Cho Nam-joo gained worldwide attention with her feminist novel Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. Published in 2016, the book is often regarded as inspiring the #MeToo movement in Korea and was subsequently translated into over twenty languages, including German (Kim Jiyoung, geboren 1982, tr. Ki-Hyang Lee, 2021). The work sparked debates on the pay gap, glass ceiling, care work exploitation, and other forms of gender discrimination. Miss Kim Knows and Other Stories, a collection of short stories about women of various generations, deepened and diversified Cho’s critique of institutional sexism (Miss Kim weiß Bescheid, tr. Inwon Park, 2023). Her latest publication in Germany puts the focus on another universal social issue: classism.

        Go Mani, the protagonist of Wo ich wohne, ist der Mond ganz nah (“Where I live the moon is very close,” originally published in 2016), is no less representative of contemporary Korea than globally relatable everywoman Kim Jiyoung. Mani is an only child who lives with her family in a run-down home in one of Seoul’s so-called dal-dongne. Literally meaning “moon-town,” these low-income neighborhoods are often located on steep hillsides, far away from glitzy department stores or comfortable apartment complexes. They are “close to the moon”—hence the novel’s title. Here, winding alleyways tightly intermingle with one- or two-floor buildings stacked upon one another. However, despite what the title suggests, this book is less about the neighborhood itself and more about Mani’s  reflections on her history of poverty. The novel begins with Mani at the age of thirty-six, about to leave the dal-dongne behind. When cleaning out her desk drawers, she discovers long-lost hair ribbons and once fashionable make-up, which prompts a trip down memory lane. The following episodes, organized in nine chapters of various lengths, go back to her early teens and are only loosely connected by her aspirations and failures.

        Mani’s dream of becoming a professional gymnast runs like a red thread through most of the book despite many time jumps and associative leaps. In 1988, inspired by the Seoul Olympics, eight-year-old Mani and her friends start to practice balancing acts. But while the others soon give up, Mani continues to take aerobics lessons and later attends a private gymnastics high school. Her plan is cut short, though, perhaps because her talent is not enough but, more significantly, because of her lack of self-confidence and her family’s financial situation. Even though Mani is determined to a fault and her mother tries everything to provide for the necessary extra fees, the long commute, recurring health problems, and the other students’ seemingly superior skills prove to be obstacles too big  to overcome. Mani finally gives up and returns to her old school in the neighborhood. While society changes at maximum speed, Mani’s life seems to stall, interrupted only by occasional abrupt turns, sometimes for the better but mostly for the worse, leaving her even further behind.

        Other plot points similarly avoid dramatic or entirely satisfying resolutions, but the meandering narrative and the jump-cuts shed light on the systemic—and often intersectional—contradictions Mani and her family endure. For instance, when a shopping center opens nearby, Mani’s father has to downscale his grocery store and ends up selling snacks to high school students. He still enjoys his work, even though the meager income makes his daughter, now in her thirties and stuck as an assistant manager in a small architecture firm, the sole breadwinner in the family. Without any apparent reason, she is fired after ten years and falls into a deep depression. She only leaves the house when her mother insists that she has to vote on upcoming redevelopments plans. Her presence, however, turns out to be unnecessary, as each household is granted only one vote. At least she gets a bowl of hot chicken stew out of the trip, provided by one of the competing building companies in an attempt to rig the election that ultimately proves futile—redevelopment is postponed, again.

        Without delving deeply into politics or historical events, Wo ich wohne, ist der Mond ganz nah depicts late twentieth and early twenty-first century South Korean society through Mani’s perspective. Her blunt, down-to-earth voice—convincingly translated into German by Jan Henrik Dirks—makes the book a refreshing read, even though various casual references to contemporary songs and TV shows, as well as minor current affairs and urban legends, may puzzle readers. Thankfully, the translator provides numerous helpful explanations, sometimes in endnotes. Anyone whose interest in Korea goes beyond the glamor of Gangnam will not regret reading this book.

Jan Creutzenberg

Assistant Professor, Ewha Womans University