In there? All of a sudden, I against the lot of them for defamation. Mrs. Bae was served
am reminded of the scene where the evil witch falls into the oven a subpoena from the prosecutor’s office. That night, Mrs. Bae

FICTION
grabbed Muhee by the hair and swung her about, whipping her time for lofty beliefs that I would be released soon even if I were
with a wire coat hanger as Muhee begged for her life. arrested because the accusation was untrue and there was no
“Say it! Say it! Who did it? If it wasn’t that bastard, who was evidence. Father didn’t stop Mrs. Bae from picking up the phone,
it? You bitch, you made me look like an idiot by going after the so how could I expect an idyllic fairytale ending of forgiveness
wrong person and now I look like an ass! You don’t deserve to and reconciliation in this house? Hope for the restoration of
live, you bitch! Which asshole was it? Tell the truth!” everyday peace? We were caught in a storm, and I was the
She was pummeling her in my presence as if she wanted me prisoner of war or foreigner they were throwing overboard to
to play audience. I felt no enmity toward Muhee, but I didn’t feel reduce the weight of the vessel.
chivalrous enough to save her either, so I didn’t try to stop Mrs. The moment this occurred to me, I pushed Mrs. Bae, who
Bae. I had learned from experience that if I butted in, she would was off the phone and strangling me again. Mrs. Bae fell over and
shove me aside with some minor insult and hit Muhee even knocked Father over as well. Leaving the two to struggle like a
harder. pair of overturned turtles, I opened the front door.
And then it happened. Before I dashed out of there, I briefly made eye contact with
I stood there, my mind drawing a blank as I tried to Muhee who was standing by the bedroom door, her nose still
understand the meaning of Muhee’s arm rising slowly to a ninety bleeding. I didn’t have time to dawdle, but I was able to give
degree angle, her finger pointing at my face. her a slight nod to say, It’s not your fault. I didn’t have to ask
Mrs. Bae’s dry palm flew at me in slow motion and scratched to know that she had to point at someone to save herself, and
my cheekbone. The back of my head hit the wall as she seized that someone just happened to be me. She simply thought that
me by the collar and shoved me up against it. Only then did I burying her head in the sand would make her invisible, too.
understand what was happening to me. I heard a vein pop at I heard Mrs. Bae screaming behind me, “Stop him!” and
impact, sending a tingling, warm sensation through my head. Father shuffling to pick himself up. They’re coming after me.
It’s not true! No! Why would I?
I have no way of knowing if these cries and protestations pp. 51–55
actually burst out of me. The shower of punches and slaps that
followed immediately obscured my senses and perception. I Translated by Jamie Chang
wasn’t small or weak. I now reached Father’s shoulder, had the
strength to stand up against her blows, and could have returned
the attack and then some, but I didn’t. Father was watching. I
couldn’t do that to Father’s wife. I wasn’t intending to lessen the
impact of her fists, but I wound up kneeling with my face to the
floor. Her slippered foot came down over my neck and my back.
Feeling a warm stream of liquid flowing from the corner of The French editions of Gu Byeong-mo’s
my mouth down to the chin, I raised my head to look at Father. Greatest Fish (Fils de l’eau) and The Wizard
The look on his face suggested that he didn’t really believe Bakery (Les Petits Pains de la pleine lune)
were published by Philippe Picquier.
Muhee’s accusation, but didn’t have sense or sympathy enough
The Wizard Bakery was also published
to protect me. Overall, his expression was full of ambivalence. in Taiwan and Mexico, and became a
You know it wasn’t me, right? You believe I wouldn’t do such a bestseller in Mexico. Gu has won the
thing, right? Changbi Prize for Young Adult Fiction,
I don’t know if these thoughts turned into words and made the Today’s Writer Award, and the Hwang
their way out of my body, or if they just echoed in my head. Sun-Won Rising Writer Award.
What’s clear, however, is that the flushed Mrs. Bae finally

stopped kicking to rush past Father and pick up the phone.
“Hello? Police? I would like to report an underage criminal.”
At that moment, something snapped inside me. It was no

EXCERPTS
The Korean Table The beginning of temple cuisine dates back to the
introduction of Buddhism in the Three Kingdoms era. With the
by Korean Cuisine and Dining Production Team, KBS exposure to Buddhist culture, religious precepts that forbade
killing of animals and carnivorous diets had an impact on eating
habits. In the subsequent eras of Unified Silla and the Goryeo
dynasty, Buddhism was designated as the state religion, giving
rise to the development of a vegetarian diet in due course.
Buddhism spread among the upper class under royal patronage
and took on an aristocratic and patriotic bent. The cuisine was
also influenced by that trend. According to Buddhist dictates that
prohibited killing, animal products were ruled out, and a wide
range of dishes using vegetables were created instead. Moreover,
the popularity of the Buddhist ritual of oblatory tea prompted
a tea-drinking boom, and pan-fried or deep-fried confectionary
made from kneaded rice or wheat dough with honey, oil, and
Seedpaper, 2011, 344 pp.
wine caught on as an accompaniment to tea.
Buddhism started to decline during the Joseon dynasty.
koreanlitnow@klti.or.kr Crackdowns began in earnest when the State Council reported
on the corrupt practices of Buddhist clergy and advised that
their land and slaves be confiscated; those recommendations
were acted upon by King Taejong. In the end, the larger temples
Buddhist Temple Cuisine: moved deeper into the mountains, and as they did, monks ate
A table set with nature and eaten with the soul more and more of the wild greens that they found there. Monks
We have changed many things in keeping with the times. As we who had been unfamiliar with wild flora garnered valuable
aspire to an increasingly fast-paced and convenient way of life, knowledge from the diet of animals, and used these plants both
including one-minute rice and three-minute soups, it is probably as cooking and medicinal ingredients.
no wonder that our diet and recipes should change as well. But
there is a place where we can fully appreciate the flavor and allure Praying for the salvation of hungry ghosts
of the traditional Korean table and its respect for the natural In the sanctum at three in the morning, when the sound of the
rhythm of time. It is the Buddhist temple. officiating monk’s wooden bell awakens all that was asleep, the
In Buddhist cuisine, every step entails patience and tolerance remote temple begins its day with a solemn predawn service that
for painstaking work, with no shortcuts. A diet based solely on exudes unwavering piety and faith. After the service, the kitchen
local, seasonal vegetables is sure to be healthy. Below we immerse prepares breakfast. The crew has to cook a meal for about two
ourselves in the beautiful flavors and charm of Buddhist temple hundred people. But the reason they do not look at all frenzied
cuisine. is because each step—steaming the rice, making the soup, and
slicing the kimchi—is part of temple discipline. As a result, the
The roots preparation of breakfast is impeccably pious. Instead of using the
At Jogyesa Temple, on the Buddha’s birthday, all gathered pray Five Spices—garlic, scallions, Korean wild chives, garlic chives,
with earnest fervor when the ceremony begins in a solemn and Japanese jacinth—the disciples season the dishes with their
ambience. The temple treats the visitors to a meal as a sign of souls.
gratitude, sharing a flavor profile that has long been maintained In Buddhism, meals are referred to as pujana. Eaters are to
as a Korean tradition in isolated sanctuaries. The reason for the realize that they are partaking of food offered respectfully to the
appeal of Buddhist temple cuisine is its taste, which resembles Buddha and not to lose sight of that privilege. Monks dressed in
the original Korean table. robes and long jackets sit up straight behind alms bowls. Pujana

