Hello
Gentle Reader
The
only Korean writer I have had the pleasure of reading has been, Bae Suah, with
her two novels: “A Greater Music,” and “Recitation.” What had initially
attracted me to Bae Suah was her reputation as being the dark horse of Korean
literature. She has been described as a writer, who has committed violence
against the Korean language. This accusation has been leveled against Bae Suah
for numerous years, as she does not follow the traditional literary methods of
Korean literature. Her style has been called experimental and original, which
stems from her autodidactic experimentation with language and writing, making
Bae Suah, one of the most avant-garde Korean writers currently at work. This
being said, Bae Suah, has expressed discomfort at being described as
experimental, as she has stated she is not working to revolutionize or
undermine the established literary tropes of language and literature, she is
just working it in her own unique way, without any desire to subvert, reject or
reform the predominate literary canon. Her two novels: “A Greater Music,” and
“Recitation,” show Bae Suah’s interest moving away from geographical locations
and fixations, and instead traveling into the most abstract realm, where she
tackled themes such as: language, identity, philosophy, and time; with her own
unique style, which has slowly eroded the traditional tropes of typical prose
and narrative, by eschewing plot, story, narrator, and even at times concrete
characters; all the while filling the space with abstract and disconnected
‘voices,’ who recite the loose plot or story, and engage the reader with
questions the author wishes to propose and discuss. Though thoroughly enjoyable
as well as cerebral, Bae Suah never quite offered something strikingly Korean
to her work. She had obviously moved past the peninsula, and into the greater
world of testing the limits of language and literature; while also exploring
other cultures and languages—she is now also a translator of German into
Korean.
Despite
the flooded market of Korean literature in translation, the only two writers
who appear to have successfully made themselves relatively well known to the
English language world are: Bae Suah and Han Kang. Han Kang, of the two is
slightly more popular, her works are known for their emotional resonance, and
she has won the Man Booker International Prize, which certainly assisted her
novels finding a greater and wider readership. Bae Suah, has come to prominence
thanks to her being mentioned by the Best Translated Book Award longlist back
in two-thousand and sixteen, with her novel “Nowhere to Be Found,” and since
then three more of her works have been translated into English. Both Han Kang
and Bae Suah, have become the faces of Korean literature in translation
(roughly), and they are strikingly different then Ko Un, who for years held a
monopoly as the only Korean voice, speaking on the global stage of literature.
Now a multitude of voices are speaking. Dalkey Archive Press has published a
series of novels and short story collections, in conjunction with The
Literature Translation Institute of Korea; while other publishers have also
grabbed the grants and financial assistance to begin publishing Korean
literature into English—including White Pine Press. The problem with a
saturated market is it is often difficult to decide on a book and a author one
wishes to take a chance upon and devote their time to and read. The problem now
is not a lack of publications, but rather an abundance of saturated media,
making it difficult to make a decision. It is remarkable to think both Bae Suah
and Han Kang, made were able to separate themselves from the pact, and not be
drowned out in the torrent of a publishers craze. From the flood, however, one
does have the opportunity to pick through the jetsam and flotsam, and find a
real gem amongst the debris, and that is exactly what Eun Heekyung is; she is an
overlooked gem in a publisher’s torrent of publications and translations.
As
a child Eun Heekyung showed an affinity for reading and writing. She has
described her childhood as filled with books, stories, and fairytales. She has
often remarked, that when would often be so engrossed in reading, she would
miss the bell to leave at the end of the school day, and would only realize
school had ended after being surrounded in silence and absence. She is also a
dedicated diarist, where she documented and wrote extensively in her journals,
and soon begun to fabricate stories once she found out other students and
friends were reading her diaries. Yet after graduating from university, she did
not immediately begin to write. She instead worked as a teacher, an editor, and
a reporter, before finally making the leap to become a writer after entering a
writers retreat with a few books and decade’s worth of old journals. In the
end, she walked out with one novella, and five short stories. The novella she
had written, “A Duet,” would go on to win a literary contest. From there they
say the rest is history. Since her initial debut, she has written six short
story collections and four novels, and has become one of the most respected and
critically acclaimed contemporary authors of Korean fiction. Be it intentional
or otherwise, her debut took place during the mid-nineties, when ideologies
concrete ideologies were beginning to collapse under their own self-importance
and their antiquated inabilities to adapt to an ever changing world—this
includes both communism and capitalism. For this, Eun Heekyung’s work is often
praised for her sophisticated prose, but also is deeply known for her cynical
streak, which skeptically views ideologies, trends, and new ideas being flouted
in modern society. This skepticism and cynicism can be portrayed in a clownish
caricature, or in other moments a brutal depiction of a monumental failure.
Many critics point to her novel: “The Gift of the Bird,” and quote the
following passage, to show her fundamental doubt with regards to ideologies:
“Preposterous and petty coincidences dominate our life.
