I like how Elise Hu ponders the thin line between enjoying beauty products, spas, as well as exploring aesthetics, and lookism as sexism, as a means tI like how Elise Hu ponders the thin line between enjoying beauty products, spas, as well as exploring aesthetics, and lookism as sexism, as a means to control and ultimately oppress women, because the thing is: How do you know where your personal desire to express yourself through your appearance ends and where internalized misogyny starts? It's, unfortunately, extremely difficult, because what society has taught us women all our lives is now rooted deeply in the subconscious and messes with our self-perception on multiple levels.
Hu, an American journalist with Chinese and Taiwanese roots, was a correspondent in Seoul, and in the book, she explains how the K-beauty industry has become a worldwide trendsetter, and not without mentioning the innovative potential of the ingredients as well as the brilliant marketing. But she is also knowledgeable about Korean society and the importance it puts on looks, how normalized judgement on physical appearances are - which, with globalized digital culture that increasingly focuses on image(s) and face altering software, she deems to be a trend that will soon haunt the whole world, including the normalization of more and more aggressive treatments.
I listened to the text as an audio book, and it's very well crafted journalism, mixing facts and stats and history with personal stories of Korean citizens and the author, who came into this culture and was soon absorbed by the beauty industry, both because it's innovative and exciting AND because it's dangerous and sexist (which, one could argue, generally goes for beauty standards in all countries, this one is just more extreme a.k.a. potentially our future).
A great book, coming at its topic from various angles and adding all the nuance the industry and the women who consume its products (me being one of them) deserves....more
Let's not kid ourselves: This oral history was put together by the editor-in-chief of Weverse Magazine and officially published through the gates of HLet's not kid ourselves: This oral history was put together by the editor-in-chief of Weverse Magazine and officially published through the gates of HYBE, so it won't pull a Bob Woodward and expose the cruel inner workings of the K-Pop industry, or take a turn and suddenly talk about the personal lives behind the personas of the members, or go full postcolonial studies on the marketing of Korean culture - it's not what the book aims to do. Rather, it's a neatly produced puzzle piece in the overall mythology of BTS, the story about seven young men who signed up with a small entertainment company and then became the biggest band in the world. It's written in an approachable way for fans and newbies alike, and the 300+ QR-Codes added make it easy to check out content the text refers to, from songs to MVs to variety shows to interviews.
The text takes readers from the trainee days to the Grammy stage, tackling all albums and many ideas behind the multimedia storytelling that is the BTS universe. The many quotes from the members themselves work well to support and legitimize the narrative, but what's really intriguing here is how the book navigates the K-Pop-typical adoration of the fandom (here: ARMY) and the downsides of this very fan service and superstardom in general: Often, the members talk about loneliness, exhaustion, depression, pain (both physical and mental), they address relentless bullying online and the loss of privacy which leads to alienation (also a huge topic of the book).
And I think that beyond the perfectly packaged pop, that's the true core of BTS: They magically fulfill the standards of K-Pop while also addressing the negative effects of a brutal capitalist system which turns idols into products that need to function, a system that has made them ridiculously rich and famous. They show gratitude to a fandom that has catapulted them into superstardom, while also making them lonely and robbing them of the right to privacy (God help them if they ever decide to publicly date a person). It's a clusterfuck, and they know it.
So my main complaint with the book is that it did not dive deep enough into the more intricate concepts behind songs and performances, like the connections to Hermann Hesse, Carl Jung, Greek mythology and Korean folklore - I would have been interested in that. Otherwise, BTS remains a multimedia endeavor that now has an official book that seamlessly blends into their overall oeuvre....more
Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2023 German: Der Wal This book is full of contradictions, and I'm here for it: I HATE meandering novels, Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2023 German: Der Wal This book is full of contradictions, and I'm here for it: I HATE meandering novels, and this one meanders quite a bit - but I was still intrigued, because the over-the-top characters and storytelling are captivating. It's also both brutal and hilarious, and it employs magical elements to better illustrate reality, so all in all: ambitious stuff, and that's what the International Booker should highlight. Cheon Myeong-kwan's debut novel was first published in 2003, so it's 20 years old and already considered a contemporary classic in South Korea. Tackling the topic of societal transformation (in this case from pre- to post-modern capitalist society), it has been compared to Great Expectations as well as One Hundred Years of Solitude.