NONFICTION
begins by laying out the bowls carefully. These bowls are used
by Buddhists to portion out food, with each serving to include
rice, soup, side dishes, and water for rinsing the bowls at the
conclusion of the meal.
The meal does not begin as soon as the bowls have been
laid out: when everyone has unstacked their bowls and the
presiding monk shakes his bamboo broom once, those gathered
put their hands together in unison and recite ten prayers. These
invocations praise the immeasurable good deeds of the Triple
Gem—the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha—and are
Lotus lanterns
reminders of their grace. Only after practitioners have recited
the prayers with a grateful heart do they take into their bowls
the exact amount of food that they will consume. With the
food in front of them, they chant hymns, thinking of the Five
Meditations, which embody the Buddhist attitude toward food.
Plainly put, they thank nature and those who have toiled to grow
each grain of rice, ponder whether they are virtuous enough for
such food, drive away greedy thoughts from their minds, and
finally resolve to eat this food with gratitude, like medicine that
will enable them to devote themselves to their training. The act
of eating is not simply to sate their hunger but rather to feed the
pretas, the invisible ghosts or starved masses. Even wild flowers can become an ingredient in temple cuisine
After finishing their meal, practitioners rinse their spoons,
chopsticks, and bowls, and pour the remaining water into
the wastewater bucket. Any remaining food residue must be those hours that they do not devote to their studies. Ullyeok
swallowed and only clean water poured out. Before carrying the refers to collective physical labor performed by all; for example,
bucket outside, the Buddhist scripture on the ceiling is reflected picking wild vegetables is a form of ullyeok. Its alternative
in the water—this is a gesture expressing a wish for the salvation spelling, with the Chinese characters for “cloud” (雲) and “labor”
of hungry ghosts. (力), highlights the collective effort of people huddled like
After the hour-long pujana, the monks remain sitting with clouds. The nuns harvest the many gifts of nature from around
the bowls in front of them as they did at the start of the meal. It the temple through this activity.
is impressive and breathtaking to behold the supplicants cleaning
out their bowls reverently and ending the meal by rinsing the Harvesting and washing mugwort
bowls and drinking the water in silence. Pujana is the very reason Because the community of Unmunsa performs ullyeok so often,
that a definition of temple cuisine as one that excludes meat or three meals a day is not enough. The nuns need snacks. Spring
the Five Spices seems to fall short. Japanese mugwort, which is rich in minerals, is medicine. The
students harvest mugwort when it is in season, boil it, and store
Unmunsa Temple: “no labor, no food” it in the freezer. This ensures a year-round supply of fragrant
Unmunsa is nestled like the heart of a lotus blossom among mugwort. The harvested mugwort is washed carefully and
the petals of Hogeosan, Gajisan, and Biseulsan Mountains. This rinsed in running water so as not to harm any living thing that
temple, founded under King Jinheung of Silla (reigned 540–576), might be hiding in it. This is a very different mindset from that
is also a Buddhist college where some two hundred nuns study. of secular folk who wash vegetables in running water out of
It is also famous for its strict adherence to the rule: “No labor, fear of pesticides. The cauldron where they have blanched the
no food.” So the students perform ullyeok on a daily basis during mugwort cannot be lifted up and drained, so cold water is poured

EXCERPTS
in as the hot water is scooped out. Buddhists consider throwing bonnet bellflowers and balloon flowers, Fischer’s leopard plant,
out hot water as an act of killing, since the scalding water may cham-namul, and scented Solomon’s seal.
traumatize germs and microbes. They only dispose of hot water Most Koreans believe that scented Solomon’s seal is only
after added cold water has cooled it enough that it would not good for tea, but its leaves can also be pickled. Pickled side dishes
damage anything living. are an important fixture on the Korean table, and temple cuisine
boasts a particularly vast inventory of them. Vegetarianism
Temple cuisine and pickling developed with the introduction of Buddhism, and fermented
Temple cuisine is true to the fundamentals of nature. Time foods such as soybean paste, soy sauce, and gochujang were
changes many things, but it has not altered the basics of temple conceived as a way to better enjoy vegetable dishes that are less
cuisine, which gathers its ingredients in the garden of nature. appealing than meat or seafood dishes. In the same vein, monks
There the cooks can find a veritable cornucopia of wild plants, also prepare kimchi and other pickled side dishes. Congregants
including the young shoots of prickly castor oil trees that exposed to these creations adopted them for their table, and
alleviate the symptoms of stroke and diabetes, the rootstalks of reinvented side dishes, kimchi, and fermented foods. Pickling,

NONFICTION
which evolved in step with fermented foods, is just as labor-

intensive as other preserved preparations. Gochujang-based side
dishes must use cultivated vegetables and wild greens that have
been drained thoroughly to prevent the juice or the vegetables
from spoiling. When making soy sauce pickles, the base is brewed
from mushrooms, kelp, chili peppers, and ginger, and then
chilled. Traditional Korean soy sauce is added to create a suitably
salty, refreshing, and rounded taste.
It is far from easy for monks, who should concentrate on
their discipline, to forage ingredients for every meal. So the main
Pickling helps monks with their training
reason for the development of pickling in temple cuisine has to
do with the fact that wild plants that abound in forests or plains
in spring or late spring were pickled using homemade fermented
preparations so that the clergy could devote themselves to their
training without worrying about provisions all year. Pickled
dishes taste better the longer they age, and as the product of a
slow, earthy, and challenging process, they flaunt a flavor that
calls to mind the poise of an enlightened monk.
Dawn at Seonamsa Temple

The mountain temple begins its day as the sound of the large
bell shatters the calm. The ascetics who have embarked on their A modest portion of food is put into each bowl
training to become monks begin their days in the kitchen. Most
of their duties involve kitchen work. There is a precise division
of labor: some make dainty side dishes, some prepare soup, safeguards temple cuisine and provides training for the novices.
some cook rice, and so on. These job descriptions are intended It is analogous to making kimchi from young summer radish
to encourage focused training that dedicates all thoughts to one leaves, which release moisture and dispense with the need to add
task. Once the meal is ready, trainees carry the food to the main extra water.
hall in unison. The monks take over from there. The trainees
put out the fire in the kitchen and observe the monks with If you seek to be free of all torment, learn to be
anticipation. satisfied. Those who know how to be content are always
Seonamsa Temple, located at the foot of Jog yesan rich, merry, and at peace. Such a person is at ease and
Mountain, has a thousand-year history. It is famous for its strict joyous in his heart even if he should sleep on bare
disciplining of novices, and this means that it remains true to ground. But those who do not know how to be content
its roots. Novices are prospective monks, charged with day-to- are unhappy even if they should find themselves in
day housekeeping in the temple. One of their duties is to tend heaven. Those who do not know contentment may be rich
the vegetable garden. Tilling the soil and growing vegetables on the outside but are in fact poor, and those who know
themselves, thereby learning the value of ingredients, is part contentment may appear poor but are in fact rich.
of their training. When the plots yield nothing, they cook what
they find in the forests and fields. The recipes are passed on from Testament Sutra
one trainee to the next, who learn the seasonal ingredients and
recipes, as well as the properties of each ingredient. For instance, Translated by Ji-yung Kim
part of the cumulative knowledge is a recipe for coriander salad,
which clears the head on a languorous spring day. This process

