In 2011, a bright new talent, Son Bo-mi, emerged on the Korean literary scene. That year, she published six impressive short stories, including “Blanket,” “Bringing Them the Lindy Hop,” and “Downpour.” Her work was so fresh and unique that it shook the aesthetic landscape of Korean fiction. What drew such attention and enthusiasm to a debut writer? Her writing seemed unrelated to the traditional belief in realism, which claims to fully understand how everything in the world is connected. It also didn’t align with works that dramatized personal experiences as psychological tales, nor did it define itself as historical realism or as depictions of inner worlds. Instead, her sentences, devoid of moral judgments and emotional flourishes, featured a dry, impersonal style with subtle wit and a blend of fact and fiction, signaling a neutral, minimalist approach. Korean literature had now gained a writer who boldly declared, “I have no qualms about writing what I don’t fully know,” as she wrote in the afterword of Bringing Them the Lindy Hop. Her work rarely featured an omniscient or reliable narrator, emanated no heaviness or intensity, and even the cultural backgrounds of her characters seemed unclear.

      On the topic of cultural backgrounds, some have observed that Son Bo-mi’s work is often set outside Korea and has a “translated feel.” However, since her work is published in Korean, it remains part of Korean literature, making discussions about identity and purity of style somewhat meaningless. Modern literary works, shaped by global interactions, can often feel like translations. The notion that literature must represent a nation contradicts the essence of literary creation and expression. Instead, Son’s work presents the potential for Korean literature to be free from the constraints and pressures of national representation. These qualities make her work uniquely captivating, ensuring her lasting impact on Korean literature. 

      If her first short story collection, Bringing Them the Lindy Hop, introduced her dry charm to the world, her second collection, Cats and the Elegant Night, offered penetrating insights into its characters while evoking a sense of detachment. Random, minor events disrupted the balance of her characters’ lives, creating cracks that shattered their entire existence. Through rich, yet concise character depictions, Son explored the profound question of whether it is possible to truly understand one’s own life and the lives of others.

     In Son’s work, stories are rarely told from a woman’s point of view, and when there is a female narrator, she doesn’t know the whole truth. She remains in the realm of misunderstanding and doubt, unable to be “reliable,” even regarding her own inner world. Son’s depictions of “male bourgeois society” and the nuclear family, along with subsequent signs of their breakdown, are complex. The men in her fiction are not oppressive or violent patriarchs, but are usually competent, rational, and privileged elites. However, like the successful film producer in “Ferris Wheel,” they cannot shake the fear that something terrible is going to happen. Their trivial misunderstandings and errors in judgment, especially regarding women, reveal their contradictions, as well as the cracks and lies of their world. However, the women do not fight against the world dominated by men. Instead, they remain as extras in these narratives, or remnants of patriarchy, highlighting the men’s shortcomings and anxieties.

      “The Substitute Teacher” stands out as one of the most evocative of Son’s female-centered narratives. “Everything was perfect, and nothing was wrong. Truly, nothing bad had happened.” In detached, precise language, sentences like this reveal the delusions and subtle signs of the protagonist Ms. P’s breakdown, along with her “wrong choices, misguided thoughts, futile hopes, resignation, and losses.” Ms. P becomes a nanny for the son of a young, elegant couple. This perfect family, consisting of a “handsome, polite young father, the lovely, elegant young mother, and the cute, intelligent-looking child,” sharply contrasts with Ms. P’s world of “modest wallpaper, synthetic fiber curtains, and narrow bed,” where she “[eats] alone, [gets] dressed alone, and [sleeps] alone.” Ms. P aims to become a cultured nanny for the couple’s child. However, the inescapable limitation of being a “substitute teacher,” as opposed to a permanent teacher, defines her life. As someone just “filling in” for a time, she is excluded from being officially integrated into the system and is instead used to fill its gaps.

      The seemingly perfect couple cannot handle the practical issues of childcare, housekeeping, and caring for a sick elderly mother, so Ms. P steps in, making crucial sacrifices to hold together the life of the couple on the verge of collapse. At times, she feels like a member of the family, embracing their frailty, but these moments are temporary, and she is only “filling in.” Even though there are no devastating tragedies in this story, the instability of life as a “substitute” is mercilessly exposed, as well as the harsh realities of existence. Her pride in once being a teacher, along with her desire for culture and goodwill, are used to compensate for the bourgeois couple’s practical shortcomings. The hidden cruelty and class nuances within the term “substitute,” as opposed to “permanent,” are vividly portrayed in this story.

      The issue is Ms. P’s unusual position as an unmarried, aging woman. Part of this family only when she fulfills their everyday needs, she is invited to join them at the dinner table when their demands become overwhelming. However, the couple has never truly welcomed Ms. P as a family member. They harbor subtle disdain for her, wondering, “Why do some women grow old without marrying or having children?” In the end, they pity her and label her life as “sad.” Even the young mother’s words to Ms. P—“Please, consider this your home”—are chilling and deceptive. To this affluent family, a substitute teacher is merely “that kind of woman.” The safe and comfortable bourgeois household cannot be sustained without the labor of such women. This sharp irony, reminiscent of the master-slave dialectic, exposes the anxiety and falsehoods of the nuclear family. “That kind of woman” reveals the cracks and self-deception within the seemingly normal patriarchal order. As outsiders to the family system, unmarried women in temporary positions highlight the fragile core of family ideology.

      Son describes her writing style, which blends reality and imagination, as relying on “chance.” This element blurs the line between fact and fiction and plays a key role in shaping her characters’ lives. In her work, life unfolds as a series of chance events or network of coincidences that connect the world. Son’s writing challenges the belief that fiction can explain the world by uncovering a chain of events. Instead, her storytelling becomes a journey to encounter unpredictable moments where meaning loses its power.

      Son discovers unexpected ways of mourning while exploring the meaning of existence. Her characters often fail to grasp the true significance of their own lives. Fiction affirms a person’s life not by fully comprehending it but by acknowledging their illusions, misunderstandings, longings, and the gaps in their understanding. Embracing all the chance encounters, fearful moments, and the unknown future a person faces can be seen as a kind of love. In this way, Son’s writing creates a fictional world that celebrates the lives of others. Her work possesses a unique charm that is universal, and readers who discover it will find joy.

Translated by Janet Hong

      KOREAN WORKS MENTIONED:

•   Son Bo-mi, “Bringing Them the Lindy Hop,” “Blanket,” “Downpour” from Bringing Them the Lindy Hop (Munhakdongne, 2013)

    손보미, 「그들에게 린디합을」, 「담요」, 「폭우」, 『그들에게 린디합을』 (문학동네, 2013)

•  Son Bo-mi, “The Substitute Teacher,” “Ferris Wheel” from Cats and the Elegant Night (Moonji Publishing, 2018)

    손보미, 「임시교사」, 「대관람차」, 『우아한 밤과 고양이들』 (문학과지성사, 2018)