The tale focuses on three women and how they navigate changing circumstances while one aspect remains the same: Sexism. Protagonist Geumbok flees her bleak live in a rural area and enters relationships with men who help her survive and then rise in the social ranks. The business-savvy, matter-of-fact woman adapts to the expanding capitalist system by starting several enterprises, the most ambitious one being the cinema in the form of the title-giving whale. Geumbok tortures and neglects the second protagonist, her mute daughter, who gets a storyline of her own. Then, we have a one-eyed woman who directs an army of bees, born into another female line of family trauma. These three narrative strands are intertwined with minor stories about other characters (the most important one being a gangster with a scar), and it's fascinating how the author maintains control of this sprawling concept.
Cheon Myeong-kwan anchors his story with historical references that illustrate political turmoil and the changing social climate during the Fifth and Sixth Republic, but juxtaposes this with (intentionally) implausible twists and turns as well as magical elements that still serve to illustrate the social criticism the text intends to deliver. The language is rather plain, which helps to keep track of the multi-layered action that keeps coming back to the question how women survive in an antagonistic, merciless climate, how society judges them, and how they punish each other for their experiences.
An intriguing read, and a good choice for the International Booker....more
English: I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokpokki This novel proves that good intentions don't guarantee good literature: Autofictional protagonist BEnglish: I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokpokki This novel proves that good intentions don't guarantee good literature: Autofictional protagonist Baek suffers from persistent depressive disorder (PDD), and the text consists of talks with a therapist over the course of twelves weeks, illustrating how Baek can find a way to deal with her illness. Clearly, the book is meant as a weapon to fight the stigma around mental illness, it is supposed to function as a resource to give visibility to people who suffer from depression and who might feel alone - and these are important objectives, as depression is a potentially deadly illness that is still misunderstood by many people.
Alas, the book has a major problem: It is unbelievably boring. The educational impulse is overwhelming, protagonist Baek remains a chiffre, and the (highly professional) dynamic between her and her therapist doesn't allow for enough immersion. Also, you would expect more complexity from a novel that focuses on the guidance of a mental health professional - but then again, I suppose the author wanted to connect to younger people who are afraid to reach out for help, and for this demographic, this highly accessible approach might be justified.
While the international bestseller Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 illuminated gender-based discrimination, the dystopian social critique "Saha" now tackles clWhile the international bestseller Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 illuminated gender-based discrimination, the dystopian social critique "Saha" now tackles classism: Set in a country called Town that was first overtaken by a corporation and is now said to be ruled by a faceless, anonymous Council (capitalism! authoritarianism! lack of accountability!), the novel tells the story of the inhabitants of the Saha Estates, the disenfranchised underclass of Town. The remote land separates its people in three classes: Citizens (L), workers with 2-year-visas (L2), and the aforementioned Sahas who exist in a dire, inescapable circle of hopelessness, exhaustion and desperation.
Cho Nam-Joo evokes this world by stringing together numerous vignettes focusing on different inhabitants of the Saha Estates, both in the present and the past, that highlight different aspects of this class-based society, mainly posing the question why - except from the historical "butterfly riot" - the people of Town mostly don't stand up to the injustice and cruelty that forms the basis of their state. Slowly, it becomes clear what happened to those who dared to rebel...
Now it's kind of silly to criticize a dystopian novel that aims to fight classism for being crude, because let's face it: 1984 is unbelievably crude, and it's also unbelievably great. But Cho Nam-Joo's text starts to get out of control in the last third, when human experiments come into play and a stand-off in a lab turns farcical: The resolution is just too over the top, it has an upsetting effect on the reader who, during the first half, is inclined to agree with the author regarding the overall message - but this message then warps into a far-feteched hero's tale that doesn't really work.
This is unfortunate, because the destinies of average Sahas who fight a merciless system that does not care whether they live or die is emotionally impactful and resonates with phenomena like the opening gap between rich and poor and the corrosion of societal solidarity (not to talk about authoritarian regimes that, let's say: use slaves to build soccer stadiums etc.). The characters are well-rendered, the atmosphere is effectively bleak, the claustrophobic, oppressive social fabric is palpable.
So I wish Cho Nam-Joo would have been able to maintain the strength the story is build on. Still, an interesting text, and this remains a writer to watch....more
This is the second novel by National Book Award-winning French-Korean author Dusapin, and the atmospheric text is a stellar example for subtle, grippiThis is the second novel by National Book Award-winning French-Korean author Dusapin, and the atmospheric text is a stellar example for subtle, gripping writing about identity, belonging, and liminal spaces. Much like Min Jin Lee's rather epic Pachinko, Dusapin's concise novella illuminates the destiny of the so-called Zainichi, Koreans who have fled their country due to the war and moved to Japan. Marginalized, discriminated against and short of opportunities to join the mainstream labor market, many became entrepreneurs in the stigmatized Pachinko gambling business - like the grandparents of 29-year-old Claire, who is the protagonist of “The Pachinko Parlor”.