MUSINGS
Some
Morning-After
Translation
Thoughts ⓒ John Lawrence, 2015
T his is not the column I was intending to write. Over the last
few days I’ve jotted down some notes for this piece and it
was going to be all about promoting literature in translation here
people who feel relatively more enfranchised than the average
and who have suffered less than most from the sharpest edges
of the status quo, so they largely fit the demographics that
in the UK (the challenges and benefits), about increasing market have tended to vote that way. But there’s something more than
share, perhaps mentioning some recent particular successes, and that: my friends are translators, writers, publishers, people who
so on. I was going to comment on the impressive international promote literature and diversity and free speech. And even those
performance of Korean literature in the past couple of years and who aren’t, well, they’re all readers.
speculate on some of the causes, maybe consider some of the So what?
lessons. In the column that I’m not writing for you, I would have talked
But it’s seven in the morning, and I was up most of the about how great it is that Korean literature is becoming a presence
night watching the television coverage of our European Union in the UK market, and what we can learn from how that has
referendum, and as the results come in it’s becoming terrifyingly come to be so. I would have included praise for the fine support
clear that our voters have made what I believe is a profoundly of LTI Korea, of course, who have been instrumental in making
irresponsible choice, and so, well, it turns out there are more it happen; I would have talked about the individual translators
important things that need talking about. whose advocacy work (and translation work, of course) has
The referendum asked us a simple question: Do we remain a allowed the opening-up of this new market to Korean writers
member of the European Union or do we leave? But behind that using an influence that really can’t be overestimated; and I would
question, it was really about many different things. Depending on probably also have said something about the UK market generally
whom you ask, the votes were cast over immigration, democratic and its long-standing resistance to translation which seems to be
rights, disenfranchisement, anti-establishment anger, racism, dissipating, at last, as we publish more books in translation than
isolationism, nationalism, patriotism, a massive collapse of ever, attract more attention, sell more copies. These things are
trust, austerity, control. Now, you don’t need to know what I important, and I do talk about them all the time. But watching my
personally think it was about, that doesn’t matter here; I’ll just friends respond to today’s catastrophic news reminds me that we
say I was firmly, vehemently in the “Remain” camp, though I do too often take for granted why translating literature is important.
understand the discontent that led many to vote the other way. I We talk about what’s being published and what’s being read,
think the “Leave” voters made a calamitously wrong choice, but and assume we all agree it’s a good thing when a book crosses a
yes, I understand. language and a border, but we don’t talk about why.
Judging by my Facebook timeline and my Twitter feed, Is it really so obvious? To everyone?
however, one would have guessed “Remain” would win by a I’ve only spent four days in Korea in my whole life, and those
landslide. Quite possibly even the full unanimous 100%. In one four days were for a conference so I barely escaped my hotel. Korea
sense that’s not surprising: my friends tend to be educated, is the other side of the world for me, a culture that should seem as
internationalist, financially comfortable, and metropolitan, entirely unintelligible as its strange and beautiful language.

And yet. us who just read—we are all in the empathy business. And just look
In the last couple of years I’ve come to know the work of half at the world around us! Getting people to broaden their imaginative
a dozen Korean novelists (three years ago I couldn’t have named horizons has never been more important. If you, who are reading
one); and in so doing, I’ve imaginatively inhabited dozens of this, are someone who does one of those things, thank you.
varied Korean lives. Again and again I’ve discovered how different If they’re anything like me, I suspect most English readers
each of these people is from me, and I’ve been able to engage with will read translated Korean fiction in the same way as their own,
them at all because of the ways in which we are also fundamentally every bit as demandingly, without making allowances. That is,
the same. Reading fiction requires imagination, and imagination they expect to be seduced by a voice, turned on by a character,
is what enables empathy. And empathy is… well, any attempt at excited by a plot, they expect to be surprised into surrendering
empathy was in short supply in yesterday’s referendum. Empathy to the rhythm and muscle and taste of the (translated) language
makes racism more difficult, it makes mean-spirited negligence and lose themselves pleasurably in it. (These are all reasons
more difficult, it makes selfishness more difficult. why the recent Korean Man Booker International Prize winner
Empathy insists upon compassion. is such a good standard-bearer as literary translations go.) And
Recent studies have shown that reading fiction strengthens retailers promote translated fiction accordingly. They don’t try to
empathy, theory of mind; and I’d contend that we should want tell readers foreign books are “good for you,” that they’re healthy,
a vast diversity of books traveling the world because the more that they’ll encourage you to understand people unlike you and
pluralism you find in the fiction available, the wider the horizons, discover the ways they are like you, too, that they’ll improve your
the more profoundly effective that empathy work-out can hope powers of empathy, your curiosity…
to be. We don’t say those things because they’d be a terrible
(Yesterday’s referendum was no great celebration of pluralism, marketing strategy, but they are nonetheless true.
either.) It’s worth occasionally reminding ourselves of the power
Making it possible for my readers to read your writers and vice we have, all of us whose job is to seduce readers into thinking
versa—that possessive “my” and “your” is sadly revealing, too— themselves into other people. As a translator I have made it
isn’t just important because of the exporting of cultural products possible for hundreds of thousands of English readers to spend
is a potentially valuable commercial activity; and it isn’t even some time in the heads of men, women, and children (and indeed
just important for reasons of soft power. Translating books from some animals) in Angola or Spain, in the present or hundreds
there and bringing them here, those are also positive, optimistic, of years in the past or even the future, in Quebec and Brazil, in
generous things to do. Guatemala and France, in Portugal, Spain, and Argentina. That
Yesterday’s referendum decision had been contested fearfully, experience we’re enabling in our readers is slowly, positively,
negatively, ungenerously. There was much discussion about the transformative. Maybe what we’ve been doing isn’t enough to win
country’s net contribution to the EU: How do we make sure we a referendum, but it’s not nothing. We just need to keep doing it.
get out more than we put in? How do we make “them” bear more The event programmer at London’s biggest bookshop has
costs so we need only bear fewer costs ourselves? In three months invited those of us who work with European literature to gather
of campaigning I heard not one person making the altruistic case in the shop this afternoon for a post-referendum drink. A
for contributing, for its own sake and not for a greater net return. sort of wake, if you like. It’s a thoughtful idea, to give us all an
Arguing that when others need our help, we should help them, opportunity to be together to feel sad at the loss for a moment,
because doing good is better than not doing good. And no, I’m not for sure, but also crucially to remind each other why we do what
hopelessly naïve, and of course I didn’t truly expect anyone to make we do, and why it’s needed more than ever. And then, when we’ve
this argument in a political campaign, but still, empathy… We— revived and remembered the power of that essential “why”—
both politicians and electorate— could do with more empathy than the empathy-building, the horizon-broadening—we will ready
was on display in the language of the last few months. ourselves to get back to work.
Those of us who translate and write, and who encourage and
support translation, those of us who teach others to translate and by Daniel Hahn
write and read, those of us who campaign for reading and those of Writer, Editor, and Translator

