One of the things I appreciate most about translated literature—something that makes reading across borders invaluable, if not indispensable—is the way in which it allows the reader a glimpse of life in unfamiliar parts of the world. As translation is an act of empathy, so too is reading in translation. This holds true for fiction and, perhaps even more so, for non-fiction. I was reminded of this while revisiting Baek Se Hee’s I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki, in which the author offers a glimpse of life as she knows it. A refreshing mix of dialogue and micro-essays, Baek’s candid take on mental health is as genre-defying—memoir? self-help? psychology?—as it is thought-provoking. 

      In her prologue, Baek describes the impetus for writing this book as twofold: first, to  search for others who feel similarly to her—feelings caused in part by dysthymia, or persistent depressive disorder—she decided to stop endlessly looking for them and see if others would recognize themselves in her. Given the tremendous success of her book, both nationally and internationally, I’d like to believe that many people do. And for those who don’t, Baek adds, her work might help them better understand those who do. Second, she sees her book as an artistic practice, referring to art as a channel of hope and a way to “stir someone’s heart.” It is precisely this creative flair that removes any negative suspicions the reader may have about the type of book they are holding. A far cry from mind-numbing strands of “self-help” in the conventional sense of the word (“Do this and get better!”),  I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki stands its ground as a work of literature in its own right. I should also add that According to Chicago style, it should be Pelckmans’s choice to hold onto the original cover illustration, a gorgeous creation by graphic designer DancingSnail, helps to elicit the literary character of the book.

      The format that Baek goes on to explore is equally original as it is stimulating. Most chapters start with a short anecdote or reflection that introduces a new topic. The main body of each chapter consists of dialogues between Baek and her psychiatrist followed by a short essay. These conversations, however, are not presented as stand-alone snippets, but as a carefully curated whole, weaving together a narrative that the reader glides through from start to finish. To be sure, for an essayistic work on the complexities of mental health, this book is quite the page-turner.

And what makes it such a gripping read is Baek’s level of honesty. Through her session transcripts, Baek literally invites the reader into the room with her therapist. The pitfall that she deftly avoids in her essays is the tendency to present “takeaways” and “lessons learnt.” Yes, things are learnt over the course of her therapy sessions, but I would be hesitant to call these “lessons.” Therapy—if I may speak from personal experience—teaches you something about yourself as a person. It is a welcome fact then that Baek eschews the didactic approach altogether, instead mulling over her findings in a much more subtle vein and leaving it up to the reader to take and pick as they choose. One is free, at all times, to disagree with Baek—or her psychiatrist, for that matter. I for one certainly felt like I saw things differently every now and then. Such is the nature of any conversation on mental health. To use a phrase recurrent in the book, “black-and-white-thinking” has hardly ever served anyone well. Steering clear of any attempt to profess universal truths, Baek’s essays are sharp, perceptive, sometimes humorous, and always engaging.

      In short, a book discussing topics such as self-image, anxiety and codependency in a more genuine way than I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki is probably hard to come by. Its format is captivating and label-resistant. Although some readers might feel initially thrown off, Baek’s nuanced style brings us around. Without fail, she invites us to relate and rethink. Going back to her reason for practicing art and writing this book, I’ll confess: my heart was stirred.

Mattho Mandersloot

Literary Translator