The grandparents run a Pachinko in the former working-class quarter of Tokyo, a place where many Zainichi took up residence. Living on the margins of society, alienated both from the Korean community and Japanese society, the elderly couple still works hard. Their daughter, Claire’s mother, has long left Japan, and Claire, whose primary language is French, lives in Switzerland where she has learnt Japanese, but not Korean. Now Claire visits her grandparents, and she plans to travel to Korea with them, so they might see their home again, after 50 years. But the planning goes slowly, and Claire spends many weeks in the basement of their house close to the Pachinko, ruminating in the oppressive heat, playing Tetris and tutoring Mieko, a timid 10-year-old who lives with her single mother in an abandoned hotel. Mieko is supposed to improve her French, so she can go to school in Switzerland, but the insecure child suffers because her father has left the family, and she does not know where he is...
Lost roots in the form of countries, languages and ancestors permeate the quiet, but deep text that becomes more and more evocative, leading to dreamscapes populated by mystical deer, non-places like sad amusement parks and alternate, displaced mock realities like “Heidi’s Village” in Yamanashi (which does actually exist: Johanna Spyri’s book about the nature-loving girl in the Alps was famously turned into an anime and is well-known in Japan). Claire and Mieko connect over their experiences of otherness, Mieko as the lonely, fatherless girl with the sad mother, Claire as a young European woman who passes as Japanese and doesn’t know her ancestral country and family history, which is greatly covered by taboo and hardly discussed. The grandmother is becoming frailer and frailer, and time is running out. The moody scenes in the Pachinko, the ghost-like minor characters, and the food- and games-related gatherings where those partaking struggle for connection underline the vastness and darkness of liminal spaces for those trying to navigate them.
I really enjoyed the gripping, intelligent, haunting writing, and I’m very curious what Dusapin will publish next....more
After her international bestseller Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982, Cho Nam-Joo gives us eight short stories about female biographies - and I just love how peoAfter her international bestseller Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982, Cho Nam-Joo gives us eight short stories about female biographies - and I just love how people tend to point out that she writes about women's roles and oppression in Korea, as if most of the scenarios described wouldn't happen in a very similar or even the exact same way in the West. This doesn't mean that cultural differences aren't a thing; of course they are, but the tendency to fully other phenomena that also exist right here falsely evokes the idea that our societies are more advanced regarding gender equality, when mostly, they aren't.
In the collection, multiple Miss Kims (the Korean version of a Jane Doe) appear, standing in for the experiences of regular women in different roles and stages of life:
- "Unter dem Pflaumenbaum" ("Under the Plum Tree") About an elderly woman who experiences the deaths of her two sisters and contemplates the perception and agency of old women within their families and in society at large.
- "Trotz" ("Defiance") About a forty-ish successful writer who meets with her former teacher and ponders how experiences of degradation and how they are remembered shape lives - and how shared trauma can lead to resentment because it sometimes seems to negate individual repercussions for different women, thus de-humanizing them as faceless female victims.
- "Weggelaufen" ("Runaway") About a woman in her early thirties whose father runs away from home, forcing her mother, her two brothers and herself to cope - a tale of communal reinvention ensues.
- "Miss Kim weiß Bescheid" ("Miss Kim Knows") About an office worker who learns about her predecessor, the title-giving Miss Kim, who was fired because she was too capable - and how the office deals with her absence.
- "Lieber Hyunnam" ("Dear Hyunnam") About a 30-year-old woman who, after 10 years, leaves her boyfriend who has been gaslighting and manipulating her, often by playing into justified fears and instrumentalising them in order to erode her sense of judgement and ultimately her sense of self.
- "Die Nacht der Polarlichter" ("The Night of Polar Lights") Talks about women as caregivers for young children.
- "Große Mädchen" ("Big Girls") Tells a tale about sexual harassment at school via digital devices - and about a feminist mother and a feminist grandmother who struggle to do the younger women justice.
- "Erste Liebe, 2020" ("First Love, 2020") Is about young love in the times of Corona.