REVIEWS
A Cloud Drifting explains, “is a lengthy expression of my
indescribable, intense boredom.” (p. 191)
and reflecting on everything from the
statues in Washington Square Park to the
over California And yet, there is a point. One comes Golden Gate Bridge’s popularity as a place
away from A Contrived World with an to commit suicide, revealing along the
unforgettable impression of the narrator’s way a certain truth about the true nature
personality and voice. He is a neurotic, of the state.
narcissistic, crude, and mirthless young In such a book, however, it is not the
man, but nevertheless one is reluctant to plot that matters. The beating heart of A
leave him behind when the novel is over. Contrived World resides in the meandering
Aside from a brief trip to Hawaii, A and obsessive thoughts of the narrator.
Contrived World takes place entirely in Each of his actions or ideas—whether
California. In the opening chapters of shooting at cacti in the desert, erasing a
the book the narrator is visiting his ex- name written in the sand, or examining
girlfriend and her current boyfriend in his butt in the mirror—is subjected to
Los Angeles. The remainder of the novel a laconic, but unrelenting analysis. “I
takes place primarily in San Francisco, haven’t been able to take life seriously,”
where the narrator is living while on a the narrator confesses, “and cannot
fellowship, it seems, at UC Berkeley. The concern myself with the facts of life,
narrator has a very strong understanding but only with my thoughts on those
of the state’s history and culture, and his facts.” Thus, the novel consists of long
descriptions of place are unconventional, sections dealing with topics such as the
but always apt. Take, for example, this number of kernels on an ear of corn, the
description of the desert south east of fate of the moles living under Golden
A Contrived World
Los Angeles: “We drove for a long time Gate Park during the 1906 earthquake,
Jung Young Moon
Translated by Jeffrey Karvonen and Mah Eunji
through a bleak landscape that barely or the quintessentially American sport
Dalkey Archive Press, 2016, 206 pp. changed, and so the place where we ended of “noodling” (catching catfish with
up seemed as though it only existed on one’s bare hands). One might describe
a map.” (p. 5) His carefully observed A Contrived World as Proustian, and the
depictions of San Francisco’s underbelly narrator does make a pointed allusion to
“I might title this novel Drifting Clouds,” reveal a curiosity and genuine affection Proust’s famous madeleine. But the novel
Jung Young Moon writes in the final for the city, which he describes as being bears much more in common with the so-
paragraph of his new book (which is overrun with “deranged people,” “hobos,” called “autofiction” of Teju Cole and Ben
actually called A Contrived World), “because and “drifters.” In one section, the narrator Lerner (novels in which overeducated
this novel, which is a confused play on describes being harassed by a group of young men who resemble the author
thoughts and words, has no point at all, young vagrants in the park: “I wish there wander around foreign cities and ponder
like drifting clouds.” (p. 195) It’s true was a sign in Golden Gate Park that was the meaninglessness of life).
that not much happens in A Contrived similar to the one instructing visitors What emerges from A Contrived World,
World, at least not in terms of plot. The how to behave when confronted by a wild over the course of two hundred pages,
obsessive and somewhat aimless narrator boar on the mountain, but that instead is a narrator whose worldview revolves
visits California, gets drunk on tequila unambiguously delineated what to do around the twin poles of meaning and
in the desert, talks to a few homeless when passing by young vagrants.” (p. 158) meaningless, obsession and ennui. Or,
people in Golden Gate Park, tries on some Like a sullen and highly distractible Alexis as the narrator puts it, while eating an
hats in Honolulu, then returns home to de Tocqueville, the narrator of A Contrived unappetizing sandwich: “Fixating on the
Seoul. “This entire novel,” the narrator World wanders around California, opining taste of mayonnaise in the sandwich,

it occurred to me that I was writing Gildong is an illegitimate son—Minister
fiction to seek revenge on nothingness, Hong impregnates a servant girl named
meaninglessness, and the baselessness of Chunseom (“She may have been lowborn,
existence.” (p. 175) There are moments of but there was nothing lowly about her
humor in the book as well as a number of character”) after waking from a vivid
instances when the narrator’s depression dream in which “[a] blue dragon appeared,
breaks through his ironic detachment. shaking its beard, glaring with its frightful
But in the end, one comes away with eyes, and opening wide its red mouth.”
an indelible sense of the narrator’s Gildong’s magnificence and glorious
unrelenting curiosity, about California, destiny are immediately apparent; he’s “a
the world, and the circuitous inner precious boy whose face was the color of
workings of the mind. snow and whose presence was as grand as
the autumn moon,” who seems to exhibit
by Michael David Lukas great strength and intelligence from the
Author of The Oracle of Stamboul moment of his birth.
But his extraordinary nature doesn’t
extinguish his low status. He cries to
The Story of himself, “I have been born into a situation

in which I am barred from following my
Hong Gildong The Story of Hong Gildong
Translated by Minsoo Kang
ambitions, and I cannot even address my
father as Father and my older brother as
Penguin Classics, 2016, 128 pp. Brother.” This injustice is a central theme,
As translator Minsoo Kang notes in his not only of Gildong’s childhood, but of
introduction, “The Story of Hong Gildong is his entire saga. It becomes, at times,
arguably the single most important work repetitive—there is a lot of lamenting
of classic (i.e. premodern) prose fiction manuscripts of the text, with variations about lowborn status and thwarted
of Korea, in terms not only of its literary major and minor. Kang’s translation ambitions (his very specific dream is “to
achievement but also of its influence follows the longest and likely oldest of enter government service and eventually
on the larger culture.” It’s one of those these surviving manuscripts, the pilsa become a high general in the hope of one
books that Koreans tend to know about, 89. While Korean textbooks and other day receiving the royal insignia of the
even if they haven’t necessarily read it dominant sources attribute The Story minister of war”).
for themselves—Hong Gildong is such a of Hong Gildong to Joseon dynasty poet Gildong’s refulgent superiority causes
dominant figure in Korean consciousness Heo Gyun (1569-1618), Kang presents great turmoil in the Hong household: his
that his name is used as a conventional evidence that the book is much more high ambitions and attendant resentment
placeholder, as “John Doe” is used in recent, authored by an unknown man of cause tension with his father and a senior
the US. As a second-generation Korean- secondary commoner status looking to concubine named Chorang, barren and
American, I’d never heard of Hong produce mass market fiction in the mid- jealous of the minister’s love for his son,
Gildong, and had to reckon with the fact nineteenth century. “plotted his murder every single day.”
that I quite literally didn’t know the first This theory makes a certain intuitive She comes up with a “wicked stratagem”
thing about Korean literature. My parents, sense—the novel chronicles the life of involving a shaman, a physiognomist,
on the other hand, are quite familiar with Hong Gildong, an exceptional man with and an assassin. When the ten-year-old
Hong Gildong jeon; my mother read it in humble origins who becomes Korea’s Gildong slaughters his attackers—using
junior high. own Robin Hood-style outlaw hero. His his strength, cunning, and the “magical
There are thir ty -four extant father is a government minister, but arts of invisibility and metamorphosis”—

