In this edition of Korean Literature Now, we delve into Breath, Respite, Emptiness. Our fast-paced world, obsessed with productivity and efficiency, has long ignored these simple yet profound elements. This issue challenges us to reconsider breath, respite, and emptiness as essential rhythms that offer a unique perspective on literature and life, especially in a time when the world seems to be gasping for air.

     Youn Kyung Hee’s essay opens up a space for us to contemplate the uselessness of things, inspired by her serendipitous encounter with mold during a humid summer. Min Byeonghun probes the true essence of rest, not merely as a pause before a new beginning but as an end in itself. Ju Minhyeon offers an insightful look into the act of breathing, exploring its intrinsic relationship with rest and life.

      Choi Eunmi, our featured writer, shares the enigmatic relationship between connection and disconnection. Through her narratives, she unveils the violence and fear lurking beneath life’s surface, illustrating how deep reflection on these themes can emerge from intense scrutiny of reality.

      In the Bookmark section, we highlight the creative works of four vibrant authors—Lim Solah, Yoon Haeseo, Lee Min-Ha, and Hwang Yuwon—who introduce us to new realms of respite and emptiness. We’re also excited to feature an excerpt from the classical novel  in our Inkstone corner, which revisits the tragic love story of a court lady from the late Joseon Dynasty, echoing the timeless beauty of classical Korean literature.

      Life’s rapid pace often leaves us in a whirlwind of seemingly solid things that, in an instant, can dissolve into nothingness. As I write these words from my hospital bed, facing an unexpected “pause,” I’m reminded of the profound lessons embedded in these moments of “break.” Cut off from the external world, with only my breath and the steady drip of an IV, I discover a new rhythm—a testament to the transformative power of breath, respite, and emptiness. I hope this issue invites our readers to find their unique cadence within the triple rhythm, offering a fresh lens through which to view both literature and life.

— Eun-Gwi Chung

Editorial Board Member, KLN