These are very accessible stories and they are fun to read, although you can find numerous flaws like excessive expositions, uneven pacing, and a disturbing love for explanations. Subtle it is not, but let's face it: Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 wasn't either. Still, a very decent, smart collection that tackles important topics while also making for an enjoyable read....more
Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2022 This is a great, innovative short story collection that you should totally read, but I'm hijacking Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2022 This is a great, innovative short story collection that you should totally read, but I'm hijacking this post to tell you that my interview with jury chair Frank Wynne is now online in its entirety - you can listen to it here. ...more
Nominated for the International Booker Prize 2022 This Asian bestseller is a rather unusual pick for the International Booker, as the cutesy cover is nNominated for the International Booker Prize 2022 This Asian bestseller is a rather unusual pick for the International Booker, as the cutesy cover is not entirely misleading - but on the other hand, the autofictional story is a testament to gay life in contemporary South Korea, full of social criticism and told in a nonlinear, quite intricate style. Our narrator - called Park / Young (please note the author's name!) - is a HIV-positive gay young man with a degree in French (the author also holds a degree in French) who grows into himself as a writer in the city of Seoul. Regarding the setting, the author has stated: „I was born in a city called Daegu—one of the most conservative places in Korea. When I was a teenager, I dreamed of Seoul as a kind of platonic ideal; I arrived here in my twenties for college, and that’s when my life began for real.“
And that spirit shows: In the novel, Seoul is a multi-faceted character of its own. After his ailing mother, an Evangelical Christian, had send the narrator to conversion therapy, he flees and lives his truth in the gay bars of the big city, where he finds adventure, love, and heartbreak. The story is told non-chronologically and divided into four sections. Important events include the protagonist's time at college and his friendship with the free-spirited Jaehee; his mother's severe illness; his relationship with an older man; and a love story with a bartender.
While the structure, in the modernist tradition, mirrors the speed and disorientation of the city as well as the unstable quality of memory, the narrative voice is dry and often funny, but with a melancholic undertone. The translator proclaimed that the dialogue has an Anglo-Saxon feel, and I agree - plus there is a romcom aspect to the novel, but with a darker twist.
Not sure whether this is a good pick for the International Booker, but I'm not mad I read it.
You can listen to my interview with Frank Wynne, jury president of the International Booker 2022, here. ...more
English: Concerning My Daughter (coming in April 2022) In this novella, Kim Hye-Jin gives us the perspective of a homophobic Korean mother who discrimiEnglish: Concerning My Daughter (coming in April 2022) In this novella, Kim Hye-Jin gives us the perspective of a homophobic Korean mother who discriminates against her thirtysomething lesbian daughter, accusing her kid's girlfriend, portrayed as a loyal and loving partner, of ruining her life. But the narrative viewpoint gives room to complications: The mother is also a hard-working widow who is terrified by what she witnesses in her job as a caretaker for the elderly, she fears that without a traditional life, a husband and children, her own beloved daughter will end up alone and unhappy - and that's what makes the text special: While it's easy to hate the bigoted views of our narrator, it's hard to hate her, because she is driven by fear and, ultimately, love for her only child.
When the daughter and her girlfriend move in with her due to monetary issues, conflicts arise, but while the mother first despises her daughter's activism for colleagues who got fired because of their homosexuality, she slowly sees that the humanist concerns that torture her in her job are not that different from what plagues her daughter: They both long for dignity.
The compisition of the story is simple, but stringent and effective, and while knowing a thing or two about Korean society will certainly help, it would probably be to easy to dismiss what is portrayed here as a Korean problem (this is one of the connections to Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982): The marginalization of LGBTQ+ people and the elderly is real in many societies all over the world.
At the same time, this text is somehow basic, adressing very obvious issues in a straightforward manner, working with many cliches. You can certainly make a case that this doesn't render the text less relevant, and you would be correct, but I would have enjoyed a more complex construction and more nuanced characters. ...more
Believe the hype! This is a wonderful memoir by Korean-American musician Michelle Zauner, better known as "Japanese Breakfast" (don't ask). "Crying inBelieve the hype! This is a wonderful memoir by Korean-American musician Michelle Zauner, better known as "Japanese Breakfast" (don't ask). "Crying in H Mart" is about the death of Zauner's Korean mother who succumbed to cancer in 2014. For the author, coming to terms with grief also means contemplating her own cultural heritage, and food plays a vital role: It nurtures the body and the soul, it's a connection to cultural practices and to the feeling of home.
The texts recollects Zauner's experiences growing up Korean-American, the relationship between her mother and father and between herself and her parents, her time as a struggling artist, her wedding shortly before the death of her mother, the passing and its aftermath, including her first real success and her travelling to Korea. Yes, it's a very moving book about loss and grief, but it's also a story about the magic and comfort of home, about the possibility to belong and culture as a source of strength.