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he takes leave of his family and “wandered Repetition and or absence of a direct political message,
about like a f loating cloud, making Lee Jangwook’s Request Line at Noon
the whole world his home and finding Difference might not seem like the book you
uncomfortable rest wherever he could.” would want to use to explain to non-
Out in the world, Gildong finds his believers the power of poetry. However,
destiny, first becoming the leader of I think it is precisely the absence of such
the notorious Hwalbindang—a group gestures that makes it such a good book
of bandits who “go after the powerful to explain not only why contemporary
who obtained their riches by squeezing poetry matters, but also how it works.
the common people and take away their This is a book interested in repetition
unjustly gained possessions”—then and difference—a poetic materialism
becoming king of his own kingdom on argued through praxis, not through
the island of Yul. All of this happens in declaration. Because poetry has the
seventy-seven pages. power to enact philosophy—to put it
Gildong is often ruthless and on stage, here repetition functions as
scheming, and he says things like, “You a way to unhinge the mimetic function
are like little children who could not of language. What I mean is that the
possibly understand my deep stratagem.” politics of these poems are in the
Still, he ’s a fun hero to follow, an machinery of how the poems work, not
underdog despite some superpowers, in what they say. Repetition recycles
and his adventures have the quick- words by reimagining their function—
moving magnetism of myth. The Story of much like how the seatbelts of old cars
Hong Gildong lacks some of the elements can be refurbished into the straps of
Request Line at Noon
readers of contemporary fiction may be bags, or made into bags themselves—
Lee Jangwook
used to—nuance and three-dimensional Translated by Sun Kim and Tsering Wangmo Lee not only reclaims and recycles, but
characters, for example—but it offers Codhill Press, 2016, 68 pp. he also takes language and rolls it out
strong emotional beats and a certain flat like a piece of dough and then cuts
classical allure. it into distinctly separate, but similar
Hong Gildong jeon represents not only shapes.
a letter from Korea’s past, but one that What role does poetry have to play in
modern Korea has selected and preserved society today? How does poetry address Supp ose I come upon an alley while
as one of its core narratives. As Kang the world around us? If you are a poet or walking along the alley,
points out, Korea has had its fair share are invested in the poetry industry, it is All I can do is to look around.
of humiliations since the Joseon era, and always good to have an elevator speech There are things that start living all of
it’s likely no coincidence that this story at the ready. You might be on a plane a sudden
has “a profound resonance in the Korean someday, and someone might ask you From a place that happens all of a
psyche.” To read The Story of Hong Gildong what you do, and to just say poetry or sudden.
is to get closer to the soul of Korea, to translation or publishing poetry sounds The old, new world
listen to the stories she tells of herself. to the layman like you live on the moon That unrolls where the blind alley
and ride unicorns to work. One has appears. (p. 34)
by Steph Cha to always explain—because how can
Author of Follow Her Home something which has little to no market The doubling of the word “alley”
value still exist? conflates space while “all of a sudden”
With its lack of big rhetorical lines distorts time. Paradoxically, interiority

a n d e x t e r i o r i t y, s i n g u l a r i t y a n d reality, because identity almost has the
multitude, are not singled out and fluidity of the snow and rain, the poems
meditated upon in the idiosyncratic move horizontally. “A woman who jumped
moment of a heroic speaker, rather they off the 8th floor of Jugong apartment/
(un)roll like the world itself. It is no Lay on the railing of the second floor/
surprise then that in a poem that echoes Her long hair dangling/ There is no
Vallejo’s “Black Stone on a White Stone,” music tonight.” (p. 7) When the cognitive
Lee writes: mapping of the self merges with the outer
world in a single landscape, suddenly it
I will call you on Thursday. is not only the self, but the entire world
Thursday, that is changed. “When the number 7 bus
I will call you on the sole Thursday. that I’m on shakes/ I am only the number
I lost my interest in martyrs today 7 bus/ […] Shaking my head boldly/ I’ll
[…] I am a skill-less magician, walk on the road where flowers endlessly
If I go around the corners, bloom.” (p. 49) And like the speaker, none
Thursday will show up like magic. of us are observers alone, but are one with
I don’t like martyrs, what we observe.
The martyrs from the Nine O’clock
News, by Jacob Levine Poor Love Machine
So I shall call in the rain. (p. 11) Poet, Translator, Editor at Spork Press Kim Hyesoon
PhD Candidate, Seoul National University Translated by Don Mee Choi
Most of these poems take place Action Books, 2016, 91 pp.
either in the afternoon or at dusk, when

the quality of the light makes vision
mysterious, when the shadows of things
become bigger than things themselves.
Unleashing Her women to be published in Literature and
Intellect, one of two key journals which
Objects in the poems are given their
own subjectivity and they will often
Tongue championed the intellectual and literary
movement against the US-backed military
have agency to change on their own. dictatorships of Park Chung-hee and Chun
This relieves the speaker from being the This first full English translation of a Doo-hwan in the 1970s and 80s. She has
center of action, and flattens human landmark collection published nearly since won numerous other literary prizes,
subjectivity to that of an animal, an twenty years ago takes us back to a and was also the ﬁrst woman to receive
elephant, a giraffe—just another object turning point in Korean poetry. When the coveted Midang Award in 2006.
or being floating in the world. Kim Hyesoon won the Kim Su-Young The naming of prizes after esteemed
While the poems are always written Literary Award for Poor Love Machine, she poets has symbolic force in Korean
between an “I” and a “you,” the addressee became the first female poet to receive literary politics, so there was significance
is often a self-reflexive echo that bounces this coveted award, following many in Kim being awarded major prizes
out, extending into the landscape. “Eleven years when the women poets who had honouring both Kim Su-Young (1921-
a.m. I absorbed the sounds./ Eleven emerged during the 1980s struggled for 1968), who was closely associated with
a.m. I was as noisy as possible./ Opening recognition in a literary culture policed “engaged poetry” that displays historical
the window I became countless voices by Korea’s male-dominated literar y consciousness, and Midang, the pen-
transformed into the speed of sound.” (p. establishment. name of Seo Jeong-ju (1915-2000), a poet
13) While Lee’s poetry has been described Kim began publishing her work in who stood for “pure poetry.”
as operating on the border of fantasy and 1979 and was one of the ﬁrst of few Poor Love Machine was born out of