Therefore, don’t bother to find the truth. After all, life is a joke.”
This immediate sense of disenfranchisement as well as disregard
for set ideals and conventional believes, has become a focal point of
attraction for readers to Eun Heekyung, who explores the unfortunate wastes and
forgotten aspects of society. However, in her later years she has mellowed out
in her outright vicious claims of the absurdity and pointlessness of life or
society, and has softened her skepticism—if only a little—in order to create
far more subtle, and deeply more complex psychological portraits of
contemporary individuals seeking direction, meaning and purpose to their
life—some grand scheme to make sense of the confusion—only to turn around and
show this pursuit of meaning is in itself pointless. This is exactly what
“Nobody Checks the Time When They’re Happy,” is like; as much as it is
skeptical, sharp, it also poignant and subtle, and humanely depicts the
characters (without sympathy or pity) in their pursuit of trying to understand
their place as an individual in their life, while balancing the obligations of
society, family, as well as the callings of the heart. Tragedy and unhappiness
befalls all those who do not obey these set conventions and orderly rules which
have been instituted for a reason; but tragedy also arises when those who
conform and meet all obligations while denying their own individualist
pursuits. In Eun Heekyung’s world, winning is rarely if ever an option; while
failure is an inevitable fate. The
narrator from the short story: “An Obviously Immoral Love,” explains the
complicated dynamics of family versus the individual:
“[ . . . ]the members have their teeth sunk into each other’s
backs. If they loosen their bite, everyone will scatter and the family will
break apart. But if they bite down too hard, they’ll rip each other apart.
That’s love.”
Throughout the short story collection, characters and narrators
are expected to put their lives on hold for the lives of others. In one a
narrator takes care of her mother, who suffers from cancer, while in turn
recounts the suffering of her youth, the lies of her father and his death; her
complicated relationship with her mother, as well as her own mothers
selfishness. Yet she is both bound of societal obligation and perhaps familial
devotion to pay her mother the kindness, at her own expense. In another story,
a woman’s father wishes to divorce her mother; while the narrator/daughter,
becomes the mistress of another man. She becomes contrarian and
self-flagellating. On one hand she argues against her mother, defending her
father, his decisions, his rights. While on the other, she prosecutes her
lover, defaces herself, forces herself to suffer the sins of her father and
perhaps herself, by explaining to her lover how she terrible she is, and how
terrible he is for taking her on as a mistress—after all how is she any
different than his wife? In another story, life’s tragedy is intertwined and
coupled with a failed writer, who is still seen as a student demonstrating
student, but in reality was a coward; while his wife is forced by her own
marital obligation to take care of him, as she stumbles from one drunken stupor
to the next, from one suicide attempt to yet another drunk fueled depressive episode,
all the while attempting to maintain some sanity and safety for her daughter.
Everything and everyone is unreliable in the world of Eun
Heekyung—be it identity or narrative. In her fictional world, depicting a
modern Korea, everyone is expected to atone for ones sins, and if not their own
then their fathers, their mothers, their husbands or their children’s—and so
the cycle would repeat over and over again. Morality is loose, and treated with
a cautious even sarcastically skeptical perspective; as if the concept is an
ideology created by society to enact against the individual, but is paraded as
some cosmic or holy code, yet everyone fails its measurements, and of course
forgiveness is in short supply, and many brokers parade a forgery of the
substance, for the exact cost.
Eun Heekyung’s stories describe a bleak and mundane world. Her
characters and narrators are hapless and helpless, as their lives unfold. They
are isolated and alienated from forming lasting and formative relationships,
due to the impossibility of real communication and understanding ever being
reached between individuals. The narrators and characters are at times baffled
and confused by their situations, but are powerless to change their
predetermined fates. Success and ideas of happy endings, brings only stability,
but never any deeper relief or complex sensation of happiness. They walk
through their lives unable to comprehend their situations fully, and instead
resign themselves to them. The expectations of youth give way to the realities
and compromises of both time and age. Eun Heekyung, presents herself as a
unique writer, as she describes the situations and circumstances of the
narratives, while not focusing or fixating on plot. She clearly shows the idea
that every move and action, has an equal cost in return—even inaction. Her
stories truly depict the plight of the modern and unsure world of today, where
the individual now more than ever it seems has been pitted against external
factors, inhibiting both freedom and meaning—if the ideal or idea of ‘meaning,’
is even relevant anymore. It’s subtle and well crafted selection of short
stories. Eun Heekyung lacks the cerebral preoccupations of Bae Suah, but
instead offers a unique perspective of modern Korean society—one riddled with numerous
obligations and expectations, and no hope left kindling or flickering for any
resemblance of what one may deem or call happiness, and if it does exists, its
taxing expenses, would make one reconsider just how much they are willing to
pay in order to achieve it.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
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