And Zauner is just incredibly sympathetic and relatable, she's a captivating storyteller. To see what I mean, you can check out the beginning of the novel here (The New Yorker). And you should also check out Michelle Zauner, the musician, e.g. here. ...more
It's of course slightly silly that the author claims to speak for all Koreans, but still, this little book is a fun, informative and beautifully desigIt's of course slightly silly that the author claims to speak for all Koreans, but still, this little book is a fun, informative and beautifully designed introduction to (mainly South) Korea. Illustrated with some paintings and many photographs, the text gives an overview of Korean history, geography, politics, popular travel destinations, famous Koreans, culinary delights, society, social norms and customs as well as phenomena like K-Pop and K-Beauty. The outcome is entertaining and informative, although, due to the text's brevity, people who aim to really learn about the country in all its diversity and nuance need to pick up non-fiction books devoted to singular aspects Soo Kim only has the time and space to hint at.
Full disclosure: I can't possibly judge whether the viewpoints presented in the book are correct, but the text certainly motivated me even more to visit South Korea. For people who want to spend two hours immersing themselves in short texts and images of Korea, this light read is just right. ...more
English: The White Book Korean literary superstar Han Kang writes about the sister she has never met: When her mother was 22, she was living in a remotEnglish: The White Book Korean literary superstar Han Kang writes about the sister she has never met: When her mother was 22, she was living in a remote area and gave birth to a premature little girl who died after a few hours. In "The White Book", the author employs the color white to meditate on the experience and what it meant for her parents and herself, the child that probably wouldn't have been born had her older sister survived.
The short book is structured in equally short chapters, all referring to different things, memories and ideas that refer to the color white, like snow, sugar cubes, milk etc. (I guess I don't have to explain the symbolism of the color - it's similar to Western associations, except that it's also the color of death). Han Kang imagines herself in her sister's shoes and, by narrating from the perspective of a writer who newly arrived in foreign Warsaw, shows her the white things she ponders when thinking about her. The language is lyrical and highly poetic, frequently the typography ventures into the territory of poetry, and there are also some rather enigmatic photographs.
But is all of that really that deep? The book is a patchwork of vignettes relating to white, and often, it's less than subtle while feeling overblown. Interestingly, this was nominated for the International Booker the same year as Flights which I experienced as similarly overrated: A bunch of perceptions presented as profound insights. And as a dog person, I have to add regarding the chapter on the white dog: There is no such thing as a "fighting dog" (in the German translation: "Kampfhund"), this kind of behavior is the result of animal abuse.
So IMHO, this is Han Kang's weekest book out of those I could get a hold of in translation (The Vegetarian, Human Acts, Deine kalten Hände). Still, Han Kang is a great, interesting writer. If you'd like to learn more about the book, you can listen to our podcast episode (in German). ...more
Kim Yideum has written a raw, angry novel about systemic sexism, gendered violence and societal pressure in South Korea - in a way, it's a companion pKim Yideum has written a raw, angry novel about systemic sexism, gendered violence and societal pressure in South Korea - in a way, it's a companion piece to Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. Protagonist and narrator Jeong Yeoul is a college student who experiences the political unrest in the 1980s and struggles with her designated role as a woman while trying to evade the expectations that are put upon her. Many of the women she encounters who could potentially help her - her mother, her stepmother, her boss, one of her friends - are so blinded by the standards that are generally accepted as normal that they become accomplices to Yeoul's plight. And of course, the men are also affected, often showing behaviors that can only be called pathological.
Yeoul has severed ties with her family (we learn why as the novel progresses) and now lives with her friend Jimin, an activist and fellow student. When Jimin kills herself, Yeoul tries to uncover her beloved friend's motivations - until she herself is assaulted by the man who drove Jimin to suicide. As the story progresses, we learn about the multiple pressures that are put upon Yeoul, both to conform to societal standards and to remain silent about the various forms of violence she suffers. Yeoul is highly intelligent and resilient, but she also has her limits, and the fact that she is not acknowledged as a person drives her to the edge.
Kim Yideum's language mirrors Yeoul's internal struggle, her clear, bleak thoughts about her experiences and the world around her, her anger born out of oppression, her grief about the people she has lost. The story is a map of her trauma, a hall of mirrors she tries to escape by running and shattering glass. While the author is a poet, the language is intentionally unruly and willful like the narrator.
This novel certainly isn't always a pleasure to read, it does not care about smoothness and intricate plotting, but that's the point: Kim Yideum, the feminist, tells a raw, relentless story about dire experiences of women in a conservative, patriarchal society while also illuminating some facets of the situation of progressive students in the 1980s. An unusual, highly interesting book....more
"Two households, both alike in dignity (In fair Los Angeles, where we lay our scene), From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes c"Two households, both alike in dignity (In fair Los Angeles, where we lay our scene), From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean."