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Kim’s reaction against the still massively shrimp and eats. Her squirming Garbage of the World, Unite! (2011) and
popular works of the Korean poets throat is omnivorous. […] Having Sorrowtoothpaste Mirrorcream (2014), the
of the 1900s, notably Kim Sowol and left the party, I begin to vomit as first of these a selection from Kim’s earlier
Han Yong-un, who adopted female soon as I step outside. Seoul eats books including Poor Love Machine. A UK
personae to express their grief over the and shits through the same door. selection drawing on the Action Books
Japanese occupation of Korea. That My body curls up like a worm. It editions, I’m OK, I’m Pig!, was published
literary convention or pose involved seems that every few days a big by my press, Bloodaxe Books, in 2014.
ventriloquizing an anti-colonialist agenda hand descends from the sky to
by appropriating and clumsily feminizing roll out cloud-like toilet paper and by Neil Astley
the voices of a gender oppressed and wipe the opening of Seoul, which Founder and Editor, Bloodaxe Books
silenced in their own culture: is simultaneously a mouth and an
anus.
As I began writing poetry, I often felt as “Seoul’s Dinner”
if my tongue were paralyzed. I had no role The Paradox of the
model for poetry. The woman’s voice made
by Korean men, the voice that is even more
Born and raised in Seoul and Hong
Kong, but long a resident in the US,
Möbius strip
feminine than a woman’s, was not mine. I Don Mee Choi has taken on the task of
had no role model, especially because even metamorphosing the living, writhing Take a sheet of A4-sized paper. Cut
pre-modern women’s poetry only consisted body of Kim Hyesoon’s Korean poetry out a strip lengthways, around three
of songs of love, farewell, and longing for the into English with the zeal and personal centimeters wide. Put down your scissors,
other. advocacy of a kindred spirit committed pick up your glue stick, glue the end of
to doing more than just translate words one side and then the other, twist the
The impetus for Kim’s poetry came and phrases from one language into paper without folding it and join the two
from her decision to explore in her own another. The whole body of the poem pre-glued parts together. Now take an
voice “the possibilities of the sensory” conceived in Kim’s reinvented mother Asian man carrying an unwieldy suitcase,
and to believe in her own “feminine tongue has to be totally absorbed into place him on the strip and tell him to walk
individuation, its secrets.” In sharp the self before being spewed out in Choi’s all the way to the end.
contrast with the language of passivity adopted language. Her bodily response This is the world of Haïlji’s novel The
and contemplation typical of earlier to Kim’s squirming, seething language Republic of Užupis: a fantastic story that
women writers, Kim’s work—along with is transmuted via the alchemy of an takes the reader on an obsessive quest for
that of Choi Seung-ja—was resonant with unusually visceral translation process: “I memory.
what her translator Don Mee Choi has howl and I shriek and I translate. So the An Asian man steps off the plane at
called “a stunning language of resistance miserable images I translate are the same Vilnius airport. He receives a lukewarm
to the prescribed literary conventions for as the letters I send out into the miserable welcome from the authorities: He is the
women.” So the publication of Poor Love world. I come to translation, the language only one forced to show his boarding card,
Machine—with its grotesque imagery of echoing, the language of howling, or to be questioned by two immigration
of rats, pigs, holes, garbage, excrement, under the US imperialism. Translation = officers. “There is a simple reason for our
and death—delivered an almost physical Antithingification.” interest, sir—you’re traveling without
body-blow to the established corpus of Po o r L o v e M a c h i n e , w h i c h s h e a return ticket.” “Well, yes,” replies Hal,
Korean poetry in 1997: calls the “ignition point” for Kim’s the novel’s main character. “I don’t plan
subsequent collections, is the fourth of to stay in Vilnius. I’m heading for the
Pigs enter. The pigs oink and suck her translations to appear with Action Republic of Užupis.”
on Seoul’s lips. She dips the meat Books in the US, following Mommy Must There is indeed in Vilnius—the capital
from the pig ’s neck in pickled Be a Fountain of Feathers (2008), All the of the formerly Soviet-occupied Baltic

a group of high-spirited companions who mask from each of the novel’s characters,
are to accompany him on an evening full to discover people we know and give
of surprises. them their real names—but that’s
Hal’s gaze is directed constantly not the point. The Republic of Užupis is
forwards—all his efforts focused on the neither a roman-à-clef nor a whodunit;
goal of making the past correspond with it is a descent into the cacophony of
a future that seems to lie within his grasp memory. We must simply accept the
yet permanently eludes him. He tells his distance at which the author keeps us
story to anyone who will listen: describing and let ourselves be taken on a journey,
his father who was an ambassador for the accompanied by the almost farcical irony
famous Republic before it was conquered that pervades the text and imbues it with
by a belligerent neighboring country, an additional, playful dimension. We
or his family who then had to live in must content ourselves with our role as
exile in a distant Asian nation. Hal even the reader—a pure spectator.
shows his new friends postcards sent Haïlji has said that he wrote this novel
from the Republic of Užupis, but they after initially wanting to turn the story
remain skeptical, even when it transpires into a film. So imagine that the film is
that some of the women among them one side of your A4-sized sheet of paper,
remember a man on a similar quest who and the novel is the other. Cut out a strip
La République d’Užupis killed himself before he could achieve his around four centimeters wide. Put down
(The Republic of Užupis) goal. your scissors, pick up your glue stick,
Haïlji
Watching over Hal’s shoulder, the apply glue to one end of the film side and
Translated by Kyungran Choi and Pierre Bisiou
reader doesn’t miss a beat. This is a one end of the novel side, twist the paper
Le Serpent à Plumes, 2016, 256 pp.
central feature of this gripping novel: the without folding it and join the two pre-
author, Haïlji, has decided to position the glued parts together. Now take a very
reader just behind the main character. beautiful woman named Jurgita and let
country of Lithuania—a self-proclaimed We hear everything Hal says, without her run the length of the strip, escorted
“Republic of Užupis.” The Republic was learning anything else. We see everything by her swallows.
established by a group of friends in a he sees, while sharing his inability to
bar one night, in a fit of drunken, merry discern anything through the fog and by Pierre Bisiou
inspiration. They drew up a forty-one- snow. We, the readers, are simultaneously Publisher, Le Serpent à Plumes
point constitution, proclaiming their immersed and detached, by which I mean
rights, in equal measure, to happiness we are made to depend entirely on the
and sadness, to silence and sharing central character and his point of view
one’s mind, to eternity and each passing while being kept at a certain remove from
second. This rather admirable republic is his quest. There is a fascinating effect of
to be found in the part of Vilnius known shifting involvement.
as the Other Bank. We could discuss here the author’s
The driver who picks Hal up at the various sources of inspiration, thinking
airport in the snow and fog makes a half- perhaps of Kafka’s The Castle, Korea’s
hearted effort to find the Republic, but to recent history, or the tragic news story
no avail. After driving around for some of a French actress who was killed by her
time, he leaves his curious passenger at husband while making a film in Vilnius.
the Hotel Užupis, where Hal encounters We might even attempt to remove the