This tragedy of Shakespearean proportions is based on the real case of Latasha Harlins, a 15-year-old Black girl who was shot in the back of her head in a convenience store after an altercation with the Korean store owner Soon Ja Du. Latasha Harlins died, Soon Ja Du received no jail time (despite the video evidence). Korean-American writer Steph Cha has fictionalized this story and thus created a novel which shows the dynamics of escalating violence and how the wish for justice or even revenge leads to more and more people becoming guilty and ultimately the destruction of familial bonds and human lives - "A plague o' both your houses!" (Mercutio has always been my favorite character in R+J).
We meet the Matthews family who has lost 16-year-old Ava in an incident modelled after the story of Latasha Harlins, and we also meet the Park family, in which Yvonne, the mother, is based on Soon Ja Du. Everyone - siblings, parents, children, spouses, nieces, nephews, friends - has been or will be affected by the shooting and its repercussions, and everyone feels betrayed: Why was Ava's brother incarcerated for a non-violent crime while Yvonne could start a new life under a new name? How are Yvonne's children supposed to deal with the fact that their mother is murderer? Is Ava's aunt (a character based on real-life activist Denise Harlins) right to accept distorted, saint-like media images of Latasha if it serves the cause of her activism? 28 years after the death of Ava, the tension cumulates in a second shooting...
While the main part of the story is set in 2019, Cha also takes us to 1991, when the shooting of Ava/Latasha took place, and to the Los Angeles riots. To be honest, I was unaware of the role of Korean-Americans during the riots and the repercussions for this community (to my defense: I'm a European), so in this regard, the novel was eye-opening for me. Many of the topics Cha touches upon a highly relevant and morally challenging, like the role of social media and the media in general, the relation between justice and dignity and the possibility of forgiveness.
But while I find the topics of the novel extremely relevant and intriguing, the writing is rather plain and could be more concise. What's worse, the pacing is off: The first 30 % (!) are more or less exposition, and many scenes are excessively descriptive, which unneccessarily slows down the text. I caught myself skipping paragraphs because I wanted the author to get to the damn point.
An ambitious political novel about racism, violence, intergenerational trauma and deeds that can't be undone, but more thorough editing could have elevated this effort considerably. You can learn more about the book on our latest podcast episode (in German)....more
In order to effectively convey the conflict-heavy past and present of China, Korea and Japan, British travel journalist Michael Booth roamed the threeIn order to effectively convey the conflict-heavy past and present of China, Korea and Japan, British travel journalist Michael Booth roamed the three nations (including Hong Kong and Taiwan), visiting historic sights and talking to experts and average residents alike. The result is a text that (consciously) takes a very European view on the various crises and wars that have troubled that part of the world and how governments and electorates are dealing with the consequences today. Readers shouldn't expect a scholarly treatise or a scientific textbook: It's clearly a book directed at a broad audience without much prior knowledge, and it is interspersed with very subjective impressions and personal opinions, but this also means that the text is easily accessible and highly readable.
Booth considers the role of foreign interference and international politics in general, of occupation and colonialism, wars within the region, the politics of history (so how history is dealt with today, e.g. by politicians, in the media or in textbooks), current affairs and possible conflicts in the future. Obviously, there is a lot to unpack, and while the content is not hard to grasp, the reader has to pay close attention and follow Booth when he constantly changes his surroundings and his point of view, which is necessary in order to understand different perceptions within and between nations. Booth also cites several studies and books, among them classics like The Chrysanthemum and the Sword: Patterns of Japanese Culture and non-fiction like Pachinko.
All in all, this is certainly not a book that fulfills the standards of political science (and it does not aim to), but it is an interesting read for everyone who enjoys travel writing that offers a deeper look into the heart of a region....more
In this novel, everybody is a ghost, a shadow, a dreamed-up contraption, and life unfolds in strange loops, enigmatic encounters, and unsettling atmosIn this novel, everybody is a ghost, a shadow, a dreamed-up contraption, and life unfolds in strange loops, enigmatic encounters, and unsettling atmospheric disturbances; so in a way, it's a twisted realist novel! :-) Bae Suah throws her readers into a maelstrom of shifting timelines and perspectives, thus creating a puzzling depiction of the title-giving night and day in which multiple existences cumulate at one point in time: "Ayami was her future self or her past self. And she was both, existing at the same time. (...) That was the secret of night and day existing simultaneously."
While this narrative concept is certainly philosophically complex, the story is easy to follow and not only deep, but also captivating: 27-year-old Ayami just lost her job at a small audio theatre in Seoul because the establishment is being closed down. A former actress, she is unsure what to do next, and we accompany her through one night and one day (which is more of an declared than an actual time span), in which, among other things, she spends time with her former boss and, after being asked by a severely ill friend of both of them, picks up a German writer from the airport. These activities might seem mundane, but it's the intriguing dialogue, the dynamics between the characters and, above all, the surreal narrative estrangement effects that turn the outcome into a haunting and disturbing experience.
The most obvious narrative strategy is the use of repetition - again and again, we encounter the exact same phrases and descriptions in different contexts, like the skirt that flutters "like an old dishcloth", the feeling as if "someone were hammering a nail into the crown of (one's) head", "capillaries webbing the whites of (someone's) eyes", a dead body "in the space between ceiling and the roof of (someone's) house", and many, many more. People do the same things or the same features are ascribed to them, sometimes only slightly varied. The disorienting effect turns the characters into ghosts and Seoul into am almost liquid space, ever quivering and oscillating. The whole novel can also be read as a pastiche of The Blind Owl, the main work of Iranian writer and early modernist Sadegh Hedayat, a book that is mentioned in various different contexts in Bae Suah's novel. Hedayat's text about a pen case painter confessing his nightmares and obsession with death to a shadow shaped as an owl is also non-linear, surreal, dream-like and relies heavily on repetition while challenging (in this case Iranian) literary traditions; at one point, Ayami even sees "her own huge shadow wavering on the wall".
Art and artists play a vital role in Bae Suah's text as well: There is the protagonist who is an actress (or is she actually a poet?), the audio theatre, a performance film, a photography exhibition ("every photograph is a unique proof of identity, firmly declaring that human beings are ghosts"), an aspiring poet named Buha who sees "no contradiction whatsoever in the gulf between dreams and reality" and sells blue pills (hello, The Matrix), an old poet named Kim Cheol-sseok (yes, with two "s"), the severely ill German teacher Yeoni who lets her pupils read books, the German poet called Wolfi, which is usually short for Wolfgang, and many other references. There are multiple connections to Germany in the text - Bae Suah shares her time between South Korea and Germany. Another major motif in the text are the senses or lack thereof: While they usually help to grasp our surroundings, Bae Suah's characters are again and again deprived of sensual information (the audio theatre, reading lips, the blackout restaurant, Ayami's bad eyesight etc.), or if they aren't, the sensual information seems to further disorientate them (see the strange loops contained in the repetitions). Btw: Ayami means "beautiful color" in Japanese, and yes, you remember that correctly, she worked at an audio theatre. :-)
All in all, I was deeply impressed and also highly entertained by this unusual text, which reminded me of one of my favorite experimental writers, Jesse Ball (he would probably love the idea of a pickpocket who, instead of stealing, drops messages into people's pockets, and a protagonist stating "it occurred to me that I'm no more than an imaginary woman in your dream"). I'm glad that with the rise of Han Kang, Western readers found a new interest in South Korean literature, so I hope we will soon see more translations of exciting authors hailing from Korea.
This novella hit a nerve in South Korea and became one of the biggest-selling books of the new century. In it, Cho Nam-Joo tells the story of a KoreanThis novella hit a nerve in South Korea and became one of the biggest-selling books of the new century. In it, Cho Nam-Joo tells the story of a Korean everywoman from her birth in 1982 until 2016, the year the book was published in its original Korean. Kim Ji-young experiences systemic misogyny in all stages of life, be it as a kid in her own family, in school and at university, in the workplace and also as a wife and mother. The protagonist does not only suffer because of stereotypical women-hating machos (although they also feature in the text), but there's a whole web of factors, attitudes and implications that affect all characters differently, from the education system to the economic crisis, from conservative gender roles to questions of agency related to intersectional feminism. An overall feeling of powerlessness and internalized societal norms lead to self-alienation and to female trauma that is inherited over generations: When Kim Ji-young is born, her mother apologises to her mother-in-law for having a girl. When Kim Ji-young is pregnant with a girl, people feel sorry for her and try to cheer her up. Being a woman means being a failure.
The book led to a fierce debate about sexism in Korea. Some months before its publication, the "Gangnam murder" shook up the country: A woman was murdered at a metro station, and the perpetrator stated that he had been ignored by women for so long that he could not stand it anymore. The hate crime heated up the #metoo movement in Korea, but there was also a huge backlash. Many K-Pop singers and other celebrities who professed to reading Cho Nam-Joo's feminist novella (which, as the author explained, is largely based on personal exprience) were attacked and threatened on the internet. When the book was turned into a movie, the actors and actresses got under attack.
But Cho Nam-Joo has the numbers to back up her text, and she includes them in it - the book is written in a very particular, rather dry and detached style that includes studies and other research (the twist-ending reveals why, and the last sentence is vicious). The effect is harrowing - it is by largely denying empathy and stating the facts that the protagonist's dire situation becomes clear. Gender inequality in South Korea is ranked as one of the highest in the world, you can find some stats here.