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A Small to read it. From the title I could make and circles the shoal of salmon saying
the assumption that the main character that life is a cycle of things achieved and
Contemplation of would be someone who yearns to go things that fade away—those who eat
farther than the eye can see, someone and those who are eaten. For whether
Life’s Big Problems who dreams of accomplishing something in water or on land, we are all one. The
more in life, someone who would live and silver salmon who suffered for looking
could even die by that dream. And yes, different from the other salmon, uses the
this fable deals with those things. power of love as the impetus to overcome
The main character is a silver salmon pain and disability. When the shoal of
who shines within, but at the same time salmon comes to an enormous waterfall,
is distant from the shoal because of the the other salmon are scared to jump over
silver scales on its back. This distance it. But the silver salmon tells the rest of
occurs because the silver salmon sticks out them to follow “the salmon’s path,” the
among the school and needs protection way of nature.
thus becoming the target of jealousy and Born in 1961, author Ahn Do-hyun
complaint. The silver salmon knows he is has sold a million copies of this book and
being protected, but feels frustrated by it. has said that nature was a big inspiration.
This is because the one thing forbidden to It started when he was asked to write
a fish is to dream. In particular, he dreams an article on salmon fishing for a fishing
of going out of the water and looking up magazine. After he sent in his piece,
at the stars, and of living on land. He then he received some enraged letters from
finds out that to be a salmon means to readers and started to research salmon.
complete life by fighting upstream to lay While doing this, he began to see that we
eggs and die, but he cannot believe that humans are just like the hungry eagles,
Der Fisch, der zu den Sternen schwimmen his life has no greater meaning than that haughty and looking down at the salmon
wollte of all the other salmon. with greedy eyes hoping to catch and eat
(The Salmon Who Wanted to Swim In fact, in this tale the salmon’s story them. Now he understood! Ahn saw how
to the Stars) holds so much more than that. While humans lack respect for nature. It can be
Ahn Do-hyun
on their symbolic journey upstream to said that in this work, Eastern wisdom
Translated by Hyuk-Sook Kim and
the spawning grounds, the silver salmon meets Édouard Glissant’s Poetics of
Manfred Selzer
Insel Verlag, 2016, 96 pp. and the rest of the shoal are faced with Relation. Glissant understood that there is
danger and challenges lurking in every much to be learned between humans and
corner. All of which represent the big nature and emphasized the connection.
questions that determine a person’s true He believed that anyone and anything
When I first saw Ahn Do-hyun’s The nature, such as “What is life?”, “What can be connected to the background or
Salmon Who Wanted to Swim to the Stars is the true nature of existence?”, “What existence of a another, which we call
on my desk, I wanted to put aside this do we want in this world?”, and “How “interconnectedness.” In this short fable
thin book with its stylized Japanese can you reconcile individual desires with that can be read within an hour, Ahn
illustration on the cover. To tell you the society and its indispensability?” This Do-hyun scales down and explains this
truth, I don’t normally find this genre, a thin book suggests answers to these concept.
fable for adults where the main character questions with its figurative illustrations If you are expecting an eminent
is a salmon who is different from the rest that feel simple and childlike, yet convey work from Korea, the seventh largest
of the shoal, very interesting. However, the essential truths the book holds. At the literature market in the world, you
I was drawn in by the title and began start of the story, a hungry eagle appears should not put your hopes in this slight

book translated into simple German by heard for a very long time, and who had
Hyuk-Sook Kim and Manfred Selzer. been the pride of their family, suddenly
Nevertheless this book is a simple yet appears one day, and goes into hiding in
profound meditation—for readers who the attic. From there Soni and her mother
do not mistake ‘simple’ (schlicht) for begin to live together with her father,
‘bad’(schlecht). separated just by a single ceiling.
This father is Ahn, the man who had
by Claudia Kramatschek been known as the “torture technician.”
Literary Critic The story progresses, told in turn by Ahn
Jury, Weltempfänger-Liste and his daughter Soni. Their tales show
an intense contrast between darkness and
light, and as the daughter begins to learn
Cutting into of her father’s past and seek out answers
for herself, the story heads towards new
the Darkness of ground, at the extreme of neither dark
nor light.
Korean Society There was a real life model for Ahn:
Lee Geun-an, who as a member of the
生姜 (Ginger) security police maneuvered behind
Soft things change shape according to Cheon Un-yeong the scenes to detain communists and
Translated by Hashimoto Chiho
the vessel in which they are held, and suppress the democratization movement,
Shinkansha, 2016, 357 pp.
transform to fit their environment. and shook contemporary Korean society
Accustomization is a form of chemical as the “torture technician.” His fate
reaction, as well as a manifestation of the changed for the worse in 1988, the year
instinct for survival. Human existence information will turn the pages following of the Seoul Olympics, which were an
is originally extreme, sensitive and soft, this disturbing and incomprehensible opportunity for Korean society to take
transfiguring according to time and place. monologue, and in time, little by little, a great leap towards democratization
Cheon Un-yeong’s latest book, the full- learn the background of this man. and internationalization. With the
length work Ginger, tells of the multi- This man, who goes by the name of transformation of Korean society, Lee
paced contrast between such a “vessel” Ahn, was a shrewd operator amongst became a negative legacy of the dark
and the mind and body, whilst also boldly security police—inflicting brutal torture period, and he spent nearly eleven years
cutting into the darkness of contemporary upon suspects appearing to be communist in hiding, from the end of 1988 to the fall
Korean society. spies, however never causing them to of 1999. After voluntarily surrendering
The story begins with a monologue of die, only to make them “disgorge.” Just and spending time in jail, he became a
a peculiar venom. The speaker, repeating as his glory days are brought to an end, priest. Through his missionary work he
the phrase “beautiful technique,” seems intoxicated by torture through this began to confess about his past, and was
to be urged by a strong impatience as if “beautiful technique,” the story suddenly later excommunicated from the church.
filled with self-confidence, and it is almost switches to the bright, fresh spring in Korean audiences will be reminded
as if his crazed eyes are looking up from Seoul. of the real-life “torture technician” at the
between the lines on the page. Yet despite Soni has just entered university, and outset of Ginger. For those international
the heartless words, the sentences seem she is filled with the hope of her brand readers as myself who proceed to read
to become embodied with an extreme new campus life. However, before long, a without any prior knowledge, the story is
heat, and even the sour smell of sweat shadow begins to appear over her sunny fresh and terrifying, reeking of blood. Yet,
can be sensed. Readers with no prior days. Her father, from whom she had not the reader somehow feels connected to

REVIEWS
each of the characters who appear. in the afterword that while Lee was A Parable of
The words revealed by Lee Geun-an, the model, the story which appeared as
the model for Ahn, after surrendering and time passed was “not his story,” and was Compassion
being imprisoned, pointedly demonstrate instead an opportunity to learn more
the nature of himself, of society, and of about herself. Ginger is something you
human beings: “At the time I thought I may wish to evade at times, yet at the
was a patriot, however now I have become same time, Cheon tells that the title
a traitor.” was selected to speak of an existence
The world, thought to be a definite sharpening the five senses.
and eternal “vessel,” restrains people with This book novelizes a serial published
great ease, and with the same ease almost for fifty days on the website of Changbi
disappears. Those who have acclimated Publishers, which generated great interest
to and settled in the “vessels” of the past domestically. As well as the courage
are incapable of keeping up with changes of using taboos of modern history as
in these such “vessels,” and are left far material and directing a piercing gaze
behind. It is painful that even despite this, on contemporary Korea, the objective
no matter their environment, the instinct perspective and seeking out of clues to
to stay alive and protect those they love question the human existence within
through any means remains consistent. could be said to be a force pioneered by
Yet, who is really able to pull away from this particular generation.
the bottom of their heart? T h e Ja p a n e s e t ra n s l a t i o n w a s
W hen looking at Ahn and his published in April of this year, and is
daughter and wife who harbor him, as now displayed at the new release corner
Я встретила Ро Кивана
well as when following a man tortured by of the Korean literature section within
(I Met Rho Gi-wan)
Ahn in the past and burning for revenge, bookstores. Translator Hashimoto Cho Haejin
the reader is led to question themselves. Chiho praises the author’s “capacity for Translated by Lee Sang Yoon and
While Ahn is one individual, he is also challenging depictions,” and in this work, Kim Hwan
a product of the military dictatorship. the pen of Cheon Un-yeong is alive in Hyperion, 2016, 176 pp.
If born under different circumstances, telling of human beings and memory,

he may have led an ordinary life. Or, if through body and flesh. Not only this,
he had been a completely pure and good the writing could also be said to be
person, he may have disappeared from exceptionally precise. As the author tells Cho Haejin’s I Met Rho Gi-wan can meet
this world long ago. If you were driven of the man known as Ahn, she is also various kinds of readers’ expectations and
into extreme circumstances, how would indeed sharpening the five senses. draw interest of those who seek tasteful
you transform? If forced to live in hatred reading, as well as those who wish to
and revenge, how would you take action? by Naoko Hirabaru explore human psychology, or even those
This tale is about universal aspects of Culture Writer, West Japan Daily who position books as bearers of eternal
human beings, transcending nations and values.
regions. It is about neither justification The plot features several interwoven
nor condemnation. Combining fiction storylines centered around two main
modeled on reality, it sublimates into a figures: a North Korean refugee named
literary investigation into human nature, Rho Gi-wan, and the narrator, a South
beyond good or evil. Korean scriptwriter who comes across
The author Cheon Un-yeong writes Rho’s interview and decides to travel to