Similar to Han Kang in The Vegetarian, Cho Nam-Joo depicts a scenario in which other characters interpret the effects of degradation and lack of agency that the protagonist shows as mental illness - but it's worth contemplating whether those protagonists are sick, or whether the circumstances under which they have to live are sick.
First published in its original Korean in 2002, "Your Cold Hands" has now for the first time been translated (into German by Kyong-Hae Flügel, but heyFirst published in its original Korean in 2002, "Your Cold Hands" has now for the first time been translated (into German by Kyong-Hae Flügel, but hey, there's hope for you English speakers out there!). While the story negotiates well-known themes like the nature of beauty and the dynamics between appearance and hidden truths, what makes this such an intriguing read is the voice of the narrator, a sculptor named Jang Unhyong: He is not interested in common ideas of beauty and perfection, and as he learnt in his childhood to fulfill expectations and hide his true feelings, the masks people put on are his true artistic obsession. Using plaster, he makes lifecastings of body parts and whole bodies, explaining "I wanted to strip people of their vulnerable shell to see their inside" ("Ich wollte den Menschen ihre verletzliche Hülle abziehen, um ihr Inneres zu sehen"). Jang Unhyong himself is haunted by a terrible feeling that inside himself, there might be plain emptiness.
The book is held together by a frame in which a writer named H. (hinting at, but not necessarily the author) gets hold of the sculptor's notebooks - the contents of which constitute the main storyline - and in the end tries to find out what happened after Jang Unhyong suddenly disappeared. Two women turn out to be the main clues, and they are mirroring and contrasting each other in their life stories and physically as models for the lifecastings: There is an obese woman with a terrible secret who desperately tries to put on another mask, that of the conventionally beautiful and skinny woman; and then there's an interior architect who exudes an air of cleanliness and purity, creating order to cover up irregularity. Jang Unhyong's plaster shatters easily, but he is torn: He wants to know what's beneath the masks, but also fears the repercussions that the truth might evoke (watch out for the instances when he mentions that he feels nauseous!).
This is an early work of Han Kang, and I felt like it showed a little as you can partly see the mechanics in the underbelly of this novel, and sometimes there are even some lengths - but it also becomes apparent how talented and fearless she is, daring to come up with an edgy narrator and characters who are hard to identify with, nonchalantly combining poetic passages with brutal descriptions while always staying true to the narrator's sober voice, and heartlessly confronting us with a stunning, brilliant ending.
"Life is a shell arching over an abyss, and we live on it like masked acrobats" ("Das Leben ist eine Hülle, die sich über einen Abgrund wölbt, und wir leben darauf wie maskierte Akrobaten") - the topic of this book is anything but new, but what Han Kang makes of it is unusual and fascinating. I'm glad she has written so many more books that hopefully will be translated in the future....more
I love how Un-su Kim takes the tropes of the hardboiled crime novel, plays around with them, has some professional killers question them within the teI love how Un-su Kim takes the tropes of the hardboiled crime novel, plays around with them, has some professional killers question them within the text and tops it all of with a critique of South Korean society - it's clever, inventive and entertaining. Our protagonist Reseng has been left in a garbage bin as a baby and then brought up by a librarian who runs a professional assassination business (Ryū Murakami will probably love this novel). We meet 32-year-old Reseng, now a successful assassin himself, at the crossroads of his life: Not only does his job take a toll on him, the political and business landscapes have shifted and his former ally has become his biggest - and very deadly - competition.
Un-su Kim talks about the assassination business as just another highly specialized industry in capitalist society, and Reseng has no illusions: He grew up in this trade, he knows he is disposable, a puppet instrumentalized to eliminate targets, paid and sent out by "plotters" who come up with schemes in order to control politics and business - but does that mean he isn't morally responsible? Does his backstory explain or even excuse his actions or the actions of others? These questions are at the core of the novel: This assassin wants to know in how far he is obliged to resist the dynamics he is caught up in, even if it will cost him his life.
Obviously, this is a deeply political question, and I love how this author wraps it up in a thriller: "This world isn't a mess because people are evil. It's because everyone has their own stories and excuses for doing bad things." Those who execute the violent deeds are actually "cowardly, weakest-of-the-weak people who say ´We had no choice because that's how the world is and because life is hard and because we have no power.`" And even the plotters themselves are not people, but commodities in a self-sustaining system of supply and demand: "You know what's there if you keep going all the way up to the top? Nothing. Just an empty chair." Yes, you can read this for the story and the characters and it will be rewarding, but the philosophical musings of the assassins are the real highlights of the text: As in every good crime novel, the criminals mirror society and ask some uncomfortable questions.
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