Belgium to meet him. Both characters a concentration Nazi camp as he walks of changing him from an official and
enter the story through personal tragedy. the streets of contemporary Paris. While sensible “R” (surname) in the first phrase
The narrator runs away from Seoul Modiano makes connections between of the book into a tender and intimate
blaming herself for possibly causing careless contemporary times and the “G” (given name) in the last sentence.
the progression of a young girl’s disease forgotten tragic fates of World War II, Cho And this is a process of turning this
whom she happened to be caring for. Rho Haejin calls for our attention to tragedies humiliated, ignored, and lost figure into a
Gi-wan goes to Europe after his mother’s that may be invisible right beside us, content and happy person with new roads
death using the money he gained for her regardless of political background. to travel that he needn’t travel alone.
body, morally destroyed by what he did to In Korean literature, wandering It is almost an exception for
survive. typically ser ves as a means for the contemporary Korean prose not to end
Today people are usually aware of protagonist to find the self. Rho Gi- tragically, but in this novel it is hope
North Korean issues and the refugee wan’s wandering indirectly brings several that plays the final chord, opening
situation, yet this novel offers a new people to peace with themselves and new perspectives for overcoming—
approach to these problems through helps restore their tattered relations. The overcoming the status of alien, a fatal
K o re a n s p e c i f i c s o f e m o t i o n a n d driving motives in this “road-book” are illness, or misunderstandings of the past.
representation. Unhackneyed metaphors based on the conflicts the protagonists Harmony as a conclusion for the story
enrich the vivid and poignant imagery, face (disappointment, hypocrisy, and open is one of the best ways the author could
along with non-intrusive means to indifference), but as the story progresses, choose to formulate an antithesis for
maintain subtle intrigue, as well as space they gradually come to an inner and outer hostility and indifference, which unite
and musical associations—all which harmony. politically grounded and personal dramas
convey common concerns in a particular Translators of the novel into Russian, in the text. In a sense, this novel develops
and personalized way. Lee Sang Yoon and Kim Hwan, did their other contemporaries’ plots, where
Secondar y characters present best to convey the author’s gentle style protagonists strive for reconciliation with
even more issues for readers to think and manner of speaking about serious the self. Seemingly setting these personal
about becoming a sort of catalyst for things without anguish. Lee Sang Yoon issues in a political context, Cho Haejin
philosophical renderings in the text. shares that they were inspired by the still speaks about the value of people and
Among the many issues the author humanism of the story, and its appeal to their relationships under any historical
touches upon—the social and moral ones readers to be attentive to people around circumstance.
are presented in abundance—ranging us, as there may be many Rho Gi-wans we
from euthanasia, charity, creative work meet. by Anastasia A. Guryeva
or romantic relationships, to conscience Prose of the late twentieth century Associate Professor
and the psychology of getting over a loss was inhabited with anonymous St. Petersburg State University
or hunger. Each issue is discussed with protagonists, symbolizing their
careful attention to such personal aspects generalized characters and dissociated
as loneliness, sincerity, or compassion. people. This novel illustrates a recent
Though the story keeps shifting to trend—a name becoming part of the
the narrator’s world with her complicated title (e.g. My Sister Bongsoon by Gong
interrelations with others, its dynamics Ji-Young, Lee Jin by Shin Kyung-sook).
are realized mostly on the streets of Names are meaningful in Cho’s novel: the
Europe, where the narrator roams as she narrator’s full name remains unknown
follows Rho Gi-wan’s diary. In a way, this to readers, while other characters attain
book echoes Patrick Modiano’s novel Dora names gradually, yet Rho Gi-wan comes
Bruder with the narrator on a quest for into the story fully introduced from the
the invisible tracks of a girl who died in outset. The novel itself becomes a process

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VOL.32 SUMMER 2016
Han Kang
VOL. 32 S U M M E R 2 0 1 6
The White Book
The “Docile Body”
and “Organs Without a Body”
Ryoo Bo Sun
A Parisian Encounter
with Korean Literature
Aurélie Julia
Daniel Hahn on Brexit

and Literature in Translation
BOOK REVIEWS
Neil Astley, Steph Cha,
Michael David Lukas & more
62
Korean Literature Now is a quarterly magazine published by the Literature Translation Institute of Korea
REIMAGINED
9 772508 345006
Copyright © 2016 by the Literature Translation Institute of Korea ISSN 2508-3457
2016

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VOL.

Daniel Hahn on Brexit

Visit koreanliteraturenow.com Find us on

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Writing in the US, Asia Literary Review in the UK, and Le

Greetings prominent profiling in The New Yorker article.”

R ecently, Koreans were greatly encouraged and elated by

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR Ko Young-il

MANAGING DIRECTOR Park Chanwoo

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Shin Sookyung

ONLINE EDITOR Yoo Young-seon

EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Lee Jimin

TRANSLATORS Sophie Bowman 14 Excerpt from The White Book

PHOTOGRAPHER Baek Jongheon

DESIGNED BY Soluwin Corporation

PRINTED BY Adsharp Company

Date of Publication August 5, 2016

This exquisite portrayal of a woman in a hanbok

The “Docile Body” and “Organs Without a Body”

W hen I was a child growing up in the blazing California

Connecting that seemed inaccessible to a girl whose family couldn’t afford a

Through English countryside. Hardy’s religious preoccupations to Tolstoy’s

Words were a minority in my suburban neighborhood, I encountered few

4 Korean Literature Now

Vol. 32 Summer 2016 5

6 Korean Literature Now

Vol. 32 Summer 2016 7

ⓒ Munhakdongne Publishing Group

I n the courtyard of an old, humble hanok in northern Seoul that

Vol. 32 Summer 2016 9

10 Korean Literature Now

Photographs by Baek Jongheon

Vol. 32 Summer 2016 11

W hite things—things that are pure and clean—which

12 Korean Literature Now

For Her/ Film still

all wear white clothing—the newborn gown, the shroud, and

Vol. 32 Summer 2016 13

The White Book

14 Korean Literature Now

Before signing the contract for the lease, I

Vol. 32 Summer 2016 15

16 Korean Literature Now

Vol. 32 Summer 2016 17

18 Korean Literature Now

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The “Docile Body” and “Organs Without a Body”

Vol. 32 Summer 2016 21

22 Korean Literature Now

Vol. 32 Summer 2016 23

On the day my body ends its stay on earth

ⓒ Han Young Hee

Stick to a tree and become a leaf

24 Korean Literature Now

For the Second Time in

Translated by Sophie Bowman

Vol. 32 Summer 2016 25

The Seven Thirty-Two

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Vol. 32 Summer 2016 27

28 Korean